Nothing Sacred

But he knew when. It was right about the time he’d fallen in love with Martha Moore.

The preacher stood. Went to find that chicken-and-mayonnaise sandwich. He might be embarrassingly slow when it came to his own life, but he got it now.

He was in Shelter Valley to stay.

SITTING IN THE Shelter Valley Diner on Saturday afternoon, Shelley ordered a cheeseburger and french fries, and tried not to care that she might gain a pound or two and look fat. They were still her favorites, whether she was grown-up or not.

She watched as a woman who was a stranger to her came in, smiled at Nancy—the diner’s hostess for as long as Shelley could remember—and was shown to a booth just a few down from Shelley. When it was graduation time at the university—or time for the fall semester to start—they’d see plenty of people they didn’t know around town. At any other time, a stranger’s presence was unusual enough to be noteworthy.

But only as long as there wasn’t something more interesting going on.

Like her sister’s rapist being caught.

Shelley still couldn’t believe it. And sent thanks up to her ceiling every night when she lay in bed, trying to fall asleep. Ellen wasn’t her old self yet, and maybe never would be, completely. But Shelley had actually heard her sister laugh out loud three times that week.

And she was glued to Aaron’s side again, too.

The guy was a geek. But it was great to see Ellen being Ellen again.

Next to Drake, there wasn’t anyone Shelley loved more than she loved her big sister.

Nancy brought her Diet Coke since Blair, the waitress, was busy, and Shelley thanked her.

“Your mom doing okay?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah. They’re all at Tim’s game in Glendale.”

Nancy nodded, chatted for another minute or so and then left her alone. Shelley would never have come into the diner except that she wanted proof that she’d been in town. If she was seen here, she could tell her mother to go ahead and check up on her.

Because right after she finished her lunch, she was meeting Drake. And today was important. She had to talk to him. See if he’d be willing to let her live with him.

The preacher had seen her coming out of the desert again the evening before. If he ratted on her, she was screwed. Mom would ground her for life.

And Shelley wasn’t going to let that happen.

She’d rather live on the streets, or in some slum with Drake, than in a cushy house without him. No one had ever loved her the way he did. Or made her feel the way he did.

At least, not in a long time.

Her hamburger and fries came. Squeezing the red plastic ketchup bottle, Shelley piled on the pickles, just like Dad had taught her when she was about three. It was how he preferred his burgers. She pushed the bun down so that the pickle juice seeped into the meat, sprinkled salt on the fries and took her first bite.

The woman who’d come in was still alone, too. Shelley wondered who she was. Why she was there. Shelley wasn’t sure how much she liked her revealing clothes—that short top that left half her stomach bare and showed the tops of her breasts, too—not because she didn’t think it was cool and all, but because Shelter Valley had a lot of old ladies who were sensitive about such things and there was no point in hurting an old lady’s feelings if you didn’t have to.

Another bite of burger, followed by a fry, just as her dad had taught her. The treat was always as good as she remembered. Every single time.

Too bad her dad wasn’t.

She’d called him that afternoon. She’d been thinking about it a long time, sort of as a last resort. He’d always given her whatever she wanted if she’d asked him right.

Today she’d wanted him to say she and Drake could come out there and live with him long enough for her to finish school and Drake to get his GED. She hadn’t even gotten to the Drake part.

Another bite of burger. Another fry. A sip of Coke to wash it down, even though that wasn’t supposed to be part of the burger ritual. She needed it so she didn’t choke.

There’d been no point in asking her dad about Drake. He hadn’t even been willing to let Shelley come out. Said his wife was too busy getting ready for the new baby to take on the responsibility of a sixteen-year-old.

And besides, their new house just had three bedrooms. His wife’s sewing room. Their bedroom. And the nursery.

Burger only half-gone, Shelley dropped it back on the plate, smashing french fries with her fork as she waited for the embarrassing moisture to clear from her eyes.