The years of his parole passed, and watching for the girl gave the gargoyle’s task a certain interest. Not that he complained—there were far worse ways to spend eternity. Although now he would rather guard the girl than the cathedral.
Another line formed along the side of the church, waiting to process in with the bishop. It must be confirmation. The girl was near the end of it, taller now, and she shaded her eyes as she squinted into the morning sun to smile at him.
“Hey, is that the gargoyle that looks like you?” asked a boy in line behind her.
“Shut up, Jack,” she said absently, her attention directed at the gargoyle’s niche.
“Yeah, zip it,” said Steven, still next to Michelle, and she turned her face long enough to give him a grateful smile.
“Hey, you’re the one who said it first, Steve.”
Steven flushed and raised his fist until the other boy looked down. “I’m sorry, Michelle. I just thought it was funny. Back when I was a kid.”
“That’s okay,” the girl said, looking upwards again. “As long as you don’t pick on my gargoyle.” Her voice grew soft. “I wish I knew his name.”
“We could name him,” offered Steven, tilting his head up to squint. “How about…Frank?”
The girl shook her head. “No, he doesn’t look like a Frank.”
The gargoyle was relieved. Whatever his name was, he was certain it wasn’t Frank.