Minka Kent - Gone Again

OTHER TITLES BY MINKA KENT

Unmissing

The Memory Watcher

The Thinnest Air

The Perfect Roommate

The Stillwater Girls

When I Was You

The Watcher Girl

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Text copyright 2023 by Nom de Plume, LLC

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781662505393 (paperback)

ISBN-13: 9781662505386 (digital)

Cover design by Shasti OLeary Soudant

Cover images: Ruben Mario Ramos, Alexandre Rotenberg / Arcangel Images

For Milo

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CELIA

Twenty-five years ago

And just like that . My father releases a white-knuckled grip from the steering wheel of our rambling family Ford and snaps his fingers. Well be driving down the road, and suddenly the three of us will be gone, Celia. Your mother. Your sister. Me. Well vanish. Well disappear . Therell be no one behind the wheel of this car, you understand?

A flea market crucifix dangles from the rearview mirror, the prismatic beads glinting in the midmorning sun. I stare at the miniature bronze figurewondering how a depiction of someone being gruesomely murdered thousands of years ago is supposed to make us feel safe, give us hope, and remind us that every hardship we experience will be worth it in the end.

I glance at my youngest sister in her car seat beside me, grinning her gummy smile and reaching her sticky hands in my direction. Oblivious to the fire-and-brimstone life shes been born into. She doesnt know it yet, but shes in for a wild ride. And maybe shell never know it, but she deserves better than whats in store for her.

You listening back there, young lady? My father peers into the mirror until our eyes meet. I nod. The Almighty will take us believers to the promised land and leave everyone else behind. And no one knows when. Itll just happen.

Its a story hes told a million times before, like hes been preparing for the end of days his entire life.

My mother frowns as she makes the sign of the crossher way of emphasizing his point. Rebecca Fieldings role has always been that of his devoted ally; she is a woman of the Almighty first, a wife to Jim second, a dutiful and loyal member of the Church of True Believers third, and somewhere down the line shes our mother.

Left behind , Celia, Dad says with ominous emphasis. Our eyes convene in the rearview once more, and his are a shade of discontent Ive seen far too many times before. A chill dances down my spine. Is that what you want?

Of course not, I say.

Whats that? He taps the top of his ear, a sign for me to speak up. Two decades working in law enforcement have permanently damaged his hearing.

Of course not. Im louder this time. I know better than to suggest he turn down the sermon playing from the radio.

Say it like you mean it, Celia. Theres a boom in his voice, a tone I would never question unless I wanted to be crucified the second we got home.

Of. Course. Not, I say a third time, enunciating each and every word at a volume one notch below shouting.

I exchange looks with my younger sisterthe one on the other side of Celestes car seat. Sweet Genevieve is seated perfectly upright, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her paisley smock dress, slick french braid, and innocent baby blues make her appear younger than her thirteen years.

We both know Im lying.

We both know Id give anything to disappear from this life, from this family, from these clothes that itch and constrict. From these oppressive rules that dont make sense. From the skin and voice and eyes and name that feel like they belong to everyone except me.

If I could snap my fingers and be free from all this, I would.

Just like that, Id be gone.

But I know from personal experience that every action in this family has a dire consequence. If I skip my nightly verse, Im forced to go without breakfast the next morning. If I accidentally giggle or open my eyes during the pastors prayers, Im struck across my lap seven times with a wooden ruler when we get home. If I happen to scan the pews during a sermon and allow my gaze to linger on the green-eyed, wavy-haired Johannsen boy a few seconds too long, Im sentenced to three days of devotions and water fasting.

My father flicks his turn signal, and we veer into the packed gravel parking lot of the Church of True Believers. We enter the main doors as a family a moment later, the four of us in lockstep as weve done a thousand times, the pink-and-gray car seat hanging from my fathers arm.

The sickly sweet scent of pastries and strong coffee fills the air.

Organ music plays low from overhead speakers, a prelude to the three hours of worship ahead of us.

Were greeted with preservice handshakes, blessings, a multitude of good mornings , and the friendliest of smiles, all eyes on us. Everyone knowsand lovesthe Fieldings. My father is a congregation deacon and ambassador, and Pastor Jacobs often uses us as a shining example of a God-fearing church family.

It seems to me if the God we worship is all-knowing and all-powerful, he would have found a way to let Pastor Jacobs know that were far from perfect.

We arent even close.

The overhead song stopsa signal for everyone to take their seats.

Mom takes Celeste to the nursery in the basement.

I follow my father and Genevieve into our usual spot in the second pew on the left, and then I bow my head, mutter the congregational prayer, and half listen as Pastor Jacobs begins todays sermon.

The curls in my hair, the floral pinafore covering my overdeveloped teenage body, the lips that whisper memorized scriptureit all feels like a mask, because how could I ever call myself a child of the Almighty when Im being raised by the devil himself?

He does not make us without fault, Pastor Jacobs preaches from his pulpit, sweat already collecting across his brow on this muggy Florida morning. But where he giveth us darkness, he also giveth us light to show us the way out of that darkness.

Amen, my father says, lifting his worn leather Bible into the air.

I spend the three hours that follow hatching up a plan to leave once and for all.

This time next week, Ill be gone.

CHAPTER 2

CELIA

Present day

I watch my husband sleep as if its the last time Ill ever see himas if I havent memorized every bend and arch of his agreeable face and softening middle-aged body a thousand times before under the moon shadows cast from our bedroom window. If I knew it wouldnt wake him, Id run my fingers through his silky salt-and-pepper hair the way I always do when Im feeling sentimental.

Sometimes when I cant sleep, I play a little game.

If I died right nowwhat would be the last words we exchanged? What would his final memory of us be? Would he mourn indefinitely or seek comfort in anothers arms before the damp earth anchored my coffin in the ground? Would he remarry? Finally start the family I know he secretly yearns foralbeit later in life? Or would he go on to die of a broken heart? Stress-induced cardiomyopathy is real. Ive done the research. My little daydreams are nothing if not accurately portrayed. And Ill admit, its a sick and twisted game to play for someone whos deathly afraid of... death .