Darling Clementine

Two

On Sundays, Vivian goes to church.

I go too. Not because I want to―oh god I don’t want to―but because Vivian is a hardcore Christian which means everyone who was unfortunate enough to live under her roof, had to abide by her religious beliefs.

And I did not give two shits about her religious beliefs. So Sunday mornings were not amusing in the slightest. It took all my willpower to wake myself up from my nest of blankets on the floor. I didn’t bother to shower. I just pulled on a red tee shirt, my blue jeans that were faded in the knees and a black knitted cardigan. I then carefully adjusted my dull aching arm back in the sling, ran a paddle brush through my shoulder length hair and called it a day.

I snatched an overly ripe orange from the fruit basket for breakfast and ate silently at the dining table while I waited for Vivian to finish getting ready. The strong citrus tang of the orange churned my stomach and made my mouth taste disgusting. But I was hungry, so I ate it without much complaint.

By the look of the bright sun spilling in through the kitchen sink window that was covered in a thin layer of dried murky grime, today is going to be a warm cloudless day.

Luckily for me, the flower shop isn’t open on Sundays for Vivian’s religious purposes which meant that I didn't have to make any deliveries today under the burning Maine sun.

This day, despite church, was just getting better and better.

I was finished with my orange by the time Vivian was ready to leave. I sat in the backseat  of her black Honda Civic while Vivian, dressed in white slacks and a pink blazer drove.

“I’ll never understand why you refuse to sit in the passenger seat.” Vivian grumbled as she pulled out of the driveway.

You of all people should understand exactly why. I didn’t answer, I just gazed out the window, pretending to be interested at the sky.

The drive was silent save for the soft orchestra music softly playing from the speakers. My fingers which rested on my knees shook and fidgeted. My breathing was shallow and my stomach was doing flips. I hated cars.

Before church, everybody congregated outside the church doors―talking, laughing, some eating. It seems almost everyone was friends in this town. It was also safe to say that everyone knew Vivian because as soon as we pulled up, parked, and stumbled out of the car, people were calling her name in loud and happy tones. Vivian waved politely, extending her own greetings. I on the other hand, kept my eyes casted down with my good hand shoved in my pocket. I was fairly uncomfortable.

 It was a small town, so everyone knew everyone and that means everyone knew who I was and that I was new to the town. They probably knew why I moved here which made my situation twelve times more distressing.

 As we walked up the fresh cut lawn of the church to her many friends, Vivian grabbed my elbow before pulling me closely to her side. “At least try to look like you want to be here. I don’t need my friends thinkin'my granddaughter ain’t a follower of the lord.” She hissed into my ear.

I quip a small smirk. “Believe me Vivian, my religious view, if I have any, are the least of your problems.” I said with a scowl before ripping my elbow out of her warm grip. I fell back a step behind her.

“Vivian!” A lady dressed in a overly bright yellow dress greets waving her pink manicured nails in our direction. “How are you?”

Deborah Bennet, a charity mother, suck up. She was that cliché “put on a perfect image so everyone thinks I’m perfect but really, I’m just a bitch” kind of woman. Bennet hated me if I am to be blunt. She thinks I’m repulsive. She never actually said that, but I know by that judgmental glint in her green eyes that she thinks it.