My stomach roils and I sprint for the nearest trash can where I empty the contents of my stomach.
The shamedtsksand voices of passersby filter to my ears as I hear their cruel words. “Weirdo.” And my personal favorite. “Just like his mother.”
Not giving a shit about the naysayers—water off a duck’s back—I grip onto the necklace through my shirt and slide down anearby wall onto the sidewalk. I want to tell each of the people to fuck off.
Especially the asshole who says, “I wonder what he’s on this time.”
I’m a duck. I’m a duck. I’m goddamned mother fucking DUCK!
Gripping my necklace tighter, I gather the small stack of books and shove them into my messenger bag. With a groan, I adjust my bag and dust off my pants. Grandma Julia will be expecting me home soon, anyway.
By the time I walk through the door at her house, I attempt to beeline straight for my room. I want to really look over the books Abraham picked out. That is not my luck, though.
“Rami, dear,” Grandma Julia’s voice calls from the front room.
With a heavy sigh, I walk through the doorway to find her sitting in her rocking chair with Pastor Dan sitting on the couch. I pause, gripping the strap of my bag tightly.
The middle-aged man pushes up from the couch and crosses the room with his hand outstretched. Instead of his clerical robes, today he’s dressed simply in a polo shirt and khakis.
“Rami, my boy. It’s good to see you. I stopped by to check in and see how you’re doing.”
I shake his hand, but clench my jaw tightly to avoid saying anything.
“You two sit. I made your favorite peach cobbler,” Grandma Julia says sweetly, ushering us to the couch.
Turning to face her, I pinch my brows together in confusion until I realize she’s talking to Pastor Dan. “I’m allergic to peaches,” I say blandly.
“I’d love some. Do you have a glass of tea to go along with it?” Pastor Dan says at the same time, drowning me out.
“Of course!” Grandma Julia rushes into the kitchen, puttering around.
Leaving me and Pastor Dan alone.
“Your grandmother tells me you two are working through the study on fighting addiction,” he says, trying to start up a conversation.
“Mmhmm,” I mumble, hoping to be anywhere but here.
“How do you think that’s going?”
“Good.”
“She’s so incredibly proud of you for avoiding painkillers while your ankle healed.”
I bite back the scoff I want to release, and nod instead. It feels like a safer option.
Thank God—heh!—Grandma Julia shows up and saves me. She places a plate of cobbler and a glass of sweet tea in front of Pastor Dan. Which is fair since I’m allergic to peaches and don’t like sweet tea. I know, I must be broken if I’m a Southerner who doesn’t like sweet tea.
Actually, I could go for one of Abraham’s peppermint teas. It’s the perfect cure-all for anything that ails you. The pleased expression on his face anytime he gives me food or tea is one of his most precious traits. So, why did I have such an adverse reaction to us together? Honestly, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve thought about him sexually. What has changed?
Grandma Julia darts back into the kitchen. I’m half tempted to call out and see if she needs help, mostly to get away from the awkward pastor sitting on the other end of the couch from me.
She places a tray down and hands me a plate with a sugared biscuit, her homemade strawberry jam, and a glass of milk. My eyes widen in surprise, and I open my mouth to ask what’s gotten into her when I try to think of any time she’s denied me a treat. So, I have no reason to be surprised.
A denied meal, perhaps if I really step out of line. But a treat? Never. The peach cobbler isn’t the first peach item I’ve seen in the house, though they’re usually made to be given away andrarely stay in the house. She’s also always marked anything with peaches in it clearly.
So, I click my jaw shut and stare at her for the first time. Really stare at her. Even when the two of them continue the conversation, allowing me to zone out and really analyze the woman deemed by the courts to be my caretaker.
Until I hear the dreaded words, “Can I pray for you?”
