Chapter Text
Maria Hemmick sat in her usual place, organ side, second row, balancing an open Bible and notebook. Her husband Luther, pastor of Riverside Community Church, stood tall and confident behind the pulpit. The offering had been collected, and the room hummed with shuffles, murmurs, and creaks as the pianist, organist, and choir members found their seats in the wooden pews among the congregation. Maria smiled as her friend Sarah walked past.
It was late October, the morning air cool by South Carolina standards, but inside was as comfortable and familiar as a hundred Sundays past. Maria flipped to a blank page, wrote the date and scripture passage in careful script, and looked up at Luther and the stained glass window behind him. He had not paused, but Maria cocked her head at his flushed face and stiff posture. Quiet coughs and clearing throats had her glancing back to watch a blonde, heavily pregnant woman in a black and white polka dot dress, colorful sweater, and patent leather heels leisurely walk the length of the center aisle to stop beside her.
“This seat taken?”
Maria blinked in recognition and slid over.
“Nice to see you again,” her sister-in-law Tilda murmured, pulling a visitor’s Bible from the pew back and glancing at Maria’s.
She pointed to Exodus 3.
“Ah, Moses and the burning bush. Lucky it’s not the Ten Commandments,” she whispered, palming her stomach, “or lightning might burn your church to the ground. Although Luther’s sure to work in a few ‘thou shalt nots’ just for me. That would make a fun drinking game.” She grinned and winked up at her brother.
“Dios mio, Tilda.” Maria clutched her silver cross necklace and returned her gaze forward.
The service passed without further incident, Maria rising to join in the closing hymn at Tilda’s pointed nudge. Luther nodded curtly as he strode to the foyer to shake hands and share greetings. Tilda’s golden eyes tracked him like a cat before settling back on Maria, who fought the urge to cross herself under the appraisal. She turned away to gather her belongings and slipped on her light jacket and a small plastic smile, returning “good mornings,” as people streamed past.
Congregants glanced curiously at Tilda and nodded, but no one stopped to talk; a small miracle. Maria’s friends Helen and Jimmy Dodge walked against the flow and greeted Tilda warmly.
“You must be Luther’s sister,” Helen said, “the resemblance is striking.”
Maria silently agreed. The Hemmick siblings shared good looks, a pale complexion, and sandy blonde hair, but where Luther was lean and wiry and neat with a straightforward manner, Tilda was stunning with long limbs, large topaz eyes and an innate grace that demanded attention and belied a razor wit and acid tongue. Like a black widow spider who lures men to their deaths, Maria mused under her breath, swallowing a hysterical giggle. She felt hopelessly plain by comparison in a simple skirt and blouse with comfortable low-heeled shoes, her glossy black hair caught in a casual bun.
“I’m sure you’ve never heard of me.” Tilda’s smile could cut flesh from bone.
Maria pursed her lips.
“How about we pick up Nicky from children’s church and take him to McDonald’s,” Jimmy suggested, glancing between them. “Give you folks a chance to talk.”
“We can keep him ’til the evening service,” Helen said. “We have lots of our great grandkids’ toys around, and I’ll see that he gets a nap.”
“That would be wonderful,” Maria said. “He loves playing at your house, and...yes. I think that’s a good idea.”
The Hemmicks lived in a modest two-story house with blue siding and well-kept landscaping, the quiet Columbia neighborhood a short drive from their church. Tilda pulled in behind Luther’s car and cut her engine. She emerged slowly, rubbing her back.
“I know God is your comfort, but would it kill you to spring for cushioned pews?”
Luther ignored her and swiftly unknotted his tie. “I’ll go change.” Maria nodded.
“We just have a simple lunch on Sundays, since we spend most of the day at church. I hope that you don’t mind sandwiches. Would you like me to heat some soup?”
“I’m not fussy,” Tilda said. “Whatever you have is fine.” She tossed her cigarette on the driveway and stepped on it. Maria winced, glad that Luther was inside.
“I would have thought a senior pastor could afford nicer cars,” Tilda said, raising a brow.
“Do you always say what’s on your mind?” Maria asked, crossing her arms.
“That’s one of my better qualities,” Tilda grinned.
“We’re saving to build a back porch,” Maria said. “We were sharing one car, but a church member gave us their old one that I use now. It serves its purpose.”
“So they get a tax deduction, and you inherit an eyesore that’s headed to Ford heaven.”
“Yours doesn’t look much better.”
Tilda laughed and flicked her lighter. “That’s the spirit! Stop being so polite all the damn time, it’s not healthy. I need another cigarette before I face my brother. Or three. I’ll let myself in.”
Maria quickly set the table and pulled food from the refrigerator. Tilda glanced around the kitchen as Luther watched her through narrowed eyes.
“How did this happen?” he asked.
Tilda stood, hands clasped behind her back studying a framed portrait of Luther and Maria with Nicky between them. “Oh, you know. The usual way. I tripped and fell on a dick.”
Luther frowned. “I see you’re still not capable of adult conversation.”
Tilda reached out to touch a crayon drawing hung on the refrigerator and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you needed the adult version.” She ran her hands down her distended stomach and made an explicit gesture. “After I fell on the dick, he put his–”
“Don’t be vile.”
Tilda shrugged. “You have a kid, so you’ve clearly experienced the carnal delight of fucking at least once. You might have even let yourself enjoy it. Maybe it’s been so long you forgot.”
Luther flushed and Maria blushed. “Enough!” He glared at his sister. “You are a guest in our home. Show some respect.”
Maria touched his arm. “Lunch is ready, let’s sit down,” she said. “There’s homemade apple pie for dessert.”
She set down a plate of deli meats and cheese as Luther peeled plastic wrap from a lettuce-lined platter with neat rows of tomato and onion.
“Let’s pray,” Luther said bowing his head. “Father we thank You for the gifts You have provided. Thank You for this food and the hands that have prepared it. Bless the services this evening and extend Your protective hand over our congregation in their travels. Use this vessel to bring truth to a lost and dying world and return the wanderer’s feet to the path of righteousness. In Your name, amen.”
“Amen,” Maria echoed.
“If that’s your opening to a Prodigal Sister sermon, save your breath,” Tilda said, spearing a pickle.
Maria pinched her lips together and passed the platter to Tilda. “Maybe we should talk after lunch,” she suggested.
“Obviously Luther has something to get off his chest; far be it from me to cause indigestion,” Tilda said, gesturing for him to continue.
“There’s no ring on your finger, and you look two weeks past due, so if the reference fits...” he shrugged.
“Actually, I’m not due until December,” she said. “It’s twins.”
Luther choked on his iced tea, and Maria grabbed her pendant.
Tilda smirked. “But back to you, brother. Do go on.”
“Is this a joke to you? You’ve been off the radar for nearly a year, your phone was disconnected, and our Christmas card was returned with no forwarding address!” Tilda said nothing, so he continued, “And you make your grand return by waltzing into my CHURCH,” Luther banged his fist making plates jump and silverware clatter and his tea slosh onto the table, “in the MIDDLE of a service and sashaying your UNMARRIED enormously PREGNANT self up the aisle like you own the place! Leave it, Maria!” he commanded when she rose to get a towel.
Maria sat down.
“What, nothing to say? That’s not like you.”
Tilda sighed. “I’m trying my absolute hardest to see things from your perspective, but I just can’t get my head that far up my ass,” she said.
Luther growled and Maria covered her face, peeking out between her fingers.
Tilda chewed and swallowed and made a show of patting her mouth with a napkin.
“It’s a lovely little church, really takes me back,” she said, reaching for a deviled egg. “The stained glass Jesus is a nice touch. Do you have anything stronger than iced tea?”
“We don’t drink alcohol,” Maria shook her head.
Luther’s gray eyes sparked a challenge. “She knows that. Why are you here, Tilda? What do you want? Are you involved in something illegal? You need to keep my family out of it.”
“Whaaat an imagination you have,” Tilda drawled. “Let’s see…” she tapped her chin, a far off look in her eyes, then snapped her fingers.
“Got it! I’m the mistress of a married Mexican drug lord. I got knocked up with his twins, but our affair ended tragically when his jealous wife threatened to chop me into hamburger! I begged him to leave his life of crime and run away with me, but he said, ‘No! I never loved you!’ so I stole a million pesos and drove his run down Ford Fairmont 4,000 miles from Tijuana to South Carolina, then rented an apartment near my preacher brother with the same last name, who can be found in any goddamn phone book!” Tilda’s voice grew progressively louder and ended on a shout. “Now we can all die together, papi!” She tapped two fingers to her temple.
Maria stared open-mouthed, and Luther wiped a hand down his face and gripped his bearded chin.
“No offense, Maria,” Tilda shrugged. “He can be a white banker selling coke to support his habit if that’s more politically correct.”
Maria looked away.
“What. Do. You. Want,” Luther gritted.
Tilda sighed and sat back. “Guy I was with decided to go back to his wife and three kids. Turns out he lied about more than being sterile, and that’s why we moved around so much.” She raised her chin. “I’m not sure I can do this on my own. I don’t need money; I still have my share from Mama and Daddy. I rented a place an hour from here in Winnsboro. I just thought,” hazel eyes sought Maria’s raven ones, “maybe it was time to be around family.”
Luther shook his head. “You don’t have one maternal bone in your body. You should sign them over for adoption immediately.”
“Are they boys or girls?” Maria asked softly.
Luther huffed in annoyance.
“Both boys,” Tilda said. “I’ll bet Nicky would love some cousins to play with and boss around.”
“This will be a disaster.”
“She needs our help, Luther.”
“I knew I liked you, Ave Maria,” Tilda winked. “You mentioned pie?”
Maria smiled weakly. “Apple. It’s Nicky’s favorite.”