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She looks back at the unit, where Cheryl’s standing on the steps pretending she’s not listening to us. There’s no such thing as privacy in this town. Lowering her voice, Mum says, ‘They always seem worse when they’re empty and smell like the previous owners. You’d be surprised what some fresh curtains will do for the place.’
If only curtains were the fix.
‘I actually didn’t think it was that bad,’ she continues.
I shake my head. ‘It’s not the unit. I know I could clean it up.’
‘Then what is it?’
I don’t know how to answer because I’m not actually sure. ‘What if something goes wrong? What if I need to leave, but because of a lease I’m stuck in this town with people who hate me?’
She’s visibly confused. ‘Leave? What are you talking about? What people?’
I lick my lips, embarrassed to taste tears. ‘I’m baptised now. That changes things. If I step away from the religion, and I’m stuck here in this town, they’ll pass the shop window every day, intentionally never looking inside. They’ll cross the street to avoid me, make me feel small, because that’s what will ultimately drive me back to Jehovah. Not my remorse or change of heart, but the shame and loneliness I wake up with every morning and carry around with me all day. The guilt I drown in going to sleep at night.’
One look at Mum’s face tells me she understands perfectly now. Her hand goes to her forehead. ‘Oh, Annie.’ She takes a moment to collect herself, then lowers her hand. ‘You’ve barely been baptised a week.’
I don’t blame her for being devastated by the words spilling out of me. I’m all she has left. The day I climbed down into that pool was one of the happiest of her life. ‘What if I made a mistake?’ The question comes out as a shame-filled whisper.
Mum releases a shaky breath. ‘It’s a little late for doubts.’
‘Haven’t you been listening? I’ve been having doubts for years.’
The colour drains from her face. Her only movements are the rapid rise and fall of her chest. ‘This is because of your sister.’ She nods emphatically. ‘You watched her get baptised, then watched her life unravel.’ There’s a pause. ‘I should’ve listened to the elders, told her not to go to university. She had a wonderful job opportunity at the chemist, but it was never enough for her. She always wanted more.’
I shake my head. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t talk about her like she became an addict and ran off with her pimp, like she threw her future away.’ I wipe my face. ‘Bridget’s only sin was her love of art and her curiosity to learn everything she could about it. She didn’t want to work at the chemist. She wanted a job that fed her soul. She wanted to be happy in this life instead of waiting for the next one.’
Mum throws her hands up. ‘She could’ve worked in a gallery. That wasn’t the issue. You think that was the issue? You think Jehovah’s Witnesses aren’t allowed to appreciate art?’
‘Well, you need a degree for those kinds of jobs nowadays, so what would you have her do?’
‘I can tell you what she was not supposed to do. She was not supposed to abandon Jehovah for some job, to throw away her chance at everlasting life for a few pretty paintings and some interesting historical facts.’
I drop my gaze, and we both fall silent.
‘You’re being tested,’ she says, lowering her voice. ‘You’ve been tested before, and you came through it. You can do it again.’
She might be right. This might be a test. But I’m so tired of being tested. ‘I want to go home.’
Mum fishes around her handbag for the car keys as she heads for the driver side. She fumbles with the lock, then gets in and starts the car. I stand there a moment, collecting myself, then climb in.
‘We’re going to pray before we go anywhere,’ she says, reaching for me. Her hand is clammy and suffocating.
I hesitate, then close my eyes and bow my head.
‘Dear Jehovah,’ Mum says over the hum of the engine. ‘We come to you in prayer now to ask for your strength.’
Great. I could do with some strength.
