You Lost Us In The Test novel · Chapter 22 of 24

Chapter 22: Terms

My mother didn't come toward me.

She stayed at the end of the rail with her hands folded over her purse.

"Brody told me which flight," she said. "Don't be angry at him. I begged."

"I'm not angry at him."

"I'm not here to see the baby. I know the rules." She swallowed. "I'm here to ask you for one thing. And then I'll go."

"What thing?"

"Sunday. Ten-thirty. The fellowship hall at church, after the service." Her voice wobbled. "Will you come?"

"Why would I come to your church?"

"Because that's where I told them you weren't well."

I stared at her.

"Sixty-five of them prayed for you," she said. "Because of me. They should hear it from me. In front of you, so you know I didn't change it."

The customs doors slid open.

Benedict came through them with one bag over his shoulder and his glasses on his head.

He saw my sign. He saw my face.

Then he saw my mother.

He walked over and stood beside me without a word.

My mother looked up at him. A long way up.

"You're Benedict," she said.

"I am."

"You held her hand. Brody said. All night."

"I did."

She nodded. Her chin was shaking.

"Thank you," she said. "That should have been me, and it was you, and thank you."

Benedict looked at me.

I let the silence go on a long time.

"Ten-thirty," I said. "I'm not promising anything."

On Sunday the fellowship hall smelled like burnt coffee and lemon bars.

Fifty women in good cardigans stood around the long tables with paper cups.

I knew half of them. They'd taught me Sunday school.

They went quiet when I walked in with June in her sling and Benedict behind me.

My mother was standing at the front by the piano.

She didn't wait for them to sit down.

"I need to tell you something," she said. "In March I asked you to pray for my daughter. I told you she wasn't well."

Somebody set a cup down.

"She was well. I was the one who wasn't. I sold my own daughter out for my son's sake. Then I sold her warning for twenty thousand dollars."

A woman near the coffee urn put her hand over her mouth.

"I lied to every one of you," my mother said. "And you prayed for the wrong person."

She turned to me.

"I'm sorry, Deanna. Not for getting caught. For doing it."

The hall was absolutely silent.

"I sold the house on Beechwood," she said, to me, but loud. "Brody's investors got their checks on Friday. Every cent. I'm in a one-bedroom on Murray now. It's fine. It's more than I need."

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