CHAPTER 4 - Rosie

E veryone in Disciple complains about the weekends because we have to work. And not only that, we have to work hard. But it's the kind of complaining one does when they feel tired and wish for some spare time, but aren't unhappy.

Even though I don't really play a regular part most years, I am not unsatisfied with my role in the Revival. I like being shuffled around in the casting of the show because I get different costumes, and new motivations, and most of the time I'm a plot booster. I'm the woman who points to Collin Creed and says, "There he is! That's him! The murderer, Collin Creed!"

And it's always a surprise because script changes are only doled out on a need-to-know basis. So there's lots of gasping, and amazed looks, and smiling, too. Because everyone knows it's fake, so they don't much care when I'm throwing a fit, making them the center of attention.

It's just a bit of fun. And there's nothing wrong with a bit of fun when you're workin' so hard.

As usual, Cross went in early for choir practice, so I leave the house by myself and head on up the hill. When I get to the Revival tent, I immediately go find my daddy and brothers to see if they need any help. My family is in charge of the entire frickin' tent, including the scaffolding and over-tent that pops out in inclement weather.

I find them all hanging out near the maintenance shed, which is near the river. I am the youngest of five, the only girl, and they baby me the way one might expect if one has four big brothers.

But they don't need any help and I am shooed out of the way and told to go on down to the tent.

Even after I got pregnant at fifteen, my family stood by me. My daddy was mad, my mama cried, and my brothers all wanted the name of the boy who did this to me. But they settled down once Cross appeared.

I never did give up that name, but not because I didn't have it. I knew exactly who that boy was and I was a very willing participant. I was a bit of a free spirit in my teenage years—which is a nice way to say ‘slut.' But whatever, it is what it is.

I liked him though, and had I given up his name, he would've been dead for certain instead of just presumed. His name was Erol Cross and he was two years older than me and wasn't even from the Trinity area, but lived in a little town about thirty miles down the river. He and his crew used to come into Revenant to party on the weekends in his senior year of high school. And that's where I met him. In the Bong Balls pool hall right there on D Street, across from McGills Tavern.

Erol and I were more than casual, we were planning a future together. I wasn't gonna keep him secret forever. That was not the plan. The plan was for me to have the baby and him to graduate high school and get a job to make him look serious and dedicated. Then we would both go to my parents and tell them we were getting married.

After that, he would move to Disciple, work his job during the week, and take part in the Revival on the weekends, just like most everyone else. He would've ended up working the tent with my brothers. Their hatred of him would've faded over time and by now, twelve years later, we would've forgotten all about how it started.

But that's not how it happened, obviously. Instead, Erol woke up early on his eighteenth birthday and went into the woods. He had a little side hustle trappin' beaver and it was the last day of the season, so he told me the night before that he was gonna go pick up his traps before the partying started.

He never came home.

They never found a body or anything.

Just… gone.

To say that I was devastated would be an understatement. I was eight and a half months pregnant and I went into labor in school the next week. My water broke in the cafeteria at lunchtime. In front of everyone.

But there wasn't much time to feel humiliated. There wasn't much time to feel anything but sad and terrified, really.

And then Cross was there—named after his daddy.

And from that day on, he was my life.

Today, as I sit in the tent waving my fan to stave off the heat, is another sad day for me. And I am feeling it quite sharply at the moment because the children's choir is singing and for the first time since he was three, Cross is not up there on the stage.

His voice started breaking a few weeks back and this morning the choir director, Mr. Bateman, decided that it was time for Cross to move on to something else. Since this departure was sudden, no one quite knew what to do with Cross this weekend, so he's working the tent with my daddy and brothers, wearing a last-minute hand-me-down costume, and I don't even know where he is right now.

The only thing I do know is that he's not on that stage so I have no one to look at.

But just as I'm thinking that I notice a movement stage left. The tent flap opens and there, of all people, is Amon Parrish. He scans the crowd like he's looking for someone. And then, unexpectedly, his eyes find mine and he smiles.

Now Amon Parrish was the boy everyone wanted to date in high school. Collin was too, but Collin was taken. Even before he hooked up with Lowyn, everyone knew he was in love with her, so no one was wastin' any time fantasizing about Collin Creed.

Amon was the biker-jacket-wearing-bad-boy to Collin's golden-boy-jock image. He looked like the lead singer of a rock band with that blond hair and blue eyes of his. Only he was always fit and muscular and didn't look like a drug addict. Every girl in high school had a fantasy starring Amon Parrish and since Amon wasn't a ‘goin' steady' kinda guy, most of them got to live it out. He's only gotten better with age, so I imagine he's had all kinds of exotic women over the last decade.

I, of course, never fantasized about Amon because I was younger and busy with my own real-life boy. But he's still smiling so… I smile back.

And there it is—an Amon Parrish fantasy flits through my mind. I see us kissing, and his hands going wild all over my body, and some wall sex suddenly appears. Which makes me blush, so I forcibly push the fantasy aside and come back to reality.

Why is he here? Did he come here for me?

Oh, it can't be. Amon Parrish has no business with me. We bump into each other around town and we chat every now and then, but nothing more.

Except he did invite me to go bowling with him last night, didn't he?

Just as I'm thinking this, he starts walking this direction. It's an unusual thing to do because we're in the middle of a sermon. So there is a rustle of clothing as everyone's head turns in unison to watch him do this, which causes Simon, our pastor, to stutter at the lectern.

Even if Amon is heading my way for a purpose, he's got no endgame because there are no empty chairs in my row. There are no empty chairs at all in the tent—it's a rule. If we're not sold out—and that's a rare occasion indeed—we fill those chairs up with townspeople.

He stops at the end of my row and sighs, knowing he's got no endgame, but willing to stick it out until the show is over, I guess. Because he settles against a post and starts paying attention to the words still spilling out of Simon's mouth.

There's a hushed murmur from the townspeople, all wondering what he is up to. But it calms down quickly because… well, it's Amon. Everyone knows he's a wild card, even if they did kinda forget over the years since he left.

And anyway, he doesn't make any more moves. Just appears to be enjoying the sermon.

I, on the other hand, am so distracted by his sudden appearance that I miss my next ‘amen.' And then I spend the next ten minutes running scenarios through my head about why he's here. Most of them comin' out on the sexy side of things.

Which is a fantasy for sure, because I'm not his type. At least I don't think I am.

When the show is over everyone gets up to leave, as do I, but Amon stays right where he is. Obviously waiting for me.

I make my way to the end of the row and stand before him, his eyes dancin' a little. "Amon."

"Rosie."

"Are you here for me?"

"I am."

"Oh. I see. Well. What can I do for you?"

"I asked you to go bowling last night."

"You did."

"You turned me down."

"That's right."

"Well, I was wondering if it was just bad timing or if it was me."

I let out a breath. "Why are you wondering that?"

"Why?" His eyebrows shoot up. "Because if it was bad timing, I'm gonna ask you again. But if you don't like me, I'll move on."

"That's very forthcoming of you."

"Thanks. I like to be forthcoming."

He's talking with a straight face, but I'm smiling pretty big right now. "Well, can I think about this a little bit?"

"Can you define ‘little bit?'"

I smile bigger. "You're flirtin' with me."

"Why does that surprise you? You flirt with everyone."

"Well, yeah. But that's me. You're… you."

"What are you saying? I'm not flirty?"

"Are you flirty?"

He smiles now. But he narrows his eyes too. "Should I ask again? Or should I move on?"

"If I say move on, will you truly move on? Or will you try again?"

His smile grows. "Try again."

"Then I'm gonna tell you to move on."

He nods, still smiling, then leans forward. "By the way, I read your little paper. Not the one you gave me, but the one from last week. My sisters had a copy."

"Oh, right. They do the Revival marketing and I'm part of the marketing now."

"I like it."

"Which part? The whole idea of it? Or just the vibe?"

"The writing."

I nearly giggle. "You like the ads ?"

"Yeah. I'm kinda jealous of Robust and Hearty because I like his taste in women. And I was thinking that the woman he described sounded a little bit like you."

I nearly guffaw. I manage to hold it in, but my cheeks get hot and I know I'm probably turning bright red. "You fancy a…" I pause to think back on what kind of partner Robust and Hearty was looking for. "A courageous and resilient woman who is ready to embrace the thrills and trials of a life less ordinary?"

Amon nods. "I do."

"Well." I pull myself together. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Amon Parrish. But I am not looking for a man at the moment. I am quite happy with my life as it is."

He nods at me. Pretends to take off an imaginary hat and bows a little. And even though he's not in costume—he's wearing his usual outfit of black tactical pants and black t-shirt—I picture him in one. "Well, then," he says. "I will leave you to your day. But I'll see ya around, Rosie Harlow."

I nod back. "See ya around, Amon Parrish."

He turns and walks out, not even looking back. But I'm not unhappy about that because he already told me that he's gonna try again.

I am being courted .

By Amon Parrish, of all people.

My role in today's Revival is tea-party participant in the garden party tent. Visitors can buy special tickets for a seat at the garden party tables. Four people to a table. Two are Disciple women and two are ticket-holding guests. That way we can all have a nice chat and get to know one another.

It's not required that the out-of-towners dress up in costume—not everybody can afford that. But it's pretty common that they do. On this afternoon our two guests are very period-appropriate and my assigned garden party tea partner is MaisieLee Roberts herself, the dressmaker of the aforementioned period-appropriate dresses.

MaisieLee rests both her elbows on the table, propping two fists under her chin as she leans forward in my direction. "So." She cocks her head at me. "What did Amon want?"

"Which one is Amon?" tea-party-participant number one asks.

"He's the handsome fella who interrupted church," tea-party-participant number two replies.

"Oh," the first one says. Then she nods, smiling. "I like him. He's cute."

MaisieLee butts in here. "Isn't he just. Are you datin' him, Rosie? Because last I heard you were datin' a Fayetteville man called Scar."

"Which one is Scar?" Number One asks her partner.

"I'm not sure," Number Two replies.

I wave a hand at the visitors. "He's no one." Then I look MaisieLee in the eyes. "We'll talk about this later."

But MaisieLee is ready for my dismissal and she's got a comeback. "Oh, I think we should talk about this now. Don't you ladies agree?"

The two guests nod enthusiastically. "We do. Oh, we do."

I could put up a little fight, but why bother when I can just lie? And anyway, it's not even lying when you're acting. And I am acting. Everything inside the tent grounds is fair game for acting. So I lean in towards our guests, which makes them lean in towards me in turn. "Amon and I were a thing, you see."

"Oh, really?" One says.

"Yes. For a long time. He's my true love, ya know? But he cheated on me." The guests gasp and MaisieLee snorts. "When I was pregnant, of all times."

"Oh, no!" Number Two says. "That's terrible!"

"Isn't it just?" I agree, giving MaisieLee a side-eye. "And that was twelve years ago. He left town for all that time, but now he's back trying to make amends. So I'm not sure, ladies. I gave him my heart once and he stepped all over it. Why should I trust him with it again?"

Two says, "Once a cheater, always a cheater."

And One says, "Never trust a man who leaves you high and dry." Then she gives me a stern look, kinda shaking her finger at me, and for a moment I think I'm about to get scolded. But she says, "A man who can't stand up is not a stand-up man."

Which confuses me, but comes off with too much confidence and a little bit too poetic for me to ask questions about interpretation. And anyway, MaisieLee is sighing and rolling her eyes, because the guests are firmly on my side now and she's not gonna get anything truthful out of me today about Amon. So I guess it doesn't matter that the little quote didn't make sense.

After that we chat about Revival things and an hour later, I'm done for the day. I go looking for Cross and find him with my brother, Pate, who is nearly ten years older than me and the oldest of all us Harlow kids. Cross is up on a scaffold holding a hammer and pounding away on something or another.

"Hey, kid!" I yell up to him. "You about ready to go home and change? My day's over."

"Oh, not yet, Ma," Cross calls back. "Uncle Pate just finally trusted me to get on up here and fix this all by myself."

I shoot Pate a look. "It's a little bit early to have him climbing all over things doing repairs, don't you think? He just started today."

Pate shoots me a look right back. This one comes with low and lazy eyes that say I'm overreacting. "Rosie, you were five the first time I sent you up a scaffold to pound something." He nods his head towards Cross. "He's practically a grown man, for fuck's sake. Stop babying him."

I scoff. "I'm not babying him. And he's twelve, Pate. That's not grown."

Cross calls down. "Alexander the Great was conquering the whole world at age twelve."

I'm pretty sure this is not true, but I'm also a high-school dropout, so what do I know. I look at Pate, but he just grins. Which means he's probably a hundred percent sure it's not true, but isn't gonna intervene on my behalf because he's got Cross doin' all his fixin' work for him.

So I just sigh. "Whatever. Be home for dinner."

"I will, Ma." And then Cross goes back to his pounding.

But Cross doesn't come home for dinner. At six-fifteen, he calls asking if he can have dinner at his friend's house and then stay the night. They're working on a car or something.

I want to say no. But I don't. I force myself to smile, even though it's just a phone call, and tell him yes and to call me in the morning.

Then I sit at the table and stare at the spaghetti and meatballs I made.

It's probably gonna be a thing, this going out on Saturday nights. My boy is growing up whether I want him to or not.

I might need to get myself another part-time job.

Later that night , after I've cleaned up the kitchen, folded laundry, and mopped the floors, I change into my nightgown, get in bed, and grab my Lonely Hearts notebook out of the drawer. I'm just about to open it up and start writing when I remember Amon this morning during Revival. My heart is sad about Cross and how the fast-forward button seems to have been pushed on his growing up, but Amon's little gesture this morning makes me smile.

Amon is nice-looking. He's got that whole ‘blond hair, blue eyes' thing goin' for him. It made him more charming than he actually was as a troublemaking kid and definitely got him out of a detention or two if the adult authority was of the female persuasion.

I like Amon. I've always liked him. And we easily slip into a natural sort of banter when we bump into each other. And I like the idea of being courted, but is there room for a man in my life? All my recent boyfriends have been fictional. Like that Scar man MaisieLee mentioned. Fake. I make them up so people don't pity me. These men always live out of town and come with names like Scar, which implies a certain thing about a man. Which implies a certain thing about me, to be honest. But I'd rather be known as the woman with poor taste in men than a spinster-in waiting.

Because the truth is, I just don't date.

It's not that I haven't dated anyone since Cross was born. That's not true at all. There was a time there, right after Cross started kindergarten and my single-mommy routine took a turn, when I dated all kinds of men outside of the Trinity area.

But I compared each one of them with Erol. I was still stuck on the idea that he might come back. I mean, they didn't find a body. There was no death certificate. Even now, there is no death certificate. He could still be out there. Maybe the idea of a wife and a baby when he was eighteen was just too much? Maybe he just needed some space? Some time to think?

That was my daydream back then. That Erol would come back riding a motorcycle or something, with a black leather jacket to match, and he'd take one look at me and little Cross and just fall back in love with us.

But I gave up on that fantasy years back now. And I stopped dating too.

However. Amon Parrish, age thirty, might be worth taking a chance on.

It's just… it comes at an inopportune time. Because I'm feeling this emptiness of losing Cross. This is another transition period in the motherhood experience and my first inclination when these transitions occur is to go hook up with a Scar.

The name Scar is just a euphemism for any man, really. But particularly one of questionable morals and decision-making skills.

And Amon Parrish is a Scar if ever there was one. I don't know the whole story of what he and Collin and the rest of their crew have been up to all these missing years, but I know enough. He might be flirty and fun, but he's also a big red flag. A mistake waiting to happen.

And my lonely heart just can't handle the fallout of such mistakes.

So I open up my notebook, click my pen, and start writing a new ad.

Desperately seeking… somebody who is not Amon Parrish.