This Much is True - Tia Louise Page 0,21

what’s waiting at the end of this journey.

We’re less than an hour down the road, forty-five minutes of Scout and Hope singing along to 1960s satellite radio, when blue and red lights flashing ahead pull us up short.

“What the hell?” Scout lets off the gas, and we ease back.

“Get off here.” I grab his shoulder. “NOW.”

He hits the brakes hard, exiting fast onto a state highway headed north. “What the fuck, JR?”

“That was a roadblock. Put on the news and see what’s happening.”

Hope fiddles with the dial, but we can’t find anything useful. It’s all national news. Nothing local.

“Use my phone.” Scout hands it to her, giving me a worried glance, and she taps for several seconds, swiping and reading.

“Here!” Her voice goes loud. “Road blocks at the border to keep sick people from entering the state.”

“Damn…” Scout exhales. “Should I circle back?”

“No.” I have my phone out, charting a new route. “We’ll cut over through Arkansas.”

“Arkansas?” Scout groans loudly. “When are we getting food?”

“We can stop here… in Magnolia.”

It’s dark as we slip across the border from Texas to Arkansas on a two-lane highway in the middle of nowhere. The Impala headlights cut through the dark night in white columns, and The War on Drugs blasts on the radio.

None of us speak, and Scout keeps glancing at me like he knows I’m hiding something. I’m not getting into it with him.

We’re getting closer to Magnolia, and I see golden arches. “Just stop at the McDonald’s.”

“Fuck that.” Scout cuts his speed through the small town. “I want real food.”

We’re crawling up the four-lane strip leading through town, but other than the usual fast-food restaurants, everything appears closed.

“It is Sunday.” I look out the window not seeing any other options.

We’re on the other side of town when a big tent rises like a circus in a large, open field. It’s white and enormous, and lit up like it’s some kind of festival.

Scout turns the Impala onto a dirt drive leading up to it. “Let’s check this out.”

I sit forward. “We don’t have time to stop.”

“Miracle Tent Crusade…” Hope reads the big white sign above the chain-length fence. “Lose your sins and find your savior.”

Her expression is playful as she looks to my brother. “I don’t know…”

“I’ll praise Jesus for a plate of fried chicken.” My brother pulls up next to a parked station wagon, but I have a bad feeling about this.

“Let’s just get McDonald’s.”

“No way.” He shoves it into park and gets out, me right behind him.

Catching his arm, I pull him back. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s your guilty conscious talking. You need to get some chicken and lose some sin.” He gives me a wink and takes the keys, striding in the direction of the mob with confidence. “We’ve been driving for ten hours, and I need a break. Christian people aren’t going to hurt you.”

My stomach is tight. It feels like famous last words.

Hope glances at me like she’s not sure what to do.

A voice echoes through the tent, extending out to us in the parking lot. “Come in, brothers and sisters, come in…” It’s a voice like urgent singing. “Find your seats. We’ve got a special guest for you tonight. God’s man of faith and power, Brother Bob Gantry, all the way from Colorado Springs, Colorado.”

I tear my eyes off the giant white canvas and look at Hope. “I guess we’re going in.”

“Let me hear you say yes!” The man with the microphone hits the yes hard.

Brother Bob has a big white grin and even bigger white hair. It’s brushed back from his face, but a curl falls down on his forehead like one of those old-timey preachers.

The air inside the tent is hot, making my mask uncomfortable. Industrial-sized round fans are situated on both sides, blasting air through the space, and bugs swoop and dive at the lights far overhead.

People in masks stand in small clumps throughout, swaying in time with the music, arms raised overhead.

“Yes!” They cry in response, filling the air with their muffled voices.

“Yes!” The man shouts louder, this time with a touch of vibrato.

“Yes!” The congregants echo.

I catch up to where my brother’s holding a long paper plate loaded with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and two dinner rolls.

“Yes, Lord!” Rings out over my head.

“What are you doing?” My voice is sharp at Scout’s ear.

“Yes, Lord!” He shouts in time, grinning behind his mask. “Grab a plate and let’s dig in.”

I watch him go to a group of long picnic tables