Shock followed by disappointment flashes across her face. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” I lament. “Now, I’ll pay you two thousand if you’ll get your ass back up to the room and stay there until we leave for Utah in the morning.”
“Utah?” she asks, staring at me like I just told her I’m running away to join the circus.
I snicker, thinking maybe I already have… just without the big-top tent. “Yeah, come on, I’ll tell you all about your daughter’s brilliant idea on our way up.”
This time when I pull her to come with me, she follows.
Finley
OH. EM. GEE. What was I thinking when I agreed to extending this God-forsaken road trip? Didn’t I learn anything yesterday? Maybe I need to revisit my aversion to flying, because clearly, hours upon hours in the car on the highway are not my thing. Plummeting to your death from thirty-thousand feet up in the air in a tin can may not be such a bad thing after all.
The only thing that saved Farrah’s life earlier today is when I saw a pair of sound-cancelling headphones in one of the dozen gas stations we stopped in for her pea-sized bladder, and bought those bitches, not even bothering to look at the price tag. I would’ve paid a thousand dollars for them at that point.
The second half of the nine-plus-hour trip — lengthened thanks to the aforementioned pit stops — was much improved once I could no longer hear my sister singing, but now, as we approach my uncle’s house on the outskirts of Salt Lake City, I’m getting antsy to get out of this damn car. I’m hungry and cranky, and I wish we wouldn’t have agreed to have dinner with Uncle Frank tonight, because all I really want to do is order room service, get in my pajamas, and watch a movie from the hotel bed. A lot like we did last night, once I got Farrah safely back up to the animal kingdom of Africa.
But once Uncle Frank found out we were coming to Utah today, he insisted that we attend his neighborhood’s weekly Sunday evening BBQ, so we’re going there first, and then to the hotel after. I’m hoping we only have to stay long enough to grab a bite to eat, meet whoever he wants to introduce us to, and get the hell out of there. And I pray he hasn’t told everyone about the lottery winnings or that anyone recognizes us. That’s the last thing I want to deal with.
“Slow down, Mummy. The exit is right up here. Aren’t you paying attention to the bloke on the GPS?” Farrah exclaims from the backseat, glancing up from an iPad I didn’t know she had. I guess I really hadn’t been around a lot lately.
Farrah slams her foot on the brakes and cuts the wheel hard to the right to make the ramp, causing the truck behind us to swerve into the next lane to keep from crashing into the back of our car. The other driver lays on his horn and shoots us the middle finger as he passes, and Farrah has the audacity to shoot him the bird back, and screams, “Learn how to drive, asshole!”
I groan and squeeze my eyes shut, deciding maybe it’s better if I can’t see what’s going on around us until we reach or destination. Or perhaps I should say if we reach it. I think I’ll be demanding I take over some of the driving shifts on the way back home. Like, all of them.
Keeping my eyes closed, I rest my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window and blow out a long, exhausted breath. I never have quite understood why sitting, virtually unmoving, in a car for multiple hours in a row is so draining and depleting. Makes no damn sense, but sure enough, when we come to a stop and the engine turns off, and I unstick the backs of my thighs from the leather bucket seat and stretch my body outside the car, my muscles scream in protest at the slightest movement.
“Farrah! Finley! You made it!” I hear Uncle Frank’s voice before I see him, because once I open my eyes to take a peek around where we are, all I can see is a solid gray stone wall in front of me, probably around nine or ten feet tall, if I had to guess. Quickly glancing over at Farrah and Fiona, I recognize a similar look of hesitation etched on their faces, and I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or not.
“Uncle Frank?” I call out, as I turn in a circle, unsure of where he is or how he knows we’re here. “Where are you? Where do we go to get in?”
His deep laugh rings out through the early evening, before he says, “Hold on one second. I’m opening the gate now. Get back in your car and drive on through until the main street dead ends. There’s a place you can park at the back of the compound. I’ll meet you back there.”
‘Compound?’ I mouth the word at Farrah, as my eyes bulge out of my head. Did he really use that word to describe what we’re about to enter?
Apparently unfazed, she simply shrugs and climbs back in the car, revving the engine back to life. Seeing as though I don’t have a lot of choice in what to do right now, I follow suit and fold myself back into the passenger’s seat, letting Fiona sit on my lap for the short trek inside the wall. I have no idea where in the world we are, or what in the hell he meant by compound, but unease simmers inside me as a section of the wall gradually swings open to allow us to pass through.
My senses are on high alert as we creep along the paved road toward the thickly wooded tree line a hundred or so yards ahead of us, which I assume is the dead end he’s referring to. The ‘compound’ at first glance appears to be a tiny neighborhood with eight large ranch-style homes — four to the left and four to the right — all slightly different in brick and trim color, but overall very similar. Long driveways lead off of the main road we’re currently on to each of the homes, all perfectly landscaped and manicured, and in the very center of the property, there’s the biggest tree I’ve ever seen, its far-reaching limbs providing a canopy shade for a nice children’s park and picnic area that’s overflowing with people who look like they just came straight from church.
The men, in button-downs and slacks, are huddled around the BBQ pits, engaged in casual conversations with one another, while the modest yet stylishly dressed women, not one in pants or shorts, happily tend to the well-groomed children — and there seems to be a lot of them. Every single person wears a smile on their face so bright and cheerful as we drive by that I feel like we just drove on the set of a 1950’s family sitcom. Or a twenty-first century antidepressant commercial. Either way, it’s weird as shit.
“This is how horror movies start,” I mumble, as the Camaro comes to a stop in the gravel lot by the woods and I open the door.
“Mummy! I want to go to the swings!” Fiona shouts, quickly trying to monkey climb her way off my lap and out of the car. “There are other kids here too! I knew this was a good idea!”
Oblivious to anything out of the ordinary, Farrah laughs and tells her to remember her manners while encouraging her to go play. I want to call out and stop Fiona, to tell her she needs to wait for us before going over there with those strangers, but I don’t have a good reason to give her why not to. Particularly not when I see Uncle Frank striding in our direction, coming out of one of the houses to where we’re parked.
“Hey, girls! I’m so glad you made it safely.” He makes it over to us in a hurry, greeting Farrah first with a hug, and then me, before backing away a few steps and shaking his head in disbelief. “Look at both of you. Grown into such beautiful young women. Farrah, you are the spitting image of your mom. It’s unreal, truly.” Shifting his attention to me, he grins so big I’m afraid his face is going to split in two. “And Finley, wow. When I saw you on TV a few weeks ago, I almost couldn’t believe it was you. I called Flora and told her that milkman must’ve been a good-looking guy.”
“Thank you, Uncle Frank. It’s so good to see you,” I lie, and offer a fake laugh at the old family joke, even though I don’t find it funny. Being called the milkman’s kid while growing up only emphasized how different I looked than everyone else in my house. As if I didn’t already know. It’s old and worn out. Kinda like Uncle Frank’s face is starting to look.
And don’t think I didn’t pick up on his comment about seeing me on TV, his sneaky way of letting me know he knows what my current net worth is. Not that it looks like anyone around
here is hurting for funds. I’m willing to bet every single one of these homes has been professionally decorated on the inside, and that each of the garages houses at least one luxury car. The place reeks of money… and something so strange I can’t find the right word to describe it. But it’s definitely there.
“I saw the little princess take off for the park. She’s gorgeous,” he continues, looping an arm around each of our shoulders and guiding us toward the crowd of people, where Fiona already was, “and I’m sure a handful. I’ve actually got a couple of little ones myself now, and they never cease to amaze me with the amount of energy they have. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone. They’re all excited to meet you guys.”
As we walk across the grassy lawn, I peer down at my comfortable road trip outfit consisting of capri leggings, an oversized T-shirt, and sandals, and groan internally. I can only imagine that with my clothes, my makeup-less face, and the sloppy bun on top of my head, I look less than ideal to meet a bunch of people for the first time. I assumed we would have a chance to clean up a little and change before joining the festivities. Farrah, of course, looks amazing as always. Vain bitch won’t even go to the grocery store without being dolled up, always claiming she never knows when or where she’s going to meet the man of her dreams, but that she’ll always be ready.
The way I figure it, the man of my dreams is the man who sees me looking like a hot mess and is still interested. If he’s attracted to me when I’m not trying to impress, imagine how he’ll feel when I actually get fixed up for him. You know, sort of like the one who flirted with me despite the fact I had pasta sauce stains on my wrinkled shirt, a swollen red eye that dripped like a leaky faucet, and I was a complete klutz. Yep, that same one who continues to visit me most nights in that magical land of dreams.
“How long have you lived here in this impound?” Farrah asks, as she smiles up at Uncle Frank. “It looks really cozy.”
He laughs at her word flub, but doesn’t correct her. “The construction of the houses was almost finished when I moved here six years ago. It was like divine intervention when God put Joseph on that fishing boat with me. He knew this is where I belonged, and that it was the perfect timing. I stayed with him and his family until construction was completed, and then he moved into that house over there,” he points to the brown brick with white trim before moving it to the one he just came out of, “and I took this one here.”
“So what’s up with the stone walls and isolation?” I pry, noticing the section that had opened to let us in is already locked back in place.
His eyes cut over to me, and the way his mouth curls up in a leering grin sends a chill down my spine. What I remember as him being charming, now strikes me as borderline creepy. “It’s important to me and all of my brothers of God that our wives and children have a safe place to worship, learn, and play while we’re away at work during the days. To keep them protected and sheltered from the crazy that lies beyond these walls.”
I want to ask who keeps them safe from the crazy that lies within, but bite my tongue as we approach the awaiting mass of the happiest people in the world. Before I know it, I’m catapulted into the group — shaking hands, receiving hugs, meeting person after person, none of whose names I’ll ever remember.
When I finally get a break from the introductions, I amble over to the swing set where a young blonde woman, probably about my age, is kneeling in front of Fiona with a baby. Fiona giggles at something the woman says then reaches out to touch the baby’s hand.
“Hey, squirt,” I say, announcing my presence. “What’s going on? You having fun?”
Fiona peers up at me and gives me my favorite toothless grin with an emphatic nod. “Hullo, Auntie Finley, I was just meeting my little baby cousin. Isn’t he bloody adorable?”
The woman, who I realize is actually an older teenage girl once I get a good look at her face, stands and smiles graciously. “Hi, I’m Stephanie,” she greets, holding her free hand out to me. “I’m Frank’s wife, and this is our little one, Joshua.”
“W-w-wife?” I stammer, unsure if I heard her correctly. “How old are you?”
“I’m seventeen, and yes, his wife,” she answers matter-of-factly. “The Prophet placed me in your Uncle Frank’s care not long after my fifteenth birthday. I was struggling to keep sweet before I met him, but he’s turned my life around.”
I have no idea who in the world the Prophet is, or what in the hell she means by ‘to keep sweet,’ but I know my uncle is in his mid-thirties and way too damn old to have a seventeen-year-old wife. I also know here and now is not the place to express my opinions, when there’s close to a hundred of whoever these people are, and only three of us. We need to get through this dinner as quickly as possible so we can get the fuck out of Dodge. And never return.
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, uh, Aunt Stephanie.” I force the politeness, hoping I don’t sound or look as much like the judgmental bitch I currently am. “And your son is precious. He looks just like you.” There. That was nice and not a lie.
Turning back to Fiona, I reach down and ruffle her straw-colored hair then honk her nose. “All right, squirt. You have fun, but make sure you stay out here where your mom and I can see you, okay?”
She agrees and goes back to cooing over her little cousin, so I set out to find Farrah in the mass of bodies, but my task proves to be easy, seeing as she’s the only person here with jet-black hair or who’s wearing jean shorts and makeup. I sidle up next to where she stands chatting with our much-changed uncle, another man close to Frank’s age, and an attractive twenty-something redhead who has a small toddler girl wrapped around her legs.
“Finley, there you are!” Uncle Frank moves to stand near me, patting me between the shoulder blades. “I’d like to introduce you to one of my brothers in faith, Bradley Scruggs.” He pauses to allow me and Bradley to shake hands and exchange pleasantries before turning to the woman. “And this is my wife, Alicia, and our daughter, Haley.”
Wait. His what?!
Completely forgetting all of my manners, instead of saying hello to her, my mouth gapes open as my head swings around to the playground then back to the group around me. “But-but… I thought,” I point toward the blonde teenager with the baby still talking to Fiona, “that was your wife and kid?”
Frank, Bradley, and Alicia all laugh at my question, while Farrah gives me one of her signature I’m-totally-lost looks. Pieces of the puzzle quickly fall into place for me, but they’re confirmed when Alicia opens her mouth to speak.
“Stephanie and I are both Frank’s wives,” she replies casually, like she’s saying something as mundane as the sky is blue. “There’s a third one too, Hannah. She’s in the house on bed rest due to some complications with her pregnancy, but I know she’s excited to meet you guys.”
Farrah’s brown eyes grow to the size of saucers, matching what I’m sure my own look like right now. Sure, I knew polygamy existed; I mean, who hasn’t watched at least one episode of Sister Wives just to see what it’s all about? But… Uncle Frank’s a…
“You’re morning people?” Farrah gasps.
“It’s Mormon, sis, but just as weird,” I correct her, with an edge to my voice.
“Look, I know it’s kinda shocking at first,” Uncle Frank says, holding his hands up in surrender, “but once you actually sit down and read the word and listen to the Prophet speak, you’ll understand this truly is God’s plan. Never in my life have I felt so happy and so at peace as I do now.”
Yeah, I’m sure you are. What man wouldn’t like to be regularly tapping three chicks nearly half his age that wait on him hand and foot? Rough life, buddy.
When Farrah and I remain silent, Uncle Frank proves he can make this incredibly awkward situation even worse. “When Fiona called yesterday and told me y’all were coming, I knew this was the Lord’s will to bring you here and show you the life we’ve made here. You are two lost young women, searching for your path to the Kingdom, and here at Celestial Oak
, you’ve found it. We will take you in and allow the Prophet to place you with a husband who will provide for and lead you in the right direction. Just ask Alicia—”
“The only direction we’re heading,” I cut him off, having heard enough, “is out of here. No offense, Alicia,” I tell the poor misguided girl with a sympathetic simper. “You may be a real sweet person, but you’ve gotta realize that you deserve better than sharing the man who’s supposed to love you more than anyone else with other women. There’s a reason that only like one percent of the population practices polygamy, and it’s not because the other ninety-nine percent of us are all lost.”
I shake my head with disappointment at Uncle Frank as I begin backpedaling away from them, needing some space. “Granny Freda’s probably rolling in her grave over this.”
“Finley, calm down,” he starts, reaching out to grab my wrist as he steps toward me.
I jerk my arm out of his loose grasp and glare at Farrah. “Get Fiona and get in the car now. We’re leaving,” I snap.
Thankfully, she doesn’t hesitate and calls out for her daughter while moving swiftly toward the car. Her willingness to agree without question only confirms my assessment of the situation. If Farrah is freaked out, shit’s got to be whack.
Returning my attention to Uncle Frank, I flare my nostrils and scowl. I don’t care that everyone is watching and listening. “Open the wall. Now.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” he grits out.
“Ridiculous is having more than one wife and thinking it’s normal!” I shout. “Now open up the damn wall before I start telling all of your ‘brothers in faith’ about all the crazy shit you used to do when you lived with us. I’m sure they’d love to know about Jerry.”
The color drains from his face when I mention the guy he dated during his ‘being gay is cool’ stage. I’m sure the Latter Day Saints have forgiven him for quite a few of his transgressions earlier in life, but I highly doubt he came clean about taking a dick in the ass for about a year straight.