Page 53 of Jensen

“But church? You’re not religious, Jen.”

I turn, halfway out the door. “Can you stop calling me that? It’s Jensen.”

Her jaw drops, and right away, I feel terrible. Closing the door, I take her by the shoulders and kiss her forehead. She melts against my chest. I soothe her, rubbing between her shoulder blades.

“Sorry, I’m just stressed with work,” I say. “But I do have to go. I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

She nods, giving me a weak smile as I leave the room. I’m not stressed about work—in fact, it’s going incredibly well.

Everything is perfect, except for Holly.

I regret that day on the kitchen floor. At night, after we sleep together, I lie awake and turn the same question over in my head. Why? Why did I sleep with her in the first place? But I don’t know the answer—I think I’m in too deep to figure it out.

Downstairs, I unplug from worrying about Holly. Brothers stands on the front porch in his best suit, waiting. I step out, and he puts a hand on my shoulder, looking me up and down.

“You look good, Jen,” he says. “Ready to hit the road?”

I nod. “Let’s go.”

We do this every Sunday morning. Brothers is part of a Baptist church between Lexington and Byway, has been since he was a boy, according to him. We head down, attend the service, rub elbows with the people there. Then, we go out and have lunch with his business associates.

After that, if it’s racing season, we drive all the way up to Keeneland and have dinner and do business. Brothers calls Sunday his networking day. He starts with God, then moves onto the seersucker bourgeoisie.

“God, then money,” he always says. Then, he narrows his eyes, a sly smile on his face. “And by Monday, it's right back to bourbon and beautiful women.”

Today is a perfect day. It’s warm but not too hot. The sky is clear blue, and the bluegrass is waving in the breeze. We get to churchwith a few minutes to spare, and Brothers and I sit in his pew up front. The service starts, but for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about my conversation with Holly this morning.

I don’t think we’re working out.

And that hurts.

I look up at the plain cross on the wall. I’m not religious or spiritual, but I envy the way Brothers’ face transfigures when he walks into the building. I glance sideways. He’s gazing at nothing, totally relaxed. At first, I thought it was a joke that he goes to church. He’s an organized crime lord, essentially. But then, I realized there are no easy answers when it comes to Brothers Boyd.

My mind stays right with Holly. It keeps drifting to what we did last night. Then, I feel kind of guilty, because what if God is real, and here I am, thinking about bondage and sadism at eleven thirty on a Sunday morning? In His house too.

I give my head a shake.

“You good, Jen?” Brothers leans in.

I nod. “Yeah, all good.”

I gather everything up and shove it down, hard. The service ends, and I float through, shaking hands with everybody I know. Then, I follow Brothers out to the cemetery around the side of the church. He’s got two second cousins buried there, everyone else is in his family cemetery. We’re both quiet as he walks beneath the willow tree, looking down at the headstones.

“You never told me where your mother is buried,” he says.

“She was cremated,” I say. “It was cheapest.”

“Where did you spread her ashes?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t. They’re in Cherry’s house.”

“Oh, like a memorial urn?”

“No, she’s in a Tupperware container in the crawl space.”

He swings his gaze around. “Goddamn, Jen. Sometimes, you make me feel like my life was easy.”

I shrug—what am I supposed to say to that? Now that Brothers has provided me safety, I’ve had a lot of time to pick apart my life.I’m starting to realize I’m not a fortunate kid. I just never knew better than to be happy with the bare minimum.