Welcome to my favorite chapter in the book so far. Thanks again for reading and your comments!

Chapter 22, October 29th 2026

Grace limped into the living room. She had some mild bruising on the side of her temple, and had a sore ankle, but otherwise was no worse for wear. Her ankle was still a bit swollen and wrapped in an ace bandage. She carefully dropped down cross legged on the floor, rested her bowl of popcorn in her lap and leaned against the couch. “Really, is this lowkey how I pay rent, you make me watch weird old movies?”
Grace had been staying with them for a bit over a week. It had actually been Lucy’s idea. Whit was shocked when she came back into the room in the hospital that night and said, “Grace I think you should stay with us for awhile.”

She salvaged what clothes and personal items she could from the trailer and Whit moved some things out of the spare bedroom and it became hers. It was all a bit awkward at first, Lucy and Whit had lived alone for so long. But they all seemed to adapt to each other’s routines in a few days.

Strangely enough, having Grace in the house seemed to taper Whit’s gender issues. Of all people he should feel comfortable presenting as feminine in front of her, but he put up his female clothes and seemed to slip back into the old Whit.

Lucy sat down on the end of the couch with her own popcorn and crossed her legs, “They are not weird, they are classics,” she said.

Whit opened the case and slid the DVD into the player, “You seriously have never seen The Princess Bride?” He asked.

Grace took a bite of popcorn then said, “Nope, remember my Mom was super religious and we didn’t watch stuff like that growing up.”

Lucy laughed, “Next time we’ll watch Labyrinth, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Grace felt her cheeks blushing, “I’ve actually seen that one,” she quickly said.

Whit sat down at the other end of the couch and turned to Lucy, “Oh speaking of religion, your Mom called earlier to remind us that we’re going to their revival thing Friday night apparently.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, “I’m sorry in a moment of weakness I said we’d go. It means so much to her.”

Whit shrugged, “Yeah that’s fine, I’m sure it’ll be a bunch of fire and brimstone bullshit.”

Grace smiled, “Sorry got to work, not that I was invited anyway.”

She giggled as the movie started with little Fred Savage playing a 1980s baseball video game. “Wow, such advanced graphics,” she laughed.

“It really was for kids who were used to seeing atari 2600 graphics,” Whit said.

“Geeks,” Lucy said.

“Grace giggled some more, “That old man looks familiar,” she said when Grandpa, played by Peter Faulk, came into the shot.

“He should, that’s Columbo,” Whit explained.

Grace shrugged, “Columbo? Whose that?”

“He was like the world's most annoying detective, he literally drove the criminals nuts asking questions over and over again.” Lucy said.

“Oh this is one of those stories, inside a story, things. Cool,” Grace said as Peter Faulk opened his book and started.

When Buttercup appeared on screen, Lucy sighed like she’d been waiting years for that exact moment.

Grace tilted her head. “Princess Buttercup? She looks like she hasn’t blinked since 1987.”

Whit laughed. Lucy did not.

“You don’t understand,” Lucy said. “We rented this from Circus Video on VHS. We watched it so many times the tape went fuzzy.”

Grace glanced back at them, seeing something different now. Not just two tired adults in Northwest Acres. Two kids in some earlier version of Mud Creek, browsing a video store.

“Okay,” Grace said, softer. “I’ll suspend my Gen Z judgment.”

They watched in relative peace until the duel scene.

“Inconceivable!” Whit quoted a split second before the character did.

Grace turned slowly toward him. “Did you just… pre-say the line?”

Lucy grinned. “He does that.”

Whit looked vaguely embarrassed. “It’s just muscle memory.”

Grace popped another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “This is so theatrical. Like, everyone’s just committing so hard.”

“That’s the point,” Lucy said.

“Is it?” Grace asked. “No one talks like this.”

Whit glanced at her. “Some people wish they could.”

The room went quiet for half a second too long.

Grace looked back at the screen.

When Westley said, “As you wish,” Lucy’s shoulders lifted and fell in a way that didn’t match the scene. Grace noticed.

“Is that your favorite part?” Grace asked.

Lucy nodded. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Whit said quickly.

Grace studied them both. The couch between them wasn’t wide, but it felt like it had a canyon running through the middle they were trying to bridge.

“Okay,” Grace said. “I get it.”

“You do?” Lucy asked.

Grace nodded toward the screen. “It’s not about sword fights. It’s about someone saying the thing they actually mean.”

Whit’s jaw tightened slightly.

Lucy looked at Grace with something like gratitude.

The movie rolled on. The house was quiet except for the hum of the Whit’s pieced together sound system.

Halfway through, Grace pulled her knees to her chest.

“So this is what you guys did growing up?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” Whit said. “Movies. Music videos. Recording songs off the radio.”

Lucy smirked. “Waiting for the DJ to shut up before the chorus.”

Grace blinked. “So with those old tapes you couldn’t skip songs, you had to listen to the whole tape?”

Whit and Lucy both laughed.

“No,” Lucy said. “We suffered.”

Grace leaned back against the couch again. “Okay. I kind of love that.”

Whit looked at her. “What?”

“You guys have so much in common, growing up here.”

On screen, Inigo Montoya raised his sword.

“Hello,” Whit whispered automatically.

Grace waited.

“My name is Inigo Montoya,” he finished.

Lucy joined in for the rest.

“You killed my father. Prepare to die”

Grace rolled her eyes.

But she was smiling.

***

The huge parking lot at Harvest chapel was full, a giant tent sat in the center of the lot and very loud, raucous music was pumping out of it.

“My head is hurting already,” Whit said.

Whit and Lucy fell in with the stream of people heading towards the tent and were greeted by Troy and Angie Phelps. “Hey so glad you guys could make it,” Angie said.

“Oh yeah Brother Hale will be speaking the word tonight!” Troy said. Whit smiled. He’d never seen his two older painting students so excited before. For a moment he wished he could be like them. Just excited by the things that guys ‘round here got excited about. Football, beer, hunting, and Jesus.

“We think it’s so great you're letting that kid stay with you, maybe you can help them,” Angie said.

“Yeah, it’s great having Grace stay with us. It’s kind of like we get to be parents but we skipped all the hard stuff,” Lucy said.

Whit raised an eyebrow, this didn’t sound like the Lucy he knew, “She’s a great kid,” Whit added emphasizing the she.

Troy and Angie just smiled and nodded. A moment later Lucy’s Mom pulled them up near the front where her Friends of Jesus congregation had staked out some seats.

Lucy’s mom pressed programs into their hands like they were tickets to a concert.

“Brother Hale’s been on television,” she whispered proudly. “He tells it straight. No compromise.” Whit knew this, he’d done a google search. Levi Hale had stirred up some National news when he claimed that autism was a made up disease that was actually caused by spiritual poisoning from video games and LGBTQ culture.

Whit suddenly realized he shouldn’t be here but nodded politely and took a folding chair next to Lucy near the aisle. The tent canvas snapped overhead in the warm wind. Stage lights bathed the platform in harsh white. A drum kit pounded out something that felt more like a pep rally than church.

Lucy leaned close. “We can leave if it gets weird.”

Whit gave a tight smile. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine.

The band finished. The crowd roared like someone had scored a touchdown.

A very large man in a polo shirt stepped up to the lectern and raised his hands. “Hallelujah!” he yelled.

The crowd answered back, “Hallelujah!”

When the tent was silent the man lowered his head, “Bow your heads in prayer.” he said. Words started slow and understandable. He thanked God for the congregation, for the safe travel, for good weather, and it got faster. He asked God to give all men strength to hear the truth. And soon the words were pouring out, rolling together and becoming one. Finally slowing back down.

He finished with a red face, his collar soaked in sweat, in a strained whisper he said, “In God’s name I pray, Amen.”

A quiet echo of Amen’s emitted from the crowd and then the man shouted, causing the mic to clip “Can I get an Amen!”

The crowd shouted back, “Amen!”

“This is my parent’s pastor,” Lucy said with a smile. Her Mom and Dad, like most of the crowd around them, were entranced.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I'm Brother Patrick, Pastor at Friends of Jesus and I want to thank the good people at Harvest Chapel for this almighty coming together. All of God's children under one tent!”

The crowd roared with applause.

“I’m proud to introduce, for the final time during our Spirit Razin Revival Series, all the way from Antioch Tennessee, a man of God, a man of Truth, a man who isn’t afraid of the woke, a man who tells it like it is. Brother Levi Hale.”

The crowd were on their feet and the applause deafened Whit’s ears, he bent down and whispered to Lucy, “Is this professional wrestling?” She frowned and shrugged.

Then Brother Levi Hale stepped onto the platform.

He was larger than Whit expected. Thick neck, pressed suit straining at the shoulders, his grey hair short cropped in a way that reminded him of an 80s military action hero. He didn’t walk so much as occupy space.

“ARE YOU READY FOR TRUTH TONIGHT?” Hale boomed.

The tent erupted.

Whit felt the vibration in his ribs.

Hale paced the stage, voice rising and falling with practiced rhythm.

“We live in a time where people call evil good and good evil! Where confusion is celebrated! Where men abandon their God-given design!”

He opened his Bible dramatically. “If you would turn with me to 2nd Corinthians, chapter 4, verse 4.”

The tent was full of the sound of turning pages, Whit and Lucy sat their hands in their laps having not brought bibles. An older woman nearby uncapped a highlighter and highlighted the passage.

“After a moment Brother Hale read, “In their case, the god of this age has blinded the minds of the unbelievers to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.”

Brother Hale paused dramatically, then asked “Who is the God of our Age? Well I’ll give you a hint. It’s not Jesus. The God in our current age in this world is Satan.”

He delved into his material, starting with video games, movies, then music. “The Devil's Doorways,” he called them. He was particularly harsh on the Netflix series Stranger Things, which he called a celebration of Satan's victory over Earth.

“First John 5:19 And we know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness.” He paused and put the mic nearly in his mouth, “You see people, they… are… winning…”

“Their near victory is nowhere more clearly shown than the simple fact that they have corrupted the most basic part of God’s design. In the beginning, God created them male and female. Not male and male. Not female and female. Not confused and searching and experimenting! Am I a man today, a woman tomorrow, and maybe a cat on Wednesday?”

Laughter rippled through the tent.

“God didn’t give you a choice, he gave you a soul!”

Whit stared straight ahead.

Lucy glanced sideways at him.

Hale’s voice sharpened.

“They want your children. They want your schools. They want to tell your boys that they can put on a dress and call it identity. They want to mutilate young girls and call it medicine.”

The word mutilate landed like a slap.

Whit’s hands curled around the program in his lap.

“They say if you disagree, you are hateful. They even claim it’s violence to have a different opinion. They say if you protect your children, you are violent. But I tell you tonight this gender madness is not compassion. It is rebellion against God!”

The tent roared.

Lucy’s mom clapped, then stopped. She quickly looked over, realizing, since they took in Grace, this could be personal for her Daughter and Son in Law

Troy shouted, “Preach it!”

Whit’s vision narrowed.

He wasn’t thinking about politics.

He was thinking about Grace and about an embarrassed 12-year-old boy in Wal-Mart holding a sunflower sweater.

Hale stepped out from behind the podium to the edge of the makeshift stage and held his bible against his chest.

“Some of you are harboring this confusion in your own homes. Some of you are tolerating it in your families. That is not love. That is cowardice.”

Whit inhaled sharply. Brother Hale was looking straight at him, was this for real?

Lucy’s hand slid toward his knee.

Hale’s voice lowered, more dangerous now.

“If a man says he is a woman, he is lying. If a woman says she is a man, she is deceived. And if you affirm that lie, you share in the sin.”

The word lie echoed.

Whit stood up.

It wasn’t dramatic at first. Just a man rising from a folding chair.

Lucy’s fingers grabbed his wrist. “Whit.” whe whispered.

He gently pulled free. And turned into the aisle.

Brother Hale was watching and pounced..

“And some of you,” Hale said, eyes locking onto Whit like a predator sensing motion, “cannot even bear to hear the truth.”

The crowd shifted.

Whit felt hundreds of eyes.

Whit turned back to face him not thinking, just reacting. “I heard something,” Whit said, voice steady but loud enough to carry.

A ripple moved through the tent.

Lucy whispered sharply, “Whit, stop.”

Hale smiled.

“Brother, are you struggling with something tonight?”

Laughter from somewhere in the back. Whit turned and saw Troy and Angie frowning.

Whit felt heat crawl up his neck. But something else too. A strange clarity.

“Just left something in the oven, gotta run,” Whit said loudly to a smattering of laughter. He quickly turned and started down the aisle.

Hale didn’t smile, he smelled blood, wanted confrontation “Son, you can’t joke your way out this time.”

Whit shook his head. Lucy was in the aisle now moving after him.

Now the tent was fully alert, Brother Hale had turned a slightly uncomfortable situation into a morality play right before their eyes. He stepped over a loudspeaker and jumped off the stage onto the grass aisle.

Hale raised a hand theatrically, it was time to play his trump card, “Mr. Whitlock, you could help bring a lost person back to God’s truth, but instead you are affirming his confusion.”

Whit froze in his tracks and felt his chest tighten. Mr. Whitlock? Was this a setup, was the entire town in on it? Lucy caught him and took his hand.

“Lets go,” she said.

Brother Hale took another step forward, “Let’s pray for this man, that he doesn’t sow lies and sin, but God’s truth in his house.”

A chorus of Amens rose around Whit.

Whit laughed once, short and disbelieving.

“Don’t,” he said. “I don’t want your truth.”

Hale smiled.

“Jesus loves you. If you’re confused, he can help you son.”

The word son hit like a stone.

Whit stopped and turned to face Hale. His voice rose despite himself. “Don’t call me that.”

Silence fell, thick and electric.

Lucy’s heart slammed in her chest. She saw it before Whit did, the trap. “Darren come on!” she hissed and pulled his arm.

Hale took another step closer.

“What should I call you?”

The question wasn’t curious. It was bait.

Whit felt the moment stretching like a wire about to snap.

Lucy squeezed his arm. Time froze, Whit looked around, all these faces, looking at him. People he saw at the grocery store. Maybe this was a dream, or maybe he was in a play, maybe he was a character in someone’s novel. He just had to wait for the author to write his next line.

Whit smiled at that thought.

Sarah. That’s what the author wrote.

Instead he shook his head and turned to walk out.

Hale’s voice followed him, amplified and cutting.

“When the Spirit convicts, the flesh runs!”

Some clapped and Hale continued walking back towards the stage, “Pray for the Whitlock family, and pray for Grayson Miller.”

Whit didn’t turn back, but Lucy did.

“Her name is Grace, you self righteous asshole.” She turned to the crowd, “Hope you enjoyed the show.”

Now Whit was pulling her, and she felt hot tears streaking down her face as they passed under the tent. Standing people stared at them as they walked past the overflow crowd. The parking lot felt enormous and quiet compared to the chaos inside.

Lucy grabbed his shoulders.

“You had to make a scene.” she demanded, not angry, but terrified.

Whit’s breathing was uneven.

“I couldn’t sit there,” he said. “I couldn’t let him talk about her like that. Like she’s some disease. At least I didn’t call anyone an asshole.”

Lucy grinned despite the unease she felt, but smile quickly left her face

“And what about you?” she asked quietly.

Whit looked at her. “I’m fine. Let's go home.”