The Devil's Secret by Joshua Ingle

his friends at Good Shepherd Family Church. When Brandon had asserted that he was carefully weighing truth claims, the church just said he was “deceived.”
    He’d wanted Christianity to be true. He’d desperately wanted God to be real, and had used every excuse he could find to defend the beliefs with which he’d been raised. But when he’d read the skeptics’ arguments thoroughly, they’d convinced him. Tim and Karen understood none of that, even though Brandon had tried to explain it. As far as they were concerned, the devil had gotten to him, and that was all there was to it. He’d gone off to college and been brainwashed by the liberal elite. There was no other possible explanation.
    It was Karen who’d led the attack, going so far as to preach a whole sermon about apostasy three weeks ago, a sermon not so subtly targeting Brandon in the pews. And as much as Brandon admired the progressiveness of a church with a female preacher, when she’d voiced disapproval of his “yoking together with an unbeliever,” Brandon had given up his attempts to find a middle ground with her.
    Even after that, Karen had cornered him in the hallway one Sunday morning to tell him that she was praying for him to give up his sinful lifestyle. (Never mind that literally nothing about his lifestyle had changed during his deconversion.) She’d insinuated that his marriage was doomed to unhappiness, and that he’d end up falling into pornography addiction. Brandon still wasn’t sure where she’d gotten that last bit from. He’d never cared for porn, even in private.
    But Karen had saved her harshest offensive for earlier tonight, when she’d cornered Heather in the bride’s dressing room and actually tried to talk her into leaving Brandon. He still seethed at the memory. If he never had to see that woman again in his life, he’d—
    “Ah, Mr. Barnett,” said a server carrying a platter of wine glasses. “Would you like some wine?”
    At the interruption, Brandon realized that all his muscles were tight, his teeth clenched. Damn it, there I go again. He’d promised Heather that he’d forgo his proclivity for pessimism just for one day, and so far he was failing. He forced himself to laugh, relax, and shake out his arms. “No thanks, I don’t drink,” he told the waiter. Had Tim not informed the country club staff that Brandon was a recovering alcoholic? Oh well: Brandon had certainly recovered enough by now to resist the temptation. It’d been Heather who’d helped him grow into sobriety…
    And there she was, sitting way out on the edge of the pier, knees bent toward her chest, arms around her knees. She’d taken a liking to that quaint spot by the lake the first time she’d seen it, during last year’s summer vacation.
    Brandon opened the door and stepped outside. The band’s rendition of “What A Wonderful World” grew muffled behind him as he strode past the garden onto the empty lawn, then down the hill toward the lake.
    The air was brisk for mid-April. Brandon tightened his jacket around himself and walked a little faster. He tried to read Heather’s mood in her posture, but couldn’t. Time and time again, he’d assured her that they didn’t have to have a formal wedding. He’d even admitted his aversion to the idea of marriage. And he’d explained that his family and friends would be rough on her. But she’d felt that a wedding was an important statement to make to Brandon’s hometown community. Brandon couldn’t argue with her on that.
    It’s not like any of it ultimately matters, anyway.
    As his feet thumped against the wooden pier, a magnificent burst of sheet lightning lit up the clouds in the distance. At least the Heavens were celebrating their union.
    “Hey,” he said as he approached Heather, who’d changed into a simple blue frock.
    She turned to see him, gave an oddly solemn smile, then looked back over the water. “Hey. How you doing?”
    Brandon sat next to his wife and slid a