Love & Devotion Read online

  “Come with me next weekend.” Emma barely whispered the words, her mouth so close her breath tickled KC’s ear. Her frustrated libido didn’t need this kind of encouragement in the middle of a sermon.

  KC wished they were still singing. At least then she’d be able to tip the songbook up in front of her mouth when she responded. “Where?”

  “Austin.” Emma had designs on moving away from Fairmont to a place where minds were a little more open and gossiping mouths a little more closed. She’d been on the receiving end one too many times to appreciate the local grapevine. Why didn’t Emma look toward California, like LA, where anything went, or San Francisco, where gay was practically required? Or maybe the Northwest, like Seattle or Portland, where weird was normal, with its free-flowing stream of marijuana smoke? Or even east to New Orleans, where morality took a backseat to twenty-four-hour, all-day, everyday debauchery. With the exception of her four years devoted to higher education at UNLV, Emma’s dreams had never stretched past the Texas border, so Austin was her only real choice.

  KC loved Austin, with its burgeoning music scene and influx of liberal idealism. “I’m not sure,” she said. She and Lonnie were sort of supposed to have plans. Maybe. If Lonnie could get away. “I’ll let you know?”

  Emma gazed at her, her face tilted, eyes thoughtful. This wasn’t the first time KC had put her off, and Emma was obviously trying to decide if she should call KC on it. KC hoped she decided against it.

  The pastor banged his hand against the pulpit, his open palm a gunshot against the lectern. It ricocheted through the church, bouncing off stained glass, brick, and drywall with a force like thunder. KC sat up straight, focusing her eyes front. He had her attention. She leaned forward slightly to see what he intended to do with it.

  “Make your commitment to God. Right here, right now, on this Sunday morning.” The choir started a low, encouraging hum behind him. “God is patient. He loves you, and He is ready for you to come home to Him.”

  People stood, arms raised in salutation to the Lord. KC waffled on joining them. Power in the blood she wasn’t too sure about, but their preacher was a convincing motivational speaker. And when his gaze briefly landed on her, she gathered herself to stand. Emma’s hand on her arm stopped her and the pastor’s eyes moved to the next person.

  “What are you doing?” Emma said, her voice too loud to be considered a whisper.

  And she was right to question KC. All too often, in many different settings, she got wrapped up in the excitement of the moment and forgot herself. The only thing she ever truly worshipped was the glory of a naked woman wrapped around her fingers. Emma was a good friend to remind her.

  “Nothing.” KC smiled at her mama. Even if she hadn’t heard Emma across the church, she always had one eye on each of her children. By KC’s math, her mama had at least three eyes, and the count grew as her children started giving her grandchildren. She’d no doubt picked up on the commotion.

  “I’m okay now.” KC liked that she got swept away, like all true romantics. She just wasn’t always sure how to explain her reaction to other people. Emma understood without KC having to break it down.

  The preacher concluded his sermon, and the choir resumed their singing. KC and Emma stood to sing along. She was allowed to take to her feet now as the requisite Sunday-morning church service drew to an end with the final song selection. No one would think she was declaring her devotion, so she raised her voice with gusto.

  She loved to sing. Her voice did amazing things without her consent or encouragement. Her mama called it a gift. The choir director called it a squandered gift because she refused to join the choir and use it to exalt the glory of God. KC would happily sing any song he wanted so long as he didn’t insist on placing her on the risers between her mother and Lonnie. And that’s precisely where she’d end up, stacked between two women she wanted desperately to please. No doubt she’d forget herself and, in a moment of rapturous joy, she’d take liberties with Lonnie not meant to be taken in a church or in front of her mama.

  No, KC belonged safely in the congregation, next to Emma, where she could sing to her heart’s content without risk of town-wide scandal.

  With the service concluded, KC ushered Emma out the side door before the pastor could set up sentry at the exits. She needed to move her car pronto and couldn’t afford the delay of after-church niceties.

  Emma lit a cigarette as soon as she cleared the landscaping. She didn’t smoke often—only when stressed or intoxicated. KC hadn’t noticed signs of the latter during the service so reckoned church did what church always did to Emma—stressed her out.

  Emma was a woman out of time with her circumstances. She looked as though someone had clipped her out of a fashion magazine and dropped her in the middle of Texas. Not that Emma had any clue how devastatingly beautiful she was. If asked, she’d say she was passable. In truth, she made most folks, including KC, forget how to breathe. Her features were so flawless the argument could be made that she’d been carved rather than born and raised like the rest of them. When they were little, KC was a never-ending parade of scratched elbows and bruised knees. Emma made it through all their escapades without a mark. KC was bundled trouble and Emma was flowing elegance. On a good day, KC managed a braid down her back. On a very good day, she’d plan ahead enough to convince someone else to French-braid it for her. Emma, on the other hand, had long blond hair that she swept up into classic styles. KC’s hair was brown and reminded her of a chestnut mare her family once had. Emma’s hair was spun sunshine—light and beauty. Physically, they were opposites.

  “You worry too much.” KC paused to give Emma a brief hug. God forbid the day she couldn’t spare enough time to comfort her best friend. Without the occasional intervening hug, Emma’s smoking would rival a factory smokestack.

  “I’m fine, KC.” Emma held her cigarette away from KC’s body, resulting in an awkward one-armed hug.

  KC wanted to maintain contact for a little longer and caught Emma’s free hand before she could retract it completely. She held it loosely as they crossed the parking lot. Emma stiffened slightly, but didn’t pull away. She did, however, redouble her efforts to cloud the air. KC wasn’t at all sure what was bothering Emma, and since Emma wasn’t forthcoming, KC guessed.

  “You’re giving those guys too much credit. They don’t know what happens in the afterlife any more than you do. Hell, they don’t even know for sure if there is an afterlife.” KC leaned against the hood of her car, still holding Emma’s hand. She wasn’t in such a hurry to move the Accord now, since Emma was allowing physical contact in a potentially public place. The possible scandal of two girls in love in small town Texas, true or not, kept Emma upright and contained. She didn’t hold hands and she didn’t kiss. Hell, she didn’t even allow her glance to linger too long in places the gentry deemed it shouldn’t. Emma dated plenty, but did so privately to avoid speculation. KC was being far too bold and forward and she knew it. But this was Emma, her best friend. And if the town folks were still looking for a lesbian scandal from the two of them, then KC couldn’t help them. She’d resigned herself to Emma only ever seeing her as a friend, nothing more. The rest of town would eventually pick up on that.

  Besides, the parking lot was still empty of human traffic. The other worshipers were no doubt caught up in the bottleneck of farewell wishes at the exit.

  “Don’t be crazy, KC. I’m not worried about the Eternal Hereafter. I have enough to keep me busy here on the mortal plane.” Emma flicked her burned-down Camel menthol onto the blacktop and stomped it out while reaching for her pack. She slipped her hand out of KC’s and lit another cigarette.

  “If you’d talk to me, maybe you wouldn’t need to chain-smoke half a pack in the church parking lot.” KC gestured at the fresh cigarette, Emma’s lighter poised with the flame a breath away from the tobacco tip.

  She glared at KC and touched the flame home while inhaling deeply. “These calm my nerves.” She blew a black stream up and aw
ay from KC’s face. “You should try it some time. Keep you from making an ass out of yourself in the middle of church.”

  KC laughed. “You worry enough about that for both of us. If you weren’t there, I’d declare my devotion for the moment and my mama would praise Jesus that I’d changed my wicked ways.” And KC would be okay with that. She didn’t mind chasing her impulses wherever they led.

  Emma grunted and took another drag.

  “Are you coming over for dinner?”

  Emma cocked her head to the side, considering KC’s question, then countered with one of her own. “Who’ll be there besides family?”

  KC hesitated. Emma was smart. The less she mentioned Lonnie, the better. Still, best not let Emma catch her leaving stuff out, either. “The Truvalls. You should come.”

  “I’ll meet up with you later.” Emma surveyed the parking lot and spotted the choir director’s wife at the same time as KC. “Best get going.” She turned toward her own car.

  “Emma?” KC paused, one leg inside the open driver’s side door. “I love you, okay?”

  Emma took a breath, one not laden with blue-gray tobacco smoke, held it for a moment, then released it in a whoosh. “Yeah, I know.” She climbed inside her car, leaving KC talking to no one.

  It was time to get home.

  *

  Just like the parking lot at Front Street Baptist, the driveway at her parents’ house was full when KC arrived. Now she’d hear from her mama about being late twice in one day. She should have come straight here after church instead of detouring past her own house to change her clothes and collect her thoughts. She hated being rushed as much as her mama hated her being late. It frazzled her nerves.

  “Kimberly Carter Hall.” KC’s mama managed her household and her children with swift and immediate consequences. She had to be losing her touch, however, because KC made it halfway up the driveway before Mama caught her. “What have I told you about being late?”

  KC’s full name, like that of her sisters, fit a theme. Her oldest sister was Kendall Truman, she was called Kimberly Carter, and the baby of the family was Katrina Kennedy. Using the various presidents’ names and the K’s in a row made her mama happy, but all they did for anyone who grew up outside of Fairmont was confuse them during introductions. At least her name could be shortened conveniently to KC. And it was an extra blessing that her mama was a Democrat. Otherwise she’d have been named Bush instead of Carter. She’d rather her namesake be a philanthropist than a puppet.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I lost track of time.”

  When KC had entered college and left Fairmont for Seattle, she’d tried addressing her mother as Mom rather than Mama. She argued that if she was grown enough to live two time zones away, she was grown enough to call her mama Mom. Mama was a term for babies. KC’s mama offered to pull her out of hippie-town and back to the bosom of her proper Texas upbringing. KC hadn’t argued the point since.

  “What am I going to do with you?” She ushered KC into the house. “First you’re late for church, now you’re late for Sunday dinner. We’ve been holding it on your account.”

  That really meant the food had just finished cooking, but KC was last to arrive so she needed to display some proper guilt for her bad manners. She apologized to the group as a whole, because when her family got together, it was one hell of a large, hungry group, and she truly was sorry to be the one standing between them and their food. She scooped up one of the babies from the floor and offered his chubby cheeks slobbery kisses and placating apologies before flying him into the arms of her sister. He giggled during the flight.

  Her older sister, Kendall, gave KC a one-armed hug with the baby squished between them. “Thank God you’re here. Mama was working up a proper fit. Daddy was fixing to load the tranquilizer gun.”

  KC knew it was a bad idea when she laughed, but she did it anyway.

  “It’s no joking matter, young lady.” Lonnie sat perched on the arm of the easy chair, her right arm draped around her husband’s shoulder. She sipped from a highball glass of whiskey. “It’s no small thing to make your mama wait like that.” She raised her eyebrow, daring KC to argue otherwise. Lonnie was a true Texas beauty queen, two decades removed from her competing days. Her hair was as blond as early wheat, but not nearly as natural or wild. Her style, along with the color, was the result of a standing weekly appointment at the local hairdresser’s. KC’s mama, along with several other members of the choir, kept the same schedule.

  “Yes, ma’am. I apologize.” KC tried her best to look somber, but mostly she was feeling lustful. Lonnie in her Sunday best, sipping Jack Daniel’s, was a perfect contradiction—angel and devil. Lonnie didn’t see it like that. She was simply living her life, and God and whiskey were the way of things in East Texas. Regardless, KC wanted to taste Lonnie’s lips, to lick the residue from her tongue.

  It was the right kind of late spring day for dining outside, so her father had set up a long table in the backyard. It was made with a series of sawhorses and thick pieces of plywood, draped with white linen. KC helped carry dishes down the back steps. Since she was little, it’d been her job to set the table. She often wondered what they’d done during the six years she was away at college. Did they all stare longingly at the plates, praying they would miraculously find their way from cupboard to table? More than likely Katrina, the baby of the family, inherited the job.

  When they were all seated, no small feat with that many butts to get into chairs, her daddy surveyed the table, pausing at each of his girls. He stopped at KC. “I think, given your questionable timing today, it would be right for you to offer thanks.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” Penance for being late was saying grace before the meal. She bowed her head and tried to come up with suitably pious thoughts that didn’t involve worshipping Lonnie’s belly button and below.

  “Heavenly Father,” if nothing else, she knew the proper beginning to a prayer, “thank you for the food we are about to eat. Thank you for giving us a happy, healthy family and allowing us to come together in your name today. Please be with those in need of your grace.” KC knew she would be on that list if her mama had anything to say about it. It was time to wrap things up. She went for short and sweet. “In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen.” A chorus sounded around the table, followed by a commotion of epic proportions as hands flew out in every direction to nab some food before the opportunity closed.

  “That was a lovely prayer, KC.” Her mama’s smile was the first one she’d been blessed with all day. “Now tell us what was so important this morning that it had you arriving late to church.”

  “Yes.” Lonnie scooped mashed potatoes onto her husband’s plate and greens onto her own. “Do tell what kept you.” There was that eyebrow again, daring KC to say the wrong thing. Tell the truth and suffer immediate consequences, not the least of which would be banishment from the Promised Land between Lonnie’s thighs. Tell a lie and Lonnie would no doubt punish her later for her dishonesty.

  “Well,” KC focused on buttering her dinner roll, “it’s a busy time of year for work.” She glanced away from the butter for a moment to see several nodding heads. She purposefully excluded Lonnie from her survey. “I was prepping finals and lost track of time.” KC taught literature and English to eighth-grade students through an online home-school program. It granted her a flexible schedule but a heavy workload.

  That satisfied her family and she was free to watch Lonnie eat, a rare pleasure she didn’t often get to enjoy. Lonnie lived like a Botticelli come to life, a guileless beauty who maintained an air of innocence even while opening herself to debauchery. Simple acts of day-to-day living, like lifting her fork from the plate to her mouth, were graceful art to behold. She didn’t acknowledge KC, but Lonnie knew she was being watched. And she was performing for her lover.

  Before KC knew it, her family was finishing up and she still sat with a full plate.

  “What’s a matter, KC? Not hungry?” her older si
ster, Kendall, asked. Her plate was mostly full as well. She held her baby boy, Winston, on her lap and he was well fed on his grandma’s mashed potatoes and gravy.

  Kendall was the spy of the family, forever watching closer than she let on. When they were younger, she even had her very own notebook where she wrote down her observations, just like her hero, Harriett the Spy. Kendall scooped another spoonful of potatoes into Winston’s mouth, glanced briefly at Lonnie, then back at KC. She smiled. A challenge between sisters.

  KC placed her fork carefully on her plate. “I’m sorry, Mama, but Kendall’s right. I ate my fill for breakfast.” She forced her eyes to remain on her mama and not slide to the right, where Lonnie was no doubt smiling as she ate her salad. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll just package this and take it home with me. I can heat it up for supper.”

  Kendall wasn’t sitting close enough to kick under the table, and KC had learned long ago not to stick out her tongue at the dinner table. Her mama was mostly bluster, but there were some things she would not tolerate. Tardiness and bad manners at the table were both on the list. KC waited until her mama excused her, then nudged her sister’s chair slightly with her hip as she passed on the way to the kitchen with her plate. It was sorry retribution, but the best KC could do at the moment.

  She needed to figure out what Kendall knew. Did she see KC staring at Lonnie and assume KC had a schoolgirl crush? Or did she know more? KC was deep in thought when she hit the screen door that separated kitchen from back porch and didn’t realize someone else was in the kitchen until she was halfway to the sink.

  “Let go.” Katrina, the youngest of the Hall sisters, spoke with a low, shaky voice. She was pressed up against the kitchen counter with her hands against her husband’s chest.