Prepared to brazen out the ritual, I take Mila by the elbow to guide her toward the pool—but her mother runs on stage in a flurry of hand motions. “I’m so sorry, preacher,” she says in furious whisper, red faced. “I-I had no idea she’d left the house in this get-up. I won’t force you to sully your hands with her.” Sully my hands? She’s a fucking angel. And I’m already damned to hell for my past sins, but I’ll be damned twice before Mila gets humiliated in front of the entire town. Not even over my dead body will I allow that to happen. She’s only a sweet, young girl who hasn’t yet learned the
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