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“Everyone, Dylan.” I blink back tears, unsure if they’re mine or his. “Who wouldn’t want to be there for you?”
“You mean -- who will be there for me because of the come to Jesus money? There’s an awful lot of power and prestige partnering up with a famous preacher’s prodigal son.”
Crap, he’s right. Who really will be there for Dylan because he’s lovely and amazing versus who will want to be with him because of God’s dazzling dollars?
“I told you the pretty story, not the shitty story.”
“What’s the shitty story?” I ask.
“I’m the black sheep of the family,” he says. “I didn’t fall in Dad’s footsteps. Didn’t take on the family business. I took the love of the game we played around a kitchen table to the next level and when my marriage tanked, I left town.”
Out of nowhere anger sparks like a brush fire in my chest. It starts small, burns faster, hotter, quickly out of control. It’s Dylan’s rage. It’s spitting lava, a volcano threatening to erupt. Its tentacles root deep down in this man but its branches are stuck in his throat in the form of words that need to be spoken. Words that must be spoken or screamed out loud.
“Home was stifling me. Home was killing me. But I tried,” he says, breaking away from me, pacing back and forth like a fighter gearing up for the big match in the ring. “I tried, I gave it my all, but then the shit hit the fan and I blew out of town, left the church. And now I find that there are only two places -- make that three -- that I call home anymore.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“A poker game. Hanging with Mom. And being with you. Home is three things and right now, two are dying.”
The cold wind blows through Dylan’s life and I shiver. Can I help him? Can I save him? “You don’t know that. Not about your mom. Not about the game.”
“What about you, Evie?” He trains those blue eyes on me.
“I came here for you, Dylan,” I say. “I’m just here for you.”
“Then stay the weekend.”
“Yes.” I don’t even draw a breath. “Absolutely yes.”
***
15
God’s Money
GOD’S MONEY
I sit in the back seat of Patrick’s enormous, red, shiny pick-up truck as we blow past the Lighthouse Cathedral on the way to the family’s spread. The cathedral is Je-fricking-enormous, bright, and shiny under cobalt blue Texas skies surrounded by black topped parking lots that take up more real estate than the ones surrounding football stadiums. If I were God, I’d dress up in my finest suit, slick back my hair, and shave twice before I walked into this place – it’s intimidating.
I text Amelia.
Evie: Plans changed. I’m staying through Sunday. Medical emergency.
Amelia: You okay?
Evie: Yes. Not me.
Amelia: Good.
Evie: If you wouldn’t mind, could you check my place?
Amelia: No problem. I’ll take Victoria with me in case creepy stalker Fan is there.
Evie: Don’t say that.
Evie: Take a guy.
Evie: A big guy. You’ve got a set of keys, right?
