Three Rivers Read Free Page A

flames. When it was as hot as she could bear, it faded to an ember, then snuffed out to blackness. Black as a shroud of protection, black as a mask of death, black as the Delta soil. She huffed out a burst of air like someone punched in the gut. That was better. Light. Clear, pure white light remained.
    *   *   *
    A soft hand stroked her arm. She was in a cool room now, a cave. Candlelight flickered on the mud-scraped walls. The dirt floor was raked into concentric circles. She sat in a circle of women, all of them woozy and disoriented from the heat of the sauna. Plus there was the tea they were served before entering the sauna, some mixture of ginger and funny mushrooms that helped the enlightenment along. Geneva bent at the waist and let her tongue flop out, doglike, onto the cool ground. Saliva poured from her mouth and turned the soil to pudding. A pair of hairy arms pulled her back. “Careful, love,” said a woman’s silky voice against her ear.
    Geneva smiled. Careful had never really been her style.

 
    Chapter Four
    Melody picked her way across the gravel parking lot. Her pants ripped a bit wider with each step. Big deal. She would never wear them again, and there was no one she hoped to impress between here and White Forest, Mississippi. Then she heard her name called and realized she was being followed. It was Chris. She ran faster. Chris had been trying to catch her for months. She wasn’t about to slow down for him now.
    Six months ago, Melody had walked off the stage after a performance in Oklahoma City and slammed into Chris Perkins, radio host, producer, up-and-coming tastemaker in the Christian music scene, almost as important as he believed himself to be. Chris was the voice of the Christian Radio Network, a syndicated service that aired wherever people listened to gospel music, which was most places in America.
    Melody had not been paying attention and she walked into Chris, who was hanging out backstage. “Whoa!” He grabbed her shoulders and grinned like the Cheshire cat. Melody, as she always did under such circumstances, flushed purple and babbled out an apology. “Did I step on your foot?”
    Chris laughed. “You’re still standing on my foot.”
    â€œOh.” She stepped back.
    â€œYes, but it’s fine. My foot is fine.” Chris jogged or danced or something, as if to prove his foot was in good working order. He looked like a puppet on a string.
    â€œI’m glad.” She’d tried to walk around him, to catch up to the other girls. Joy liked to have a post-performance prayer and then tell everyone what they’d done wrong. She’d be furious if Melody was late, but Melody was going to be late. Chris took her hand and dragged her toward a heavy door. It led out into the alley and blessedly cool air.
    â€œI couldn’t hear myself think in there,” Chris said. “You were great.”
    Melody shrugged. “It’s Joy’s group.”
    â€œThat’s the problem,” Chris said. “Your voice should be front and center. Joy sings about as well as a canned ham.”
    Melody laughed. “I don’t even know what that means.”
    â€œMe neither.” Chris was sweating, his upper lip glistening, and he stood so close Melody could feel the heat coming from his body. “These outfits are ridiculous. You look great, but no one should wear this blouse. It makes you all look like Captain Cook or something.”
    â€œMine doesn’t fit so great. I’ve gained a few pounds since we ordered them.”
    â€œIt’s not you. It’s the clothing. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful in spite of the clothes. You are doing these clothes a huge favor.”
    Compliments like these were so outside the realm of Melody’s experience that she did the only thing she could think of to shut him up. She kissed him.
    He kissed back, pressing against her and putting his hands