A Perfect SEAL

“Hey!” she says as a greeting, smiling and then remembering to close her lips over that broken front tooth. “You're here! Where have you been?

”

We duck through the doorway together, linking hands and heading for the back row, where all us flowers are supposed to sit. We're just slightly better than toddlers, in Family hierarchy. We are not as important as aunties, not as important as the women who are prepared for marriage but not yet married. Certainly not as important as the men.

But Annie bars our entrance to the bench. I assume that she's there for me, but she looks at Tulip instead.

“Not today, girls,” she tells us, jerking her chin toward the front of the barn. “Today you will sit up front.”

Tulip grips my hand tighter. I know what she's thinking.

“Have we done something wrong?” she asks in a high, reedy voice.

Annie looks instantly furious, snatching Tulip’s hand away from mine and shoving her toward the front row. Out of the corner of my eye I see the beginning of a smirk. She's entitled to be forceful, but she's not supposed to enjoy it so much.

We shuffle toward the front row. There are five of us all together, although two are really too young to be considered anything more than children. Tulip, Abbie, and I are the only ones close in age to the deflowering ceremony. Obedience is with the unmarried women, right behind us. She looks flushed, proud of her new station in the Family.

As we settle against the bench, I can feel everyone's eyes burning holes into the back of my neck. They know it's strange that we are in the front row. It's practically brash. I wonder what they are thinking about us. It's probably not entirely good, and I feel strangely exposed, wondering if somehow my clothes have turned transparent.

But all the whispers stop when Father Daddy strides onto the large, raised platform at our end of the barn. He is staring at the Bible and his hand, his fist curled around it as though it is a small animal. But he is staring so intently, it's as though he's filled with anger.

The air goes electric. Everyone is completely silent, waiting to hear what Father Daddy has to say. It's always good. Some tale of hellfire, punishment, or the wages of sin as he calls it. The implication being: the world suffers from all manner of spiritual disease. We are inoculated by being here. Our goodness saves us from that misery.

When his eyes rise from the Bible, they lock directly on mine. I'm frozen where I sit, my breath turning to concrete in my chest, my blood freezing in my veins. He looks directly at me, like we never have before. We lock together instantly and I listen hard, expecting to hear his voice in my mind.

He begins to speak, but I can't even really understand it. A white noise fills my head, like a million bees in a hive. I'm so confused. Why am I here? Why is he staring at me?

Does he know? Did he see me at the barn, or did my mother tell him?

Is he furious with me?

Dimly, I'm aware that he's talking about hellfire again. He must know. He's probably intending it as a message to me. That's why I needed to be here in the front row, so I could get the full brunt of everything he has to say. So it can wash over me like a tidal wave, pulverize me to powder underneath it.

He strides back and forth, the heels of his boots thunderous against the wooden planks. I try not to watch his body. I can easily imagine the outlines of him under the thin fabric. I know what he looks like. I feel like I have a secret I'm not supposed to have. I know exactly what he looks like under his clothes.

And I like it. I’m so ashamed!

He strides away, directing his voice to the rafters. I can hear the other Family members murmuring, approving and agreeing with every word. It’s like a community song, this whispered agreement.

He turns around again, and our eyes meet again, exactly the same. It’s intense. A connection is strung between us like a wire. It’s so real I can almost hear it sizzle. I bet everyone else can too.

And yet, he looks furious.

Does he know? Did Mama tell him that I saw him at the ceremony? Or is it worse than that?

Does he know about the demons inside me? I have to tell him. Confession will cleanse me. I have to let him expel the demon from me.

I hear voices all around me rising higher and higher.

“Yes, Father Daddy,” they say, one on top of each other, each louder than the last. The sermon is over. Can it really be over? Is that all?

Father Daddy turns away, accepting thanks and praise from other members of the Family. But I can't let him just go. I have to talk to him. I have to tell him. I stumble forward, picking up my skirts so that I can step onto the platform, where I'm definitely not supposed to be. Tulip snatches at the back of my sleeve.

“Angel!” she hisses, the air whistling through the gap of her missing tooth. “What are you doing? You're not supposed to!”

But then I feel it, another pressure on my arm. His hand, so warm, so strong, pulling me away. I lift my face and am almost blinded by the light of him. He smiles down on me, though his eyebrows are still knotted together in a very serious expression.

“I — I — just needed to…”