Marina was shocked when Trey appeared at Kresge's the next day. "What happened?" she breathed in horror, looking at his bandaged right hand.
"I'm a little bit too embarrassed to say, Marina," he said sheepishly.
"That looks painful," Dot said with a small grimace.
"It is," he affirmed, "which is why I need a lime rickey to wash down some aspirin."
Marina slid over immediately and patted the seat, which he took with a nod of thanks. "How was your test today?" he asked her.
She gasped a little. "Oh! It was hard," she began, "but I took my time and tried to remember what you taught me. I don't know what marks I'll get but I'm hoping for a B."
Trey nodded approvingly.
"How'd you find revival last night?" Dot asked Trey with no sarcasm.
Trey seemed to perk up a bit and say, "Good, good. I may be able to settle in."
Marina's heart sank. "May?"
Trey looked at her and said gently, "I can re-dedicate my life to Jesus anywhere, anytime. I can do it at night when I get on my knees to pray. I don't need a preacher to help me speak to God."
Marina's brow wrinkled because there was something very wrong with that logic, but she couldn't figure out what.
"That's what we believe," Dot said softly. Marina looked across the table at Dot, who wasn't looking at Trey, but at Marina. "He's Pentecostal and he thinks that, too."
"Methodist," he corrected. "But no protestant church says you have to go through a preacher to get to God." He glanced at Dot to include her in the conversation, then back to Marina. "I'm looking for a church to make my own and a preacher I can talk to when I have theological questions. I don't need anybody to intercede for me."
Marina remained silent, because he had taken the conversation so far above her head she felt like she had Tuesday. All she knew was— "My father says the man is the head of the household and God speaks to him for his wife and children."
"That's not the same thing," Dot put in. Marina looked at her warily because now it felt like Dot and Trey were ganging up on her about things Marina didn't quite understand. "God tells the man how to serve his family, not—"
"Serve?" Marina interrupted. "That's the woman's job."
Dot huffed. "It's everybody's job. Everybody serves each other!"
"Hold up, there, ladies," Trey said smoothly. Marina flushed. She'd forgotten he was there. "Is this a perennial argument?"
"A what?" Dot asked.
"Yes," Marina told Trey, then told Dot. "Perennial argument. One that keeps popping up all the time. Like gardening. You know. Perennials, annuals."
"Ohhhhhh," Dot replied, sitting back and letting it be, but clearly not happy about it.
Trey cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to be the cause of one. Marina, I'll be happy to come to your church for as long as we're keeping company. Some churches just have to be gotten used to."
"You're Methodist?" Dot asked and Trey nodded. "So your services are pretty quiet." Again he nodded. "Have you ever been to a Pentecostal church before?"
"Ah, no," he said with a wry laugh.
"It's different," she said sagely, and again, Marina felt left out. Stupid. Childish.
YOU ARE READING
Kansas City, Missouri, 1929 Trey Dunham, a mid-level cog in the Pendergast Machine during Prohibition, runs 1520 Main, Boss Tom's most prized speakeasy featuring good booze, hot jazz, and beautiful women. Trey wants to buy the join...