An Honest Lie(34)

“What’s the matter with you? I’ve never seen a more useless woman.” He was rough when he repositioned her, his eyes glassy. She recognized the look inside of them; his eyes got like that when he was in his bad moods. When he was in one of these moods he was dangerous; he’d put words in your mouth if he needed to punish you, create conflict where there was none. Her dread picked up speed when she looked over at third base and saw that a kid named Skye was pitching. Kids’ Camp was divided into the boys’ side and the girls’ side, and the two sides didn’t interact much as a rule. But what she did know about the man/boy who had eyelashes that looked like pale spider legs was that he was cruel. And worse than that: Taured liked him. Skye made eye contact with her, and she felt a plunging in her belly as his flaxen hair lifted in the slight breeze. There was a look of solid determination on his face. He wound the ball above his shoulder in little circles. Taured had told him what to do, she realized, and he wasn’t going to take it easy on her. She licked the sweat from her upper lip and glanced to her left, where Taured had the men set up the makeshift bleachers with benches from the cafeteria.

She pictured her mother’s pale face, her expression earnest and solemn like the statues of saints she’d seen in Taured’s education slideshows about idol worship. But education was for Wednesday nights, she thought. Tonight, they were here for Taured’s amusement: to play his favorite sport and be his favorite sport. She positioned herself over home plate, holding the bat like she’d been taught. She could hold the bat, but she couldn’t hit anything with it, that was the problem. He’d put her up here week after week until she did. People were getting antsy, sensing the tension; they were out here sweating, and they wanted to be paid in drama. Summer braced herself for the imminent show in which she was to star. Taured looked cool as a cucumber. Happy. And why not? He wasn’t the sport.

She glanced around at the faces watching them: the people she’d come to know over the last four years. Some of these people were doctors and nurses. Gary Hoeff sat in the front row of the bleachers, his arm around his wife Paula’s shoulders—they’d been owners of a gymnastics academy in their former life. But then something had happened, and they’d come here. Next to them was a young family: a pretty mother and a baby on her knee, her husband a former marine, discharged—for what, Summer didn’t know. None of these people thought this was strange: a grown man using his power to bully a girl. And if they did, they didn’t let on. Everyone here seemed to enjoy it when someone was being humiliated, so long as it wasn’t them.

Fuck you all, fuck you all, she thought, the sweat running like fingers between her breasts.

“Another week of the rookie show!” Taured declared with charismatic good humor. His hair had been freshly cut, and with his blindingly white teeth, he looked like a TV game show host. There was laughter from the makeshift bleachers; to Summer, it sounded relieved. They weren’t going to care what happened next because it wasn’t happening to them. This was going downhill fast. She shut her eyes. You can do this, she thought. You know how. She could sense the building aggression in his movements; he was fixated on her. It was her newest role in their fucked-up “family”: torture pet. He’d liked her so much at the beginning. But things were so different now.

The sins of the parents. New meat. She couldn’t stop thinking about that, and about how her mother’s entire attitude had changed after a few weeks of being there. Maybe this wasn’t about Summer at all. She saw Feena in her mind’s eye, naked in the photo and lying spread-eagle on a gray bedspread; she saw it as if the photo were in front of her and not buried beneath Charlie Cactus a dozen miles away.

Glad her mother wasn’t there, she clamped her jaw, resigned. It would be fine; she could do this. If her mother got involved, he would hurt her and then he would send her away again. The thought of being alone at the compound for months at a time was frightening. Lorraine was in the infirmary tending to two sick toddlers, though when she’d seen Summer earlier in the day, she’d grabbed her hand meaningfully and told her to be careful.

Softball was a dangerous sport when played with a maniac.

“You have to want to hit the ball, Summer!” He clapped his hands, once, twice, and looked at Skye, who was watching him like an attentive puppy.

Yes, yes, yes—she nodded, agreeable. Like she wanted to miss it and be humiliated in front of these people. She’d tell him anything he wanted to hear. She felt the strong urge to pee and clenched her thighs together, ashamed of her own fear.

He was in her face now, his own features alive with the same fervor he had when preaching one of his sermons.

“Watch it, Summertime. Don’t take your eyes off the ball.” And how pleasant did his voice sound to those who could hear him? Just a guy coaching the local softball team. Could they hear the threat beneath the words, or was it just her ears it was meant to sting? When she’d stopped complying, stopped journaling, stopped worshipping, he’d changed. She’d quickly become his favorite person to humiliate. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, Summer, though sin is embarrassing, and you’re filled with it.”

She gripped the bat harder, her palms sweating. If she missed the ball, she’d be deemed unteachable. Unteachable people were shamed publicly. Was that what he was after? She had to think fast. The adults watched with smiles on their faces; they were excited because Taured was excited. She could smell her own sweat and fear.