The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,10
the street, and a girl with pigtails gave Jem and Tean a nasty look when she had to lug her goal out of the way. It reminded Jem of one of his foster homes—the one where the man had tried to force his way into the bathroom with Jem.
“Those kids could get hurt,” Tean said, “playing in the street like that.”
“This isn’t exactly a high-traffic area.”
“It just takes one. Where are their parents?”
“Probably devoutly canning apples. Or warming up their prayer pads for a really good jaw session with the Lord.”
“I don’t even know what a prayer pad is,” Tean said.
“It’s my idea,” Jem said. “For people who spend a lot of time on their knees. Don’t try to steal it; I already patented it.”
“I think you’re safe.”
“It can also be used for other things.”
“Ok.”
“Sex things.”
“Yep. I said ok.”
Jem let the moment drag out before saying, “Mouth stuff.”
“Oh thank heavens,” Tean whispered as he pulled to the curb. “We’re here.”
Caleb, Hannah’s husband, answered the door. He was another classic Utah boy: skinny from running too many miles, clean shaven, his mousy hair in a conservative cut and part. He owned a half-million-dollar home in a nice part of the city, wore an Omega watch, worked for the Huntsman Cancer Institute in pediatric oncology, and probably thought of himself as pleasantly middle class. In the background, Divorcee, Hannah’s teacup Yorkie, was barking. Caleb nodded when he saw them and said, “Listen, guys, I think we’ve had a misunderstanding.”
“No,” Hannah said, appearing behind him. She was flushed, her eyes red, her whole face puffy. Jem wasn’t sure when he’d seen her last, but she’d definitely put on some weight. “No mistake. Come on in.”
Caleb didn’t make a face, but his lack of expression communicated enough. He stepped aside, and Jem and Tean followed Hannah into the house. Divorcee pranced around them until Hannah picked her up. She led them to a living room that fit the perfect, middle-class home in the perfect, middle-class neighborhood, with the perfect, middle-class family: a leather sectional, an enormous TV, glossy paintings of Jesus done by Liz Lemon Swindle and Minerva Teichert. Two sets of Mormon scriptures were conspicuously set out on the coffee table, complete with highlighters and pens and pencils—all the trappings necessary to ensure the neighbors that, yes, scripture study was a daily part of their lives.
An older man and woman were sitting in the living room, waiting. The woman was obviously Hannah’s mother: the same chestnut hair, the same shape of her face, although thirty years older and nicely kept up with surgery and the right dermatologist. The man looked like just about every Mormon man over fifty that Jem had ever met: balding, pink cheeked, not a whisper of facial hair, and substantially overweight in an expensive suit. Jem immediately pegged him as having some sort of church position of authority.
“My mom, Virgie,” Hannah said, “and my dad, Howard.”
Everyone shook hands and sat, and it wasn’t until Jem was pressed up against Tean, sitting closer than Tean probably would have liked, that Jem noticed how tense the doc was. Jem threw him a look, but Tean stared straight ahead, ignoring him.
“Caleb called my parents,” Hannah said, “when I told him that Jem was going to be looking into things.”
“Absolutely right,” Howard huffed. “We appreciate the offer, boys. We really do. But if something’s genuinely wrong—”
“I told you that something was wrong,” Hannah said. “I don’t know why you act like there’s still a question about it.”
“—but if something is genuinely wrong, we’ll handle it in the Lord’s way: first, you rely on your family, then you rely on the ward, and only then do you look outside for help. Caleb and Hannah’s ministering brothers will make sure that they get all the help they need.” He had his hands folded over his belly, and he was smiling. “So while we appreciate you coming all the way out here, there’s really no need.”
“What the fuck is a ministering brother?” Jem whispered to Tean.
“Excuse me,” Virgie said, her fingers crimping the hem of her skirt, “but I would appreciate it if you didn’t use that kind of language in my daughter’s home.”
“This is a disaster,” Hannah said. “I’m sorry, Tean. I didn’t know this was going to happen.”
“I don’t know why you’re apologizing,” Caleb said. “Tean, I like you, I’m grateful you’re willing to help Hannah. Jem, I know we’ve only met once, but you seem like a good guy.”