straight that they reminded Mary of the lined paper in Chaseâs EVEDINSE folder. A small church sat at practically every intersection. Mary noticed they were never Methodist or Catholic or Presbyterian congregations, but independent outposts of Christianity: Living God Chapel, Holy Spirit Meeting House, Mount Nebo Assembly.
âWhere do you go to church here?â Mary asked her small passenger as they drove along a four-lane locally known as Jackson Highway.
âDifferent places, and only at Christmas time,â said Chase. âMama has to work Sundays, and Gudger says all churches want is your money.â
Theyâd just passed a sign marking the city limits of Manley when Chase pointed to the right at an intersection with a blinking yellow light. âTurn here.â
Mary did as he directed. The road took them into what was apparently suburbia, for Campbell County. Modest houses sat far back from the road on plots too big to be mere yards, but too small for any real farming. The homes were well kept, with vegetable gardens and swing sets, tree houses and an occasional trampoline. They went on for several miles, then, as Mary turned around a wide curve, she noticed that Chase was clutching the door handle, his brows knotted in a frown.
âI can get out here,â he told her. âItâs close enough.â
âHow far away is your house?â Mary asked.
âI donât know ⦠maybe a mile.â
âThatâs no problem.â Mary kept going. The boy leaned forward in the seat, now biting his lower lip. As they crested a small rise, Mary saw a man raking out a ditch beside a mailbox that was bedecked in yellow ribbonsâthe old symbol of someone waiting for a loved oneâs return.
âOh no!â the boy cried. Quickly, he lifted Maryâs suitcase to hide his face. âGudgerâs out by the mailbox!â he whispered. âI canât let him see me.â He looked over at her, pleading. âPlease just drive on byâand drive fast!â
Mary started to tell him that Gudger would probably be relieved that he was home and safe, but then she saw the look of utter terror on the boyâs face. âYou got it,â she said softly. âHang on.â
She pulled her baseball cap lower on her head and downshifted into third gear. The little car whined as she pushed it up to sixty, then shifted into fourth. Easing over into the middle of the road, they tore by the beribboned mailbox. As they passed, a fiftyish-looking man with a dark moustache and a bad combover jumped back from the road and shook his rake at them. She watched in the rearview mirror as he yelled something, his mouth square with anger.
A mile past the mailbox, she slowed down. âYou can sit up now,â she told Chase.
âDid he see me?â the boyâs voice trembled.
âNah. He was too busy yelling at me.â She pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store and stopped the car. âWhatâs the deal here?â She turned to the boy, her tone serious. âWhat would that guy have done if Iâd pulled up and let you out of the car?â
Chase shuddered. âHeâd have been awfully mad.â
âWould he have hit you?â
The boy looked down. âNo. Heâs too sneaky for that. Heâd have gotten even in different ways.â
âLike how?â pressed Mary.
He started to speak, then it seemed that a kind of shutter came over his face. âIt doesnât matter. Gudger isnât so bad ⦠he just gets mad when he thinks things are out of control.â
Mary sighed. Sheâd seen this behavior before, back when her case log was full of domestic abuse cases. Kids would show up with broken ribs or cigarette burns on their legs and still insist that life with their abusive mom or dad was just peachy. Sheâd finally realized that the lousy parents they had were always preferable to the worse parent they might
David Levithan, Rachel Cohn