Say a Little Prayer(67)

“I would have,” I say. “I should have been there. I should have stopped it.”

“Don’t. That wasn’t your fault, Riley. None of this is your fault.”

But some dark, twisted part of me still thinks it is. I bite my lip as a fresh wave of tears threatens to choke me. “I was supposed to be there for you,” I whisper. “I’m supposed to be your rock.”

“Says who?”

“Mom,” I say. “Everyone.”

“Well, that’s not fair.” Hannah pulls away from me, just enough to spread her arms. “Do I look breakable to you? Seriously, Riley. Is there something I’m missing?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s what she meant.”

“I know what she meant. I know what she’s trying to do, but I’m fine. I don’t regret any of the choices I made, and the fact that you and Mom keep blaming yourselves for not being able to protect me is, frankly, insulting.”

She glares at me over the pillow, and for the first time in months, I think she might be right. I’ve been treating her like something delicate, trying to piece her life back together as best I can, but Hannah has never been weak. I nod, swallowing back tears as the knot in my chest finally starts to loosen.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just really wanted you to be okay.”

Hannah’s gaze softens. “Has it ever occurred to you that I think the same thing about you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m obviously, like, extremely fine and stable.”

“Right,” Hannah says. “Totally. So, what are you crying about, again?”

I don’t even know, at this point. I let out a choked laugh and for a minute, we just sit there, pressed together in the corner of my bed. Eventually, I sigh and swipe the back of my hand across my face. “I hate that I still miss it, you know,” I whisper. “Pleasant Hills, I mean. Isn’t that weird?”

Hannah shakes her head. “No. I miss it, too. Mostly the little things, like hearing Patty Perkins sing ‘O Holy Night’ on Christmas Eve or the really good soap in the women’s bathroom.”

“Or that room behind the treasurer’s office where we found that Playboy collection,” I add. “Or the powdered donuts they serve before Bible study.”

“Oh my god.” Hannah laughs. “What did they put in those?”

“Salvation, probably.” I take a deep, steadying breath and look up at the ceiling. “Do you still believe in God?”

Her answer is immediate. “Of course.”

“How?”

“Well, realizing that Pleasant Hills Baptist Church doesn’t have a monopoly on the Christian faith was a big part of it.” Hannah leans back on her elbows. “I like the idea that we’re not alone. I think it’s better to assume the best and treat people well than worry about Pastor Young’s arbitrary rules for skipping hell.”

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “It’s that easy?”

“No, of course not. I really hate what that place has become, but I like to think it’s not everything.”

It’s so similar to what Julia said yesterday that I wonder if the two of them have discussed this before, if they’ve been finding ways to help each other through, a little at a time. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to unwind the concept of faith from the way Pastor Young preaches it. The two are so intertwined that I wouldn’t know where to start, but Hannah, like usual, is already several steps ahead.

There’s a knock on my door, and I look up to find Mom hovering in the doorway. I straighten, hurriedly wiping the tears from my face, but she makes no move to cross the threshold.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But you have a visitor downstairs.”

Her voice is carefully neutral, but her jaw is tense, like she’s pushing the words through gritted teeth. My brow furrows. “Who?”

“Amanda Clarke.”

Hannah stiffens beside me. I groan and slide off the bed. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”

Mom shakes her head. “She says she’s here for Hannah, actually.”

“She’s—” I blink, instantly suspicious. “Why?”

“Excellent question.” Mom looks like she’s about three seconds away from busting through the floor and taking Amanda out herself. “You don’t have to,” she says as Hannah sits up on my bed. “Trust me, I’m more than willing to say you’re not here and send her home.”

Hannah shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll see her.” She stands and offers me a small smile. “Assume the best, right?”

I swallow over a sound of protest and strongly suspect Mom is doing the same. She watches Hannah walk downstairs before shaking her head and muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “too nice.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe Hannah is about to get her heart broken by the same girl who’d ripped it out in the first place. Maybe everything Amanda told me this week had been a lie.

I think it’s better to assume the best and treat people well than worry about Pastor Young’s arbitrary rules for skipping hell.

I haul my suitcase onto my bed and start unpacking. It would have been nice if just one member of the Pleasant Hills congregation had thought that way about me. If they’d smiled and assumed the best and held out a hand when the loneliness turned insurmountable. Things might have been different.