So many pews, stretching out on both sides of the bloodred aisle--and she pictured them filled with people, grown-ups and children, grandparents and teenagers. All the stages of life--
"Hello."
Cait nearly lost her footing on the slick marble. "Oh! I'm sorry."
An old man dressed in a mucky green janitor suit smiled as he put his mop back in his rolling bucket. "Don't apologize. You're welcome here."
"I'm not Catholic." She winced. "I mean--"
"It doesn't matter. Everyone's welcome here."
She cleared her throat. "Well, I didn't come to worship. I don't go to church anymore. Ah, actually, I'm ... I'm bringing some paintings that Sissy Barten did? You know, for her funeral? I thought it would make sense to check out things beforehand?"
"Oh, of course." He moved his pail out of the way. "Her family has been really involved here over the years--there're going to be a lot of people. I think you should plan on setting it all up in the narthex. That way there's enough space so her work can be seen well. Come this way."
As he started to walk away from the altar, she paused and looked back at the crucified Jesus on the cross that was the focal point of the entire building.
"Are you coming?" he said gently. "Or would you like a moment here?"
"Oh, no. I'm fine." Except she didn't turn around. Didn't move. "I'm not Catholic."
"You don't have to be." When she still hesitated, he dropped his voice. "You know, the truth is, it's all the same."
"I'm sorry?"
He leaned in and put his hand on her arm--and oh, God, the moment the contact was made, she felt suffused by something she'd never come close to before ... grace, she supposed her parents would have called it, that transcendental glow that supposedly came with revelation.
But he was just a janitor...
"It's all the same. No matter the vocabulary, it's all the same." He patted her. "I have to head to the office for a minute. I'll come back in a bit and show you where to go."
"I'm okay."
"I know you are. Sit down and soak it all in. I'll return soon."
Left alone, she told her feet to get moving again. Instead, she ended up doing what he said ... sitting down, putting her hands in her lap, and staring up, past the pews in front of her, to the majesty and the power before her.
In the kind silence that surrounded her, Cait discovered she was really glad she'd come here. Even if she hadn't meant to.
Who knew what the psychic would have told her. But she never did find out.
Destiny, she would discover, took care of itself.
Chapter
Forty-one
Up in the attic, Sissy stood behind Adrian--who was not looking at her. Or refusing to look at her was more like it. Fine. She was just going to keep talking to his back as he sat cross-legged in front of that shrouded figure.
"Except you must know more, right? There has to be more." She passed an eye over the deceased, and felt a stab of guilt. But whatever, she needed the help and he was the only one around. Jim had left without a goodbye, or an I'll-be-back-when--so it was just her and Adrian.
And her frustration.
She threw her hands up. "I'd go to the Internet, but you can't trust anything on it. And like the Caldwell Public Library is going to cover this?"
She could also wait and go to Jim--except for the fact that one, the guy didn't seem to know as much as Adrian; and two, she had the sense he wanted to keep her out of the war.
Whereas she was ready to get into it.
Adrian rubbed his jaw--like it was either that or start screaming. "You are a pain in my ass. No offense."
She wanted to come closer. Didn't dare. "I've got to forge my own way here. I have no choice--and if that means pissing you off, that's the way it is."
"If I were angry, you'd know it. Terminally annoyed is more accurate."
"Please. Just point me in the right direction. I'll take things from there."
He laughed in a short burst. "Funny you say it like that."
"Why?"
The angel glanced over his shoulder. "You're not going to give up on this, are you."
"Nope."
With a curse, Adrian leaned to the side and got his cane. Grimacing as he stood up, he leveled his stare on her. "Okay, fine. But, first off, I don't know if I can find it. I make no promises."
"What's 'it'?"
"What you're looking for. And ..." He shoved his forefinger in her face. "You damage it in any way, and I'm going to take the shit out of your hide. I don't care if you're a girl or not. Are we clear?"
She put her hand out. "Deal."
The guy rolled his eyes. But he did shake on it.
Then he led her down to the second floor. Down to the first. Through the back door. Out toward the garage.
Talk about your lean-to's--even though the long, thin building had a roof and three walls, it was listing like Adrian did when he walked, looking as if the only thing keeping it standing were the thick vines that grew up on its sides. And although there were four rolling doors, it appeared as though only two of them worked: The other pair on the far end had two-by-fours nailed kitty-corner all over the front of them.
Adrian bent over and locked a grip on the first door, heaving his considerable strength into it. The high-pitched screech of metal on metal made her cover her ears as he pulled the weight up ancient tracks, disappearing the chipped, paint-flaking panels into the darkness.
"You stay out here."
He vanished into the shadows, and then she heard a flick-flick ... flick-flick ... and a lot more cursing.
Evidently the lights were out.
"Can you get me a flashlight," he said. "There's one in the--ow! Fuck me!"
"Explorer?"
"Yeah."
"I think I need the keys--" Before she finished speaking, a set came flying out of the garage. Catching them, she said, "Hey, are you okay?"
"Fine and fucking dandy--it's just a goddamn mess in here."
Figuring she had a matter of nanoseconds before he lost his patience completely and told her to screw off, she jogged over to the SUV and beelined for the glove compartment. A quick click, and she had a beam that was strong enough to blind her even in the daylight. Perfect.
Back at the garage, she shined it inside. "Wooooow..."
And she thought the attic was full of adventures. Turned out the garage was an open single bay stuffed full of an incalculable amount of lawn equipment and carpentry machines and automobiles that must have come from the fifties. There were a number of new additions, however--three dust-free duffel bags were clustered around Adrian's feet.
Buttressing himself on that cane, he got down on his knees and unzipped the first of them. Out came ... a huge leather coat. A couple pairs of jeans. Combat boots. Shirts. Each item was set aside with care on the concrete.
Eddie's things.
Sissy was tempted to step away and give Adrian some privacy, but he needed the light. And maybe the company.
He was talking: "Such a good little packer, he was. I used to think it was a waste of fucking time. When we moved, though ... I did it like he would have. Folded everything. Put the shit in by category."
Sissy blinked back tears as she wondered how her family was going to do things differently in the future. She didn't want her survivors changing themselves as a way to remember her ... but she probably would have done the same thing.
"I'm sure he appreciated it," she whispered.
"He's dead. He'll never know."
"Are you certain about that?"
The angel's hands stilled for a heartbeat. "Dunno." He moved to the next bag. "Maybe it's in this one. I know I packed the goddamn thing--ah ... got it."
Awkwardly moving around, he held his forearm up against the flashlight. "You can turn that off."
"Sorry." Click.
Adrian grunted as he got to his feet and walked out into the sunshine. "Here. This is all I got to offer you."
It was a book, an
ancient book that was thick as a tree trunk.
Tucking the flashlight under her arm, she accepted the thing with trembling hands. The cover was so old, she couldn't even tell what color the leather was--something between red and black and gray and brown. And there had been some kind of embossing and maybe some gold leaf, but most of that was worn smooth and worn off.
"What is this?" she said, gingerly opening the tone.
Inhaling deeply, she smelled flowers, the kind that were up in the attic, and as she scanned the title page, she had a vague impression of Latin words.
Thank God her father had made her study that in high school.
"I have no clue." Adrian looked away, to the rooftop of the mansion. "It's where he went whenever he got that look in his eye--the one that meant he was worried he was coming up with the wrong answer. He hated that."
Sissy frowned as she realized that Adrian was in serious pain. He had one hand on the small of his back, and was arching to the side as if trying to pop something into place.
It had been hard for him to be on his knees like that.
"Hold this for a sec," she said, returning the book to him.
Walking around him, she turned on the flashlight and entered the garage. Laying the beam down by her feet, she crouched by the open duffels.
One by one, she put the things he had taken out back where they had been, making sure that the categories were preserved. When she was finished, she zipped up the two bags and shuffled them into their original position.
As she exited, she got up on her tiptoes and pulled down the door, batting away the leaves that hung off the bottom, and the spider that tried to land on her hand.
Back by his side, she took the book from him again. "Thanks."
When she went to turn away, his hand landed on her shoulder. Looking up at him, she found it physically painful to see him struggle for words.
She put her hand over his. "You're welcome."
Taking care of someone's dead was just as important as taking care of their living.
When Jim got home, it was about two seconds after five p.m. Thanks to Angel Airlines, he didn't have to worry about a commute--and good thing. He was coming back and checking in only long enough to make sure that Sissy and Ad were hanging out okay. Then he had to go back to tailing Duke Phillips.
Opening the front door--
"What the ..." Inhaling again, he nearly groaned. Onions sauteing with spices. Something meat, too. And fresh bread?
As he shut himself in, he faltered again. Talk about a woman's touch ... even though the light was fading in the sky, everything was so much brighter inside the house, the lamps shining as if the bulbs and silk shades had all been cleaned. The rugs were more colorful, too, like someone had vacuumed everywhere--and the floors. Jesus Christ, the floors were gleaming.
Glancing up the stairs, he was astounded to find that the carpet runner wasn't actually brown ... it was a deep garnet red. And the carved balustrade was glowing from having been polished. And the walls? The paper that had been gradually peeling free and dropping down was reaffixed, the pattern itself resurrected from aged obscurity, the subtle vines and blooms showing once again.
Jim headed back to the kitchen, and was gob smacked to find Adrian in an apron, sitting at the kitchen table, cutting green beans with a crystal dagger like he was performing heart surgery.
"Like this?" the angel was saying intently.
Sissy pivoted away from a steaming pot. "Perfect. Yeah, just nip the ends."
Ad nodded and went back to work.
The fact that neither of them noticed him was a little galling. But he couldn't really be jealous of Adrian--who, at last glance, had only grudgingly accepted her presence. Right?
Then again, six hours later, how times had changed. They were best frickin' buddies, evidently.
Jim cleared his throat. "Smells good."
Sissy jumped enough to drop her spoon, but Adrian just glanced up, and then returned to his job.
"You want to eat with us?" she said as she smoothed her hair. "We're going to be ready in thirty minutes?"
He could wait that long. "Yeah. Please."
Feeling like he was back in his mama's house, he went to the sink and washed his hands. Hey, check it, he could actually see out the window into the backyard for the first time. And as he rinsed off, he noticed that the stainless-steel sink was shiny as new. So were the pans that were sitting in a pile in the rack.
Jim took his time drying things on a clean dishrag, lingering just behind Sissy. Her hair had been pulled back into a messy knot, held in place by a big barrette. At her nape, tiny curls had formed, and he had an almost irresistible urge to touch them, wrap them around his finger ... and the impulses didn't stop there. He wanted to wrap his height around her from behind and plant a lingering kiss on the side of her throat.
Wheeling away, he took a seat across from Ad and watched the guy make a pile of cut green beans in a white enameled pot full of water.
"So how did today go?" Ad asked.
"Stayed tight with the guy. There's bad juju all over him--frankly, it's a hot mess. I just wanted to come home and see..."
Adrian finished things for him. "Me, of course. And I'm really touched--you're so awesome like that. You bring me chocolates? Flowers?"
Just as Jim was about to fuck-off the guy, the other angel said softly, "I got her. You don't have to worry."
Jim cocked a brow. But, man, that did decrease his stress. It was one thing asking his roommate to play bodyguard, another to have him volunteer for it.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
Dinner was on about a half an hour later, just as promised, and Jim wished the meal had been hours late. As Sissy worked in the kitchen, his eyes were glued to her, watching her move around, or tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, or pull up the loose sweats she was wearing over and over again.
He'd never spent much time with women, and he certainly wasn't into that flighty, giggly, everything-pink bullshit that some of them seemed determined to define themselves by. Still, he was very certain that few of the fairer sex pulled together a meal for two hungry men with the confidence and poise and results that Sissy did--and he found himself loving that about her.
Maybe there was a point to that man/stomach connection.
When she finally sat down, she put her hands out, palms up.
"Prayer," she ordered as both he and Adrian stared at her in confusion.
"Ah..."
"Er..."
"Prayer." She rapped her knuckles on the table.
Both he and Adrian complied, the three of them forming a triangle, the links shockingly strong.
She bowed her head and talked so fast that he couldn't understand the words. Didn't matter, though. In the midst of the war, and the deaths, and the sense that time was running out ... an easing came over Jim, relaxing his breathing and his shoulders, reminding him of days long past--the good ones, the ones he hadn't thought of in so many years.
The ones that he was shocked to find were still with him.
And what do you know--the beef stew?
Delicious.
Chapter
Forty-two
"Are you kidding me? I thought this one was going to last."
As Duke stepped back from his door and let Rolly in, he should have known better, but come on--one day? That was all the woman had lasted with the guy?
Then again...
Rolly shrugged as he threw his backpack down. "Dude, I swear, I thought she was something special." He went over to the refrigerator and opened things up. "Oh, man, there's nothing to eat."
"And this is a surprise?"
"You never have food in here."
"Like I always tell you, you want a cook and turndown service, go to your mother's."
"No way, she's too demanding."
Well, maybe there was still hope, Duke thought as he shut the front door and tightened the bath towel that was around his waist. Maybe the woman would
rethink things.
Rolly's ass hit the sofa cushions and he sighed like the two parties had been separated for a year. "You know, you could get cable out here."
"And encourage you to stay longer?"
"You loooooooove me," the guy called out as Duke went into the bedroom.
"Not really."
Duke went over to his closet and opened the louvered doors. Not much in there. But it wasn't like he had any occasions to wear suits.
In the end, he pulled on his newest pair of jeans, a black muscle shirt, and his black leather jacket--in other words, his work uniform.
Pausing in front of the mirror over the simple pine bureau in the corner, he met his own eyes and thought of his newest buddy at work.
The pair of them had gone down by the river and done their thing, and then hit two of the six parks they had to go through. Duke had the unmistakable impression that the quiet bastard was waiting him out, watching, biding time.
Not his problem.
Returning to the main space of the house, he loomed over the sofa, where Rolly had stretched out and was snoring already.
Fuck it. He was going to focus on the positive of having the guy back--it was like a free ADT system. Because if anyone broke in here, Rolly would call.
Surely the idiot would call.
Duke shut things up tight as he left, and while he walked over to his ride, he shook his head at the beater Rolly had been driving around since they'd been at Union. The stoner had gotten it new--from his very proud parents back in the days when they'd thought he'd amount to something.
Those times had passed. The thing was going on a wing and a prayer, the paint on the hood faded, the bumpers uneven from various impacts, one wheel sporting a mismatched rim because there hadn't been money to get the proper replacement. And yet Rolly was happy enough with it.
Always would be.
Which was sad, and kind of nice, too.
Getting behind the wheel of his truck, Duke refused to let himself think too much about where he was going and why. The emotions were too complex for him to process--and maybe he didn't like the directions they were pulling him in.