Small Town Sinners Part 27

Dean even talks a little more about what he's been going through. Truthfully, I don't know if he's gay, but it has stopped mattering to me. We'll cross that bridge when he comes to it, if he comes to it. And we'll cross it all together.

When we see the exit for public beach access, Ty tells us to roll down our windows.

"It's raining!" I say.

"Aunt Vivian told me you have to smell the beach," he says.

He didn't have to sell this road trip to Vivian as anything but what it was. When he told her we wanted to see the ocean, she smiled and said, "Go."

Starla Joy and I crank the handles to roll down our windows a little bit.

"All the way," Ty insists.

Starla Joy goes first. As soon as we turn off the highway and onto a smaller road, she opens her window fully. A blast of rain comes into the truck, but with it comes the smell of the sea. Salty, fresh, rejuvenating.

Like a baptism. I roll down my window too.

When we drive into the parking lot for public beach access, there's just one other car there.

"Guess it's not an ideal beach day," Dean says.

But we all know the rain won't stop us. I open my door and pull the seat forward so Ty can step out. Dean and Starla Joy meet us around the back of the truck, and we walk up the wooden plank steps to get our first glimpse of the ocean.

I hear it before I see it, even through all the wind and rain; the waves that break on the sh.o.r.e are roaring with power.

Before I let myself walk onto the beach and look, really look, I tilt my head back to the sky and say a little prayer of thanks. I'm grateful to be here.

The subject of faith is no longer off the table for me and my friends. Not that it ever officially was, but now it feels more like something we can talk about with a question mark rather than with a period. My parents worry about my uncertainty, I know, but I think it'll only make me a stronger person, in thought and in faith, as I get older.

When I look over at Ty, I see that he was watching me pray, and he gives me a smile as he takes my hand. "Ready, Lacey Anne?" he asks.

Ty signed me up for all these college mailing lists-schools out of state, small liberal arts colleges, even some Ivy League campuses. As our mailbox gets fuller, I think my parents are realizing that my dreams aren't the same as theirs. We've had a few arguments this year, but since h.e.l.l House-even though I dropped out-there's been more trust between us. I know that's because I'm being honest and they're being patient.

It may also be because my dad dug through a drawer and found some old rusted b.u.t.tons. He put a few up on the church bulletin board, and he keeps one with him at all times. He says it's to remind him that there are elusive answers and differences of opinion on some questions, but there's only one emotional response that works.

I squeeze Ty's hand. Starla Joy and Dean are already at the top of the stairs, stepping onto the sand. I watch them take off their shoes and look at each other excitedly before heading out toward the water.

"I'm ready," I say to Ty.

My curfew has been moved to eleven p.m. this summer. I often want to break it, but Ty is the perfect gentleman, and he says that since he's my boyfriend now, he needs to stay on my father's good side if he wants to keep hold of my heart. I tell him it's his, now and always.

We walk up to the top of the access stairs together and I look out at the waves. Starla Joy and Dean are already walking into the ocean, and I take my shoes off.

"Let's go," I say to Ty. He's staring out at the water like he's never seen anything so beautiful.

Then he turns to me with that same expression.

I smile back at him, and think about the way movie moments don't always require a spotlight or look-at-me lipstick.

When we talk about next year, Ty says I'll go away to school and meet new people and forget all about the boy I loved in West River.

I tell him I'm sure that will never happen, and I mean it.

He says I can't be certain of anything, that everything changes. Even things we once thought were unquestionably true.

And I know that he's right.

Acknowledgments.

Many, many thanks go to ...

Mom and Dad, always.

Betty Elliott, who (in her Mississippi drawl) was the first person to tell me that h.e.l.l Houses exist-even though she laughed at me when my jaw dropped.

My ELLEgirl editor, Christina Kelly, who liked the sound of a h.e.l.l House story long before I knew that it might inspire a book-such good instincts, CK.

Doug Stewart, my ever-encouraging agent, who heard the idea for this book at a bar in Brooklyn and said, "That sounds awesome!"

Caroline Abbey, my enthusiastic editor, who gave wise and thoughtful notes as I worked through drafts of the story. Her fascination with h.e.l.l House quite possibly exceeds my own, and she had the wherewithal to know-even before we'd worked together-that a red velvet cupcake wins me over every time.

Deb Shapiro, Kate Lied, and the whole publicity team at Bloomsbury! Plus cover designers Danielle Delaney and Regina Roff. (I have a thing about book covers, and I think with this one I can safely say: Nailed it!) Amazing authors Sarah MacLean and Donna Frietas, who both read early drafts of this book and gave invaluable insights (Sarah calling for more kissing and Donna reminding me just how conservative evangelical teens can be).

And a nod to Jessica Ochoa Hendrix, who suggested "more G.o.d" in just the right moment.

end.