Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
This time Reed’s grunt has a rough edge. More like a growl. “Does she do the same to your sister?”
“Not really. If she sends Lauryn pictures, they’re more likely to be pictures of my dad. He always did more stuff with Lauryn than with me—and she’s older, so there are more photos of them together. But my mom and Lauryn, they kind of…circle around each other. They don’t talk to each other much because they end up arguing, unless they’re reminiscing about my dad. And when my mom does talk to her about other things, she’s usually trying to push Lauryn into volunteering at MCS. Which, of course, is somewhere Lauryn would never go.”
“MCS,” Reed echoes, as if trying to place it. “That church school off Alder Road?”
“Yeah. Technically, a non-denominational Christian school. My mom began working there as one of the admin shortly after my dad was killed.”
“Your sister didn’t want to go to school there?”
“She was never given the option. Lauryn was already in the public school, and my mom decided it would be too upsetting for her to change. Now, of course—absolutely not. Lauryn won’t touch anything so closely related to any church. But I didn’t go there, either. I was only in second grade, so it wouldn’t have really mattered if I’d changed schools…but my mom didn’t think MCS offered the programs or facilities that I would need to reach my full potential. Not that she said so to anyone at the school who asked why we didn’t enroll. I think she told them something about making a promise to my dad that we’d attend schools in our own neighborhoods. She always did stuff like that—use my dad as the reason behind whatever decision she made, because it’s not as if anyone could verify the truth with him. As for the church part of it, my family didn’t go before my dad died, and Lauryn and I didn’t after.”
“Your mom got religious after he died?”
“Yes? No?” I shrug. “That’s the thing. If you ask anyone at that school, anyone—they will say she’s the perfect model of charity and faith. She’s nice to everyone, helps everyone. She gives so much of her time. And she does. She does. So it’s hard, it’s almost impossible to explain…it’s all fake.”
He makes a short, scoffing sound. As if once again, that’s the least surprising thing he’s heard. “It’s organized religion. In my experience, what they preach and what they do are two very different things.”
My experience is a little different. “I don’t have much use for it, myself. But I know of some people who are genuine—we get a lot of overlap between the local churches and Harris’s organization, and some of the people I meet truly, truly care. And MCS is on the more open-minded, welcoming end. No fire and brimstone and bigotry and misogyny. If there was, I honestly don’t think I could have put up with my mom at all. So it’s not like she wears a righteous face in public and spouts racism at home or something. She’s not fake in the sense that she only pretends to help the people in that community. It’s more like…the help she does is all for show. No one can really ever know what’s inside someone—”
“But you see something different than what other people do.”
I nod, my gaze on the road ahead. We’ve almost reached the hanging tree limb that hit him. “She volunteers for the school and puts on a smile…but at home, she complains about how much time she has to spend volunteering.”
“Because nobody else will?”
“Because nobody else can do it so well. So she feels obligated to do it. Otherwise it won’t be done right.”
Dryly Reed says, “And no one knows how she suffers.”
“Oh, Lauryn and I know. My mom repeats every compliment she gets, and will tell us every time she’s lauded—but more often, she’s upset because she hasn’t been complimented enough. They do thank her, she’s frequently celebrated within the community—but not as much as she feels is deserved. What more she wants, I’m not sure. But she thinks she deserves more. That’s what I mean when I say she’s fake. She doesn’t help people because it’s good to help, but because it makes people say good things about her. And I suspect the appearance of being good is far more important to her than the actual good being done. Because she sure as hell never put in any similar effort at home.”
“What do you mean by— No. Hold that thought. Let me get the saw.”
Because we’ve reached the branch. The broken part of the bough hangs almost vertically toward the road, like giant, bushy tail. Above our heads, the limb has split horizontally, and the broken end is still attached with a strip of what resembles a three-inch-thick tendon of fir.