Jane Doe(43)

CHAPTER 29

Steven expected me to spend the night, I’m sure, but it was easy enough to get out of it. I told him I had my period. The end.

I woke up bright and early today and wore my most flowery dress to church. I’m not a VIP, so I don’t get to sit with Steven in the front row, but I sit closer to the front this time, and I gaze up at Pastor Hepsworth throughout the service. Today he’s speaking about generosity and charity . . . with a little homophobia thrown in, of course. Be kind and generous, but first to United in Christ Church and never to liberal organizations who don’t discriminate against gays.

Another prejudice I’ll never understand. Sex is apparently for procreation and not pleasure, and that’s why gay sex is wrong, yet none of the men I’ve slept with have ever been in it for the babies. Strange.

Of course Steven nods along with the lecture, even though oral sodomy is clearly a favorite sport of his. I’m going to have to assume his dad likes it too, based on my own long-term studies of the general population.

I wonder if Meg started to believe this stuff. I can’t imagine it. Meg had been a bit of a hippie, with love for everyone and anyone. Actually, she was a bit like Jesus Christ that way, accepting of all. I snicker and beam up at Pastor Hepsworth.

He hasn’t been obviously lecherous with me, but there’s no reason not to cover all my bases. Right now he’s a father figure, and that fills him with a very satisfying pride. His leadership role in my life will make it easy for me to go to him for help. Advice and counseling—that kind of thing. I’ll confess my transgressions to him and see what he has to say.

Even if he has good intentions, this man is excited by sin. And by younger women. He married a woman less than half his age, after all. Now she’s just a wife, and being a husband at home isn’t nearly as exciting as being a father figure in the office.

I have no idea if Pastor Hepsworth was kind to Meg or cruel. I don’t care. He tells the members of his flock that women are devilish Jezebels tempting men into sin. He taught his son that. He made Steven into a monster, and despite his son’s cruelty, Pastor Hepsworth is still proud of him.

Even if I had sympathy, he would deserve none of it. A man who stands up every Sunday to name other people as sinners shouldn’t be susceptible to temptation at all. Live by the sword, die by the sword, my dear.

As Pastor Hepsworth’s condemnation of godless liberals and socialists gets louder, I breathe faster and lick my lips, letting my mouth part slightly as I pant with excitement at his rousing speech. His eyes lock on me for a moment. I gaze in wonder. That’s all the good pastor wants. A little worship from a young woman.

When he’s done, I jump to my feet, clapping. I sing along to the final hymns, then hug the women seated on either side of me. It was a beautiful service. Everyone is glowing.

Instead of hanging back from the front of the crowd, this time I rush over to Rhonda. She’s speaking to a brunette with two small children in tow.

I crouch down. “Hello! Didn’t I see you at the birthday party last night?” They both nod a little shyly and stay close to their mother’s legs. “I’m Jane.”

Their mom nudges both of them. “Nice to meet you, Jane,” they say in unison.

“Did you have fun at the party?”

The girl smiles and the boy nods. “We got cake,” he says.

“Oh gosh, birthday cake is the best cake! The pink filling inside was my favorite part.” Now they’re grinning, and the girl excitedly tells the story of how she helped pick out a cake for her mommy’s birthday. I listen, wide-eyed, and nod at every detail.

What can I say? Kids love me when I’m not being myself. I behave the way they imagine grown-ups should with children because I’m pretending to be an adult who likes kids. I give them what they think they want, same as I do with their parents.

“They are just adorable,” I say to the mother before she bundles them up to take them outside.

Once she’s gone, I lower my voice. “Rhonda, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you know Steven’s ex-girlfriend?”

Her brows rise, eyes brightening at the question. “Well. I . . .”

“He told me about her,” I offer as assurance. “I know she . . . I mean, I know what happened.”

“Tragic,” Rhonda murmurs.

“I’m just worried, you know? I feel like he must still love her. They obviously had very intense feelings for each other.”

Rhonda laughs. She actually laughs. “Intense is a good way to describe it.”

“Do you think he still loves her?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” One corner of her mouth tips up in a tiny smirk, as if this is all very amusing to her. “Poor girl,” she murmurs. I’m not sure if she’s talking about me or Meg.

“Did you know her well?” I press.

One of her shoulders lifts. “Not well. My husband counseled her about their arguments, but she and I didn’t spend much time together.”

Oh, Meg. Going to your boyfriend’s dad for advice about his abuse? What did the good pastor tell her?

Steven walks toward us, and Rhonda excuses herself. They really don’t like to be in the same room together. He must have gotten drunk and called her a money-grubbing whore at some point. I can’t wait to hear the story.