Abbey's mother had invited us to bible study this Wednesday at her church, and since I had three days until Saturday I figured I'd go check on her and see if I could get anything else out of her. Harley had said he'd wanted to go with me so I picked him up; we traded in the rental for my patched up car, and then the two of us headed over to see just how fanatical Mrs. Collins could be.

I'd gotten the address for The Church of Our Heavenly Father from the pamphlet I had stolen from Abbey's apartment. The building was some old abandoned convenience store that had been renovated to hold the church. There was no pomp or glitz about the building or the area, it was merely a small square building with the name of the church painted poorly across the top. I parked in front and the two of us got out of the car.

"This is it?" Harley said. "Doesn't look like much."

"Yeah, people start these kinds of small churches all the time." I looked up at the building. "Let's get this over with."

I didn't think Dolores Collins killed her daughter-or more like I was almost sure, but I still wanted to keep an eye on her and rule out whether or not she had anything to do with it. Inside was nothing but a small, cramped room lined with rows of fold out chairs facing toward the opposite end of the room. I counted about eleven people sitting around a table in the front. Dolores was sitting across from some other ladies, in the middle of some mundane discussion about weather or something.

Harley and I sat in the two empty seats next to Dolores. "You came?" she said with surprise when she noticed us.

"We like to keep our hearts open to all channels in which God can enter it."

"Well, I'm just glad you're no longer cavorting with Jehovah's Witnesses."

Before I could respond a tall dark haired man in a three piece suit walked over to the table. The preacher, I presumed. "Welcome to this weeks bible study," he said with a surprisingly gentle voice. "Oh! I see we have two newcomers with us. We always welcome visitors. Stand up! Tell us your names and what church you attend."

Oh shit. I looked at Harley who was trying to mumble the fake names I'd given Mrs. Collins earlier. "Hi. I'm...Amelia? ...And this is my friend Brad. We were invited here to bible study tonight by Mrs. Collins."

"Well Amelia, Brad. We're so happy to have you with us. Do you have a church home?"

"As a matter of fact we're shopping."

"Well that's always good to hear. I'm Reverend Moore and we'd like to welcome you to The Church of Our Heavenly Father and thank you Sister Dolores for inviting others into our church family." He shook our hands and sat down at the head of the table nearest to Dolores. "How are you doing tonight, Dolores?"

He said it so quietly and with such an air of intimacy that I was almost compelled to give them some privacy. "I'm doing wonderfully, Reverend."

She was glowing...in only the way a woman can.

Yikes. I didn't comment or make a move like I knew, but the bedroom eyes going on between them was obvious, to me at least. After their little not-so-intimate chat the reverend told us to open our bibles to Luke, chapter eleven, verse thirty-two.

At that point the Reverend started sounding less comprehensive and more like Charlie Brown's teacher.

"Whomp whomp whomp, the prodigal son, whomp whomp whomp whomp whomp whomp, obedience, whomp whomp, Jesus, whomp whomp whomp, love of a parent, whomp whomp whomp, prostitutes..."

"What do you think, Sister Amelia?"

I wonder how that crack got up the ceiling like that.

"Sister Amelia?"

It couldn't have been an earthquake. Old age, maybe?

Harley nudged me. "Amelia. What do you think?"

"Huh?" I said.

"What are your thoughts about the lesson?" Reverend Moore said.

I thought back quick to all those years mama forced me to go to church. "The Prodigal Son...right. I think...that if everyone just listened to Jesus terrible things wouldn't happen to them."

I got a couple 'amen's but the reverend held up his hand. "That's an interesting way to interpret the story, but it's too simplified. Jesus' parable about the Prodigal Son is not a warning about disobedience, but an example of parental love. You see, the Prodigal Son went and spent his inheritance out in the world, coming home to his father only after he was in ruin."

"Instead of condemning him or forsaking him, he welcomes him back. It's a perfect analogy for God's love for us-his children."

"That makes sense, I guess."

"His other son is like the Christians who have always stayed true but seek reward, and how even when other Christians lose faith and leave, we should not condemn them but welcome them home once they've embraced a life in Christ again."

"That was my next guess."

He laughed, and I couldn't help but find him warm and endearing. "You're a spunky young lady and you're welcome in my church anytime."

If I were at all interested in attending church on days other than Christmas, Easter, and Mother's Day, I'd take him up on his offer. And if I'm being honest I'd expected this church to be a little more, well...fanatical. But I was pleasantly surprised by how level-headed Reverend Moore was.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, with Moore teaching verses and applying them to real life as you'd expect. All the while I kept my eyes on Dolores. She was as odd as ever, enthusiastically hanging off the Reverend's every word like some sort of bizarre fan girl.

After it was all over, some of the old ladies brought out snacks, which I am all kinds of down with by the way, while everyone chatted about the bible study lesson or just whatever was going on in their lives.

I moseyed on over to Dolores with a finger sandwich halfway in my mouth. "Hey, Mrs. Collins."

"Amy! I'm so glad you and Brad decided to come. Not many people accept my invitation."

I'm not surprised. "Oh, yes. Brad and I were looking forward to coming. Gotta say, it was a great discussion tonight."

She smiled so brightly she nearly scorched my eyebrows off. "Reverend Moore is wonderful, isn't he?"

"Uh...sure. Anyway, it was a good lesson...about forgiving children, and you know...people having children."

"I know what you mean, I used to have a daughter but she's dead now."

What? She had told us earlier that she didn't have children. Is she crazy or did she merely forget that she lied?

I decided to proceed carefully from here on out. "A daughter, right... named Abbey?"

"Oh yes that's right, I told you that!"

"Uh huh."

"I named her after the Abigail of the Bible, you know. It means 'joy of the father'. That girl was always trouble, though. That's why her father left me. Should have named her something like 'scorn of the father' instead. He couldn't stand her. She had Satan in her from day one. What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know what did you do?"

"What any God-fearing mother would do with such a disobedient child. I cast her and her wickedness from my home." Her eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment.

I'd heard this kind of talk all my life-though never to this level of seriousness. I'd known good Christian mothers so deep in the church they couldn't recognize that the rebelliousness they suddenly saw in their children was not the work of the Devil, but merely the growing pains of a teenager. The mother's could sometimes be especially hard on the daughters, expecting girls in the height of hormonal overload to display Virgin Mary levels of restraint. The sons got lucky; boys will be boys after all.

"Mrs. Collins are you okay?" You could never quite tell the level of zealotry in a person from the outside, or what that type of heavy-handed spirituality could do to a person. I thank God everyday for having a religious mother whose spiritual expression was only so-so.

"Of course dear, why do you ask?"

"I, uh...no reason." I figured I'd better not push it. "Anyway, Brad and I were about to leave and I wanted to say goodbye."

"Oh, of course dear. I'm so thankful that you came. Will I be seeing the two of you at Sunday's service? It starts at ten sharp."

"Uh, we'll think about it."

I gathered up Harley, who was being hit on by a couple of ladies old enough to be his grandmother.

"Young man," one of them was saying. "If I were about thirty-five years younger..."

"Thirty-five?" he said. "We can't possibly be more than ten years apart. And even if we were, I don't see how that would matter."

They giggled as I walked up and grabbed his arm. "Brad, lets get going."

"Uh oh, Florence," the other said. "We'd better behave before we upset his girlfriend." The two of them practically collapsed into a fit of infectious laughter.

"Its okay ladies," I said. "Sharing is caring."

They laughed again. "The two of you are so bad. And a lovely couple." Neither of us bothered to correct that as they walked off.

Harley turned to me. "Are we leaving?"

"Yes. I think I've seen enough."

He smiled down at me. "I haven't been to church in years. My mother would probably appreciate that."

"I just need to get home and get out of these pantyhose. My ass will appreciate that."

"Your ass might not appreciate you in pantyhose, but my eyes certainly do," he said in a flirtatious whisper. "And was it just me, or was Abbey's mother really into that preacher?"

"Oh, it's not just you." She was way into him. And I think he was equally into her.

As we were walking out toward the front of the church an earsplitting crash could be heard followed by scuffling, running, and the distinct sound of a vehicle's alarm system.

"Oh goddamn it!" I made a mad dash for the parking lot but by the time I got there whoever was responsible had fled. I pushed the button on the key ring and the alarm shut off. "Shit!"

The windows had been broken out of all four of my doors. The paint had long, thick scratch marks running back and forth and on top of everything else, they'd taken cans of spray paint and graffiti-ed the hell out of the rest of it. At least they hadn't slashed the tires this time, though a part of me wished that they had so I could have an excuse not to drive that abomination.

"What the hell?" Harley had caught up with me by then and looked aghast by the damage. "What kind of person would do something like this?"

I knew exactly the kind of person who would do something like this.

"My lord!" All of the church goers had run outside after us. They crowded around the car surveying the damage. "The world is going to hell in a hand-basket." Dolores said.

The world was already there if you asked me.

After a call to the police-an action insisted by Reverend Moore, Harley and I were more than ready to head home. We bid the ladies and Reverend Moore adieu. As we were getting into my battered car I noted some of the more intricate detailing hidden almost Bosch-like within the graffiti.

"This guy could be a hell of a tattoo artist," I joked from the drivers side door. "There's a naked pin-up and what looks like rap lyrics on my side of the car."

"Yeah, well there's a stylized spray-painting of the word dead on this side." That shut me right up.

Whoever did it hadn't been crazy enough to come inside the church but I must admit this passive-aggressive act was getting annoying. Why do they keep attacking my car instead of confronting me personally? I doubt it was respect for a church.

Speaking of the church I couldn't decide whether Dolores Collins was a lousy actor or just plain old crazy. When we'd first met she'd claim, rather strongly, that she had no children, and tonight she just casually let slip that she did. What is she playing at?

By the time I pulled up in front of the Cho's house I was exhausted. "Long day." Harley said.

"Long week." I lay my head back on the head rest and closed my eyes for a moment. I couldn't decide what I needed more right now, aspirin or a mojito.

"Kid, I'm sorry about your car. I can pay for it."

I nodded but kept my eyes closed.

"I want to say thanks again." He reached over and placed a gentle hand on my knee. "I'm glad we're friends and I'm glad you're helping me out."

"Of course I'd help you, we're friends."

He paused for just a moment. "I know we're friends. I know. And I...well, I haven't always been, well I wasn't always such a good friend to you. You know?"

"Oh, that. I'm over that." I turned and looked at him. He was closer than I was expecting.

"I know, but I don't feel right about it. I should have never stood you up like that." He paused again, more contemplative than usual. "I'm not the same man I was then. I grew up."

"So did I." When I looked in his eyes I could feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. The air grew heavy again, my heart picked up a beat, and the humidity became thick and clammy. I was suddenly, awkwardly aware of every inch of myself. I broke gaze so I could finish my thought. "That was a long time ago."

"Not that long ago." He took his hand and gently turned my chin back to meet his gaze and in a whisper said, "I don't want you to be mad at Henry either."

"We'll make up eventually. Don't tell him I said that, though."

He smiled at me. It was a pretty smile, but then everything about him had always been beautiful. Every line and curve was a testament to human symmetry. From shape of his eyes to the pout of his lips; from head to toe his was nothing if not the height of genetic perfection. The worst part, of course, was he knew all that and he'd understood this since before he was a preteen.

When he leaned in and touched his lips to mine I didn't fight it, I just sighed and let my body relax against the seat of the car.

It wasn't the same as it was ten years ago when he'd walked me to my porch and granted me my first timid kiss. Everything then was new and frightening and half of the thrill was sixteen year old me in the arms of a twenty year old man. The other half of the thrill was in the spontaneous, forceful kiss he'd given me and the way his hands had explored places previously unexplored-it was new, unexpected, exhilarating.

This kiss wasn't the same. We were different people, in a different time and place. He didn't push or try to goad me into anything further. He was not forceful or even direct. No, instead he was soft and thoughtful. Somewhere in the kiss of this paragon of everything I'd ever perceived as mysterious and masculine was a surprising amount of earnestness.

I could hear his seat-belt unbuckle and felt him trying to inch that much closer to me but the arm rest acted as a barrier to any more physical contact. I felt his thumb caress my cheek and I quivered. He laughed with delight and kissed me again, more vigorously this time.

His hand was tentatively crawling up my knee when vibrations from my coat pocket startled us back from the brink. He laughed and backed away. "Saved by the phone, I guess. I've got to get goin' anyway." He hesitated with his hand on the handle, and then leaned in and planted another quick kiss on my lips. "I'll call you tomorrow."

Once he was in the Cho family residence, I fell back into my seat in so much happiness I thought my heart might burst right there. I felt reinvigorated, novel, and renewed. I felt like a teenager again. Between the joys of replaying that kiss over and over I remembered that it was a text that initiated the vibrating that had cooled our passion.

I pulled my phone out of my coat and scrolled until I came to my most recent message. It was from Manny.

I had fun the other night. I can't stop thinking about you. Call me.

All at once my heart grew heavy and my elation was replaced with shame. What was I doing? Why had I allowed Harley to kiss me like that? I was interested in Manny, wasn't I? This was all wrong, but like a moth to the flame I had slowly let ten year old feelings draw me back into that diversion of blissful obsession.

I had to stop. Not just because of Manny either, but because I knew Harley was bad for me, always was, always will be. Yet still in those precious few moments of uninhibited ecstasy, a girl could dream.

Couldn't she?