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“Will there be hotdogs?” Mark asks.
Mom chuckles. “I’m sure there will be.” She walks to the door but pauses to look over her shoulder. “Grab your bibles, and let’s go.”
I pick up the two leather-bound books from the small desk along the wall and hand one to Mark. He takes it from me and tucks it in his armpit.
“C’mon, twerp,” I say as I ruffle his hair. “When we get home, we can build something with your Legos, okay?”
“Promise?”
Mark might be a thorn in my side, but he is my brother, and I love him. If promising to play with his Legos later will get him to hurry up now so we don’t both get into trouble, then that’s what I’ll do.
“Yeah, I promise.”
Mark thrusts his fist in the air, and his bible falls to the floor with an ominous thud.
I pause in my beatdown of the punching bag and try to suck in oxygen. I’ve spent years trying to forget that day but every once in a while, it creeps in and fuels the rage that’s always present. Giving into the memory, I recall the moment I realized that there was nothing fun about the new church.
I run across the grass, chasing the soccer ball my friends and I are kicking around. We’ve been at this picnic for two hours already, and I’m loving it. The service was boring, but, oh well.
“Hey, kids, time to change into your swimming suits!”
All the children run toward the church, excitedly cheering. It’s the beginning of Summer and hot, so anything involving swimming suits is a welcome activity. The problem is, I didn’t bring my trunks.
“Mom,” I sing-song when I reach the picnic table she’s sitting at with my dad and Mark. “Why didn’t we bring our suits? Now what am I supposed to do?”
“Paul, I wasn’t awa—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Grandon,” a man says when he steps up to the table. I recognize him from the church service. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we always keep some extra swimming suits in case any of the kids forget to bring them. If you’re okay with it, I can take your boys inside to find some that fit them, so they don’t miss out on the Slip ‘N Slide.”
My parents exchange a look before my dad levels his gaze on me. “Do you want to do that, Paul?” I nod frantically, and the adults all chuckle. “Okay. Then that would be great…” Dad smiles at the man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh, right. I’m Ray.” He shakes my dad’s hand. “Ray Block. I’m a deacon here at St. Christopher’s.”
“Nice to officially meet you, Deacon Block.”
“You as well,” Ray says before turning to face my brother and me fully. “Boys, do you want to come inside with me? I’ll have you back out and playing with the other kids in no time.”
Mark jumps off the bench, and we both walk inside with him. He leads us through the church until we reach what appears to be an office.
“We keep the suits in here,” Deacon Block comments as he flips the light on.
When he shuts the door behind us, my stomach balls into knots, but I don’t know why. And when he twists the lock on the door, the urge to puke up the hotdogs and baked beans I ate earlier sneaks up on me.
“Where are the swim trunks?” I ask, turning in a circle to see if I can spot them.
“How old are you, Mark?” he asks as he kneels in front of my brother, completely ignoring my question.
“I’m four.”
“Wow, you’re a big boy,” Block comments, lifting his hands to rest on Mark’s arms. “That’s the perfect age.” His tone of voice is odd, almost like a kid who’s getting a shiny new bike on Christmas morning. “The younger boys are always more fun.”
I lunge toward them and wrap my fingers around the deacon’s wrist. “Get your hands off him!”
I’m shoved to the side and stumble, falling to my butt. Scrambling to my knees, I quickly crawl toward my brother, whose eyes are wide and filled with tears. He’s scared, and I get it. So am I.
“Don’t you dare touch him,” I snarl, putting my body between the two of them.
“I’m not doing anything, Paul,” Deacon Block insists. “I’m just being friendly.”
