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“Angel’s her daughter,” I tell him after a sip of beer. The cool liquid spreads through my chest.
Dustin lets out a low whistle for a long time. He's quiet, maybe remembering what Melissa used to be. Which she definitely isn't anymore.
“Hey, you know…”
I shrug and look at him. He glances at me and then looks away, rubbing his jaw again.
“You know, Owen, maybe there's a way to help us both out. Maybe it's time to do another trade?”
“I don't think Silas would go for that. He remembers what happened to Rose.”
“Eh. Nobody really knows what happened to Rose,” Dustin counters. “But I tell you, there a lot of lonely old dudes around here. These runaways, they get rougher every year. If you got one of your shining, virginal cult pussies over there…”
“Don't call her that.”
Dustin holds his hands up apologetically. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That wasn’t nice. But, understand… There could be a mutually beneficial agreement. Unless you want her for yourself…”
“Yeah right,” I say sourly.
“Hey, Dustin!” Rhonda yells out from across the bar, facing off with the old guys in some kind of argument. She whistles through her teeth until he stands up.
“Just think about it,” he asks me. “Mutually beneficial arrangement. Seriously.”
I don't say anything as he shuffles off to handle whatever emergency Rhonda cooked up. The thing is, there is something magical about her. Some light that used to be in her mother got passed down to her. It didn't get crushed out like a stubbed out cigarette yet either. She still flows with light. And knowing I can't be a part of that makes me a little bitter.
Mutually beneficial arrangement. Something to think about.
Silas
I use the bookmark to open the huge leather-bound book to the last page and try to focus. The numbers all line up in columns, but they don't want to stay still. As I try to focus on them, they seem to swim. They wriggle from their spots and change lanes, swirling back and forth like kids at the pool.
But I can see the red numbers, the bloody hints that the Kingdom Come Family compound needs to do something if we are going to stay alive. If we are not going to drown. Those red numbers leak all over the rest of the page, taking over everything.
I’m not sure how it has come to this, or what to do about it. The surrounding community still makes donations like they have for decades. Good-hearted people who think they can buy a little goodwill to get into heaven, even if they're not really willing to do the hard work. It’s like insurance.
But as the years have gone by, our biggest supporters have left, died off, or just lost inter
est. They still make donations of goods, maybe drop off a truckload of corn or tomatoes every once in awhile, but we still need cash money for gas, electricity, clean water. That's just reality.
And everybody thinks I will magically find a way. Somehow, I always have, but it's not always easy. And one of these times, it just won't be enough.
What happens then? What happens when they find out their Father Daddy can't provide?
The screen door swings open and Owen fills the void, blocking the light briefly with his body. He stomps across the small room and drops into a chair. He taps his fingers together three times before clasping his hands over his broad, thick abdomen and nods at me in a friendly but respectful way. Though we are brothers, we haven’t been able to be really close in a long time. My responsibilities seem to have gotten in the way of that too.
“Owen,” I say in greeting.
I'm not sure what he's doing here. He knows I'm supposed to be working on the books at this time, and we don't have a meeting scheduled. But he's looking at me like he's ready to continue some conversation we must have started before. Obviously he wants my attention, so I push myself back in my chair and look him over, waiting for what he's going to say next.
It takes him a few seconds to gather his thoughts. He seems relaxed, his knees falling open, his shoulders resting heavily against the chair cushions. He's a rather large fellow, with a distinct animal presence. Anytime that he feels uneasy, those emotions transfer immediately to his body. So I know that he's eager to tell me something. He wants to open a dialogue. I read it all over him.
“So I thought things with Gina —”
“Obedience,” I correct him.
He flinches a little, then nods. “Right, right. She is Obedience now. I thought her deflowering went pretty well, right?”
I press my lips together and simply look at him. This is not a good start to this conversation. Now that she's a woman, discussing her like this, even if she hasn't been assigned a Master yet, is not appropriate.
