The Favour. Megan Hart

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      ONE

      HOME ISN’T ALWAYS the place you go because they have to take you in.

      Sometimes, Janelle Decker thought as she crested the hill and took that final slope toward the town she hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years, home was the place you couldn’t escape no matter how far or fast you ran. Her battered Volkswagen Rabbit pickup, which had seen better days, but so far, thank God, not many worse, drifted to a stop at the traffic light. She didn’t remember the fast-food restaurant to her right or, just a bit farther, the pair of hotels on the hill to her left, but she remembered the small white building beside them. Decker’s Chapel, one of the tiniest churches in the country.

      “Look, Bennett. Over there.” Janelle craned her neck to stare into the backseat, where her son was bent over his new toy, the iPad her mother had bought him for his birthday. In seconds the light would turn green, and it had somehow become imperative she show him this sight. “Bennett. Hey. Hello!”

      The boy looked up through a shock of red-blond bangs that fell over bright green eyes. His dad’s eyes, though Connor’s gaze had never, in Janelle’s recollection, been as bright and clear and curious as her son’s. Bennett looked out the window to where she pointed.

      “See that little church?”

      “Yeah.”

      Janelle eased her foot off the brake and pressed the cranky clutch, hoping for the sake of the half dozen cars lined up behind her that the truck wouldn’t stall. “One of my great-great-grand-relatives built that church.”

      “Really? Cool.” Bennett sounded underwhelmed. “Are we almost there?”

      “Another five minutes, buddy. That’s all.” On impulse, instead of continuing on along the incongruously named Million Dollar Highway into town toward her grandmother’s house, the end point of this seemingly endless trip, Janelle put on her left turn signal.

      If there’d been traffic heading toward her she might not have bothered, but the only traffic on the road was heading into town, not away from it. That seemed somehow meaningful, but she didn’t let herself dwell on that. Instead, she turned into the gravel-gritty drive that serviced the two hotels as well as the chapel. She parked and stared through the windshield.

      Her arms ache from where he grabbed her, the bruises still so fresh they’ve barely darkened, though they will. She’ll wear them for weeks. Her hands on the wheel, gripping so tight her fingers hurt from it. Foot on the gas, foot on the clutch, the Rabbit truck bucks and sputters as she guides it to the side of the road. The parking lot of this tiny church is empty, thank God. There’s nobody to see her press her face against her hands, nobody to watch her break apart.

      Nobody to watch her leaving.

      “I thought we were going to Nan’s house.”

      “In a few minutes.”

      Bennett, her get-along-guy, her complacent child, let out a long, stuttering sigh of irritation. Janelle didn’t blame him. They’d been driving for hours with no more than a quick pit stop. Before that, other than the week they’d spent at her mom’s, they’d been on the road for what felt like forever.

      “I want to go into this church, okay? Really fast.” Janelle looked into the rearview mirror. “Want to come in with me? Let me rephrase that. Come in with me.”

      Her son looked a lot like his absent father, and that she understood. Genetics and all that. But sometimes the kid acted just like his dad, too, and that always floored her, since she and Connor O’Hara had been finished before he even knew the night the condom broke hadn’t turned out to be, as he’d so valiantly and foolishly promised her, “okay.”

      “It’ll be cool,” she told Bennett. “Really. And if it’s not, you can add it to the list of things I’ve done to permanently scar you.”

      This earned a small smile. “Okay. But I have to pee real bad.”

      “Hold it just a little longer. Can you?”

      “I guess so.” Bennett made a face that said he wasn’t convinced.

      She’d never actually been inside the chapel. Built of white clapboard with a miniature bell tower and a single door in the front with a wooden ramp leading up to it, the chapel really was tiny. It had been built in the 1800s; she remembered that much.

      Janelle got out of the truck, snagging her keys from the ignition, but not bothering to actually lock the vehicle. They were in St. Marys, after all. Secluded, isolated, ninety-nine percent Catholic of the “attend Mass daily” variety. And they were going inside for just a minute or two, the way she’d promised. She couldn’t tell if her heart raced because of daring to leave her vehicle unlocked with all her worldly belongings inside, or for a slew of other reasons that had been plaguing her for the past few months, since she’d made the decision to come back.

      The chapel was unheated. Bennett danced from foot to foot, having, of course, forgone his brand-new, heavy winter coat. Janelle herself blew a plume of frost on her fingers and rubbed her hands together to warm them as she walked slowly around the wooden kneelers, an altar and a votive display at the back, no candles burning. She thought about dropping a dollar in the slot and lighting one, if only for the brief flare of warmth it would offer, but she hadn’t brought her purse inside and her pockets were lamentably empty.

      “Do people get married here?”

      “I don’t know. I guess they could.” Janelle looked at the map on the wall and the framed documents telling the Decker’s Chapel history.

      “Would you?”

      She laughed. “Um...no.”

      “How come? If you think it’s so cool and all that.” Bennett ran a finger along one of the half-size kneelers and gave her an innocent look that didn’t fool her for a second, because she’d seen it in her own reflection more than once.

      Janelle rolled her eyes. “C’mon. Let’s go. I’m freezing.”

      Back in the car, buckled up tight, she once again looked at her son in the rearview СКАЧАТЬ