Buried Secrets

Chapter 1: Caught We’re lying together in my bed. The August sun slants through the blinds and Taylor opens her eyes. I smile at her, and reach a hand to her warm cheek. I can see by the question blazing across her face that she’s frightened after what we did last night. “It’s okay, Tay—really. It’ll be okay,” I whisper. Taylor moves her head in my out-stretched hand like a snuggly kitten. I feel some of my own fear subside. We’ve both wanted this for what seems like forever. I want to take the time to just lie there together in comfort. Still, my mom’s text from yesterday haunts my conscious mind: be home sometime tomorrow afternoon. Does that mean noon, dinner time, or something in between? I imagine Taylor is thinking the same thing. Still, she moves closer, so our bodies are touching. The feel of her skin on mine is intoxicating. Then Tay tenses, her body still and listening. “Em, did you hear something?” “No—I don’t think so. Like what?” I honestly hadn’t heard anything except the pounding of my heart in my ears. We look at each other, hands clasped over the quilt. It’s not her imagination. There’s a sound of movement from the entry way. I start to get out of bed, but then remember I only have on panties. Maybe I’m better off staying put. Maybe Mom won’t even realize I’m home and go put away her stuff first. Then there is the unmistakable sound of a suitcase landing on the tile floor. Footsteps coming toward my bedroom door. My heart drops through my stomach. My cat, Mr. Strange, scuttles under the bed to hide. “Emelia?” my mom’s voice calls out. I look over at Tay. She looks like the sky has just fallen on the two of us. Pure panic. There’s absolutely no time to move far enough from where we now are to make this scene look innocent. We freeze. The shocked face of Andrea Behrends, elder of the Daytona Beach Southern Baptist congregation (and my mother), appears in the doorway of my bedroom. Seeing the anger, even hatred, in her eyes, I know the worst has happened.