“Which is what?” Marty asked.

“Crazy,” Josh said.

A chill crab-walked up Lucas’s spine. Now there was something to contemplate: what if Jeffrey Halcomb wasn’t crazy?

If he was preaching eternal life . . . what if it was true?

37

Sunday, April 4, 1982

Eleven Months, Ten Days Before the Sacrament

ONLY THREE OF them went over—Avis, Jeffrey, and Gypsy. Arriving at Maggie’s small bungalow tucked into the trees, Avis led them around the side of the house to the back sliding glass door. Just as predicted, it was unlocked.

Somewhere inside the house, Maggie and Eloise slept. At least that’s what she assumed, but Eloise’s visits had become few and far between. Maggie always had an excuse—day care or Grandma’s. Part of her hoped that Eloise wasn’t home, just in case something happened, just in case something went wrong.

Avis’s heart thudded in her chest at the thought of being caught. What would she say? She justified the break-in with the fact that they were stealing something that Maggie could easily replace. They were in it for boxes of mac and cheese and cans of Campbell’s soup, not for money or jewelry or anything that held sentimental value. Avis told herself that Maggie would have given up the things Gypsy was piling into paper grocery bags if she had only asked. But Jeff had made it clear that asking wasn’t the point. It wasn’t about whether she could bat her eyelashes and score some handouts. This was about having the guts to go through with the things the family had to do to survive.

If stealing some groceries was the entry fee to a life of companionship and acceptance, Avis was all in. She couldn’t let a little guilt get in the way, not even if the person she was betraying was her own best friend.

It took them less than a couple of minutes to load up three grocery bags full of dried food and canned goods. They took a few packs of meat from the freezer for good measure and some cellophaned leftovers for Shadow as well. Other than that, they left the place just the way they found it. Avis knew Maggie would notice so much missing. But she would have handed it over if I had asked, she told herself. If she blames me, I’ll just explain. Right. Because saying that Jeff had talked her into sneaking into a house in the dead of night would go over well. Because confessing that she had to do it or the group would know she wasn’t serious would paint her as a loyal compatriot. If she said any of those things, they would deem her a defector. And then they’d leave her behind, and she wasn’t sure what she’d do without them.

Except three bags of groceries for ten people wasn’t much, and Maggie didn’t have a dog, which got Shadow nothing but scraps. When Avis muttered something to that effect in the car on the return trip, Gypsy stated that they’d simply “have to get more.”

“Get more,” Avis said. “We can’t get more, not without Maggie noticing . . .”

Gypsy and Jeffrey looked at each other but didn’t speak, allowing Avis to stew in her own wariness. Getting more would mean going to different houses—something they were used to doing. But the proposition turned Avis’s stomach inside out. It was one thing to break into the house of a friend who, with a bit of pleading, would come to understand their predicament. It was altogether another to steal from total strangers. That was a whole new level of theft.

Avis’s heart just about leaped out of her chest when she saw Maggie’s Volvo come up the road bright and early the next morning. She watched her from the girls’ bedroom window while chewing a fingernail, sure that Maggie was about to storm inside and demand to know who raided her pantry. I know it was you, Avis. Or Audra. Or whoever you are now . . .

As a kid, someone had broken into Audra’s family home and stolen a bunch of stuff—their TV, the good silver, her mother’s jewelry. They tore the house apart looking for valuables while Audra and her parents were out to dinner, celebrating one of her father’s many political victories. She still remembered the sickening feeling of violation when they came home that night. Things flung everywhere. The TV stand upended in the living room. Couches moved. Lamps pushed off tables and glasses shattered on the kitchen floor. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t taken anything that belonged to her. She’d been ten at the time, and the childish appearance of her room must have turned the trespassers off. All that mattered was that someone had come into her family home without being invited. That in itself was enough to make her skin crawl, and Maggie had just as much reason to rage as anyone. Avis had violated her trust. Maggie would more than likely never forgive her.

But as Avis waited for Maggie to fly up the stairs and shove her against the bedroom wall, quiet laughter sounded from the ground floor instead. Avis could hear Maggie speaking to members of the group in low tones, as if not wanting Avis to hear. Maggie pulled away from the house a few moments later without ever seeking Avis out.

Eventually, Avis went downstairs, and that’s when she discovered the reason for Maggie’s visit. There, on the kitchen table, was bag upon bag of food. There was even a giant bag of Alpo dog food propped up against the wall, unopened, fresh from the store. Maggie had noticed the robbery, but instead of fury, she had shown mercy. For a brief moment, Avis loved her more intensely than she’d loved anyone in her entire life. She wanted to run through the woods that separated their homes, throw her arms around Maggie’s neck, and kiss her into oblivion.

But that notion was a fleeting spark. It gave way to something ugly, something akin to hate. Because Avis’s twisted, noble act of offering Maggie up as a sacrificial lamb had been outdone. In one graceful swoop, Maggie had transformed herself from victim to savior, and suddenly, Avis’s risk felt little more than childish. Maggie had stolen the attention, like always. Mother fucking Teresa, quietly living out her life in the Washington woods.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Clover gave Avis a knowing smile, as if sensing her humiliation. “Well, that was pointless,” she said, lifting a mug of coffee to her lips. “I guess you’ll just have to prove yourself some other way.”

38

VEE AND ECHO walked along the coast, Echo’s long skirt flapping in the breeze like a patchwork flag. Vee kept her hands shoved deep in the front pockets of her jeans. She wasn’t one to open up, let alone to be friendly with strangers. She’d always been aloof, forcing her mother to give family friends apologetic smiles. She’s shy. Vee had heard that excuse a hundred thousand times—so much that, for a while, she adopted her mom’s cover story as a personality trait. But the truth of it was that Vee wasn’t shy as much as she was an introvert. She wasn’t fond of too much conversation, never did like being part of a big group, had always preferred silence to talk.

But Vee’s desperation to slough off at least a little of her growing loneliness was too strong to fight. She needed to subdue the pain of her father’s betrayal, her mother’s dishonesty. There was something about the way Echo had smiled at her, about how this strange woman had so easily confessed her own father’s negligence. Somehow, that admission assured her that she and Echo were alike. The ease of her movements whispered we’re the same. The way she walked beside Vee in comfortable silence urged her, take my hand. Something about the way she carried herself promised Vee that Echo understood her pain, the sad and lonely feelings of being brushed aside.