Say a Little Prayer(70)

“Riley?”

I whirl to find Delaney making her way through the crowd. She’s wearing a bright yellow slip dress, her braids pulled back in a high bun. It’s a bright contrast to the rest of the congregation, and it takes me a minute to realize why it feels so strange. Because Delaney doesn’t attend Pleasant Hills. She’s probably here for the party, like me, and even though there are countless things I could say to her now, my first instinct, laughably, is to warn her about her bare shoulders. Someone’s going to have a problem with it. They’re going to offer her some passive-aggressive lost and found sweater or tell her to leave.

She comes to a stop in front of me, eyebrows lifted in hesitant curiosity. “I didn’t think you were coming today.”

“I’m not back,” I blurt.

“Okay?”

“No, I mean…” I squeeze my eyes shut. Excellent start. “I just meant that I’m here to see Julia. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Oh, right,” Delaney says. “I forgot you think I’m easy to trick.”

I wince at the memory of my prayer book notes, all the hurt pieces I’d tucked away. It’s not just Julia I need to talk to. “I’m sorry about that.”

“I know.” Delaney looks me up and down. “I’d probably be more annoyed if you weren’t so obvious about it.”

“Obvious?”

“Please, Riley.” She takes my arm and steers me toward the chapel. “All the writing in your prayer book when you thought no one was looking? All the times you casually-not-casually managed to do the exact opposite of what Gabe was trying to preach? You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, and neither is Julia.”

I look up, chest tightening at the sound of her name. “What do you mean?”

Delaney squeezes my shoulder, then pushes me down the main aisle. “Go. I just saw her walk in with Ben.”

It’s not an answer. It honestly just raises more questions I don’t have time to ask, but I keep moving as Delaney drops into a pew near the back. More people are staring now, eyes tracking me as I weave my way past them. It’s not until I reach the front that I finally spot Julia a few rows away, shuffling into a pew with her mother and Ben.

“Julia!” I practically throw myself across the aisle to reach her. “Wait!”

She whips around. Ben follows her gaze, and I watch their eyes widen in unison before Julia’s expression smooths.

“What are you doing?”

Her voice is a careful, respectable whisper, but it’s still enough to make Mrs. Young glance over her shoulder. She motions Julia forward, then does a double take when she sees me. “Riley!” she cries. “What a lovely surprise. How have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

I plaster on my best church-friendly smile and lie through my teeth. “Great! So good to see you, Mrs. Young.”

If it was anyone else, the conversation would have ended there, but Mrs. Young, unfortunately, is a goddamn delight. I’ve always thought so, and as her face splits into a grin, I think I might be stuck.

“I heard you all had a great week at camp,” she says. “I’m sorry it was cut short, but I hope you still managed to enjoy yourself.”

I wave a hand. “Oh, it was perfect. We had the best time, right, Julia?”

I risk a glance in her direction, but her face is carefully blank. “Sure did.”

“Do you think we should talk about the after-party, maybe? Before service starts?”

If she has any idea what I’m trying to say, she doesn’t show it. She just tucks her hair behind one ear and gives me a weak little half shrug. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

My heart sinks at the vague disinterest in her voice. “It won’t take long.”

“Sorry.” She steps around Ben and follows her mother into an empty pew. “I think we’re about to start.”

“Julia, I’m—”

The rest of my sentence falters as an organ blasts through the chapel. All around me, people rise to their feet, and I realize, with a sickening jolt, that I’m trapped in the pew behind her, three rows from the front with no way out.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

The voice in my ear is soft, familiar, and I turn to find Amanda Clarke standing at my other side, gaze fixed deliberately on the front. “What are you doing?” she asks.

I grit my teeth. “Nothing.”

“You look like you got dressed in the dark.”

“You look like a cupcake.”

It’s true. Amanda’s crochet top is roughly the same color and volume of a generously frosted strawberry cupcake. She lets out a soft, unexpected laugh, and when I steal a glance in her direction, I see her parents, standing stiff-backed and silent beside her. Mrs. Clarke shoots me a pointed glare, and I pull back, refocusing on the front as Amanda clears her throat.

Despite my time away, I know exactly how this service will go. I can practically predict the acolytes’ steps as they make their way down the aisle toward the array of candles. Pastor Young walks in last, striding toward the pulpit in his billowing white robe. He nods at a few people as he goes, but when he lays a hand on his wife’s shoulder, Julia’s gaze drops to her lap, like she doesn’t want to look at him either.