Abithica (22 page)

His final four words were nearly a shout. Mine sounded tiny. “Why can’t you go in without me?”

“Shae expects both of us, but more importantly, if I let you stay out here and something goes wrong in there, you’ll blame yourself. Go ahead, try and tell me I’m wrong. You’ll take full responsibility, and I won’t have that.” He practically spit the words out before his voice softened to a plea. “Hurry, please… she’ll back out if she has too much time to think about it. She
needs
you there.”

That got my attention. My brain finally clicked into line, but my legs were still debating. When I wobbled as soon as my feet were down, Lane jammed his shoulder under my arm so hard it hurt.

“Nice try, Brave Britches, but I’m not letting you off the hook, not now, not even if I have to drag you inside!”

“Here, let me help.” It was the priest, Father Gaib? Gaybe? Oh, what difference did it make? He’d taken my other elbow, but I couldn’t look at him any more than I could look at stained glass windows or church doors or crosses.

“What’s wrong with her, Lane? Is she injured?”

“No, she’s just shy, ultra shy. I promised to help her work through it. Didn’t I, honey?”

Honey? Half of my icicles thawed right then. Only a few hundred more to go. After that, the glacier…

“I’m Gabriel Smith,” the voice said. “And you are?”

Gabriel Smith? Gabe? That caught me off guard, but before I could even think of something to say, like maybe my name, Lane cut me off.

“Father Gabe, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Sydney Turner.” His stern grip eased with the words, and he turned me that way. I had no choice but to face the man and make the best of it.
Fiancée? No way! As soon as Shae’s done with her part of this, I’ll have to put my foot down, and hard.

But even before I’d finished that vow, the priest’s large hand covered his mouth and his eyes widened in nothing less than shock.

“Sydney?” he repeated. “Sydney Turner? Is… it
really
you?”

Aw, hell! Now all I needed was a flock of birds landing on my head! He
knew
Sydney, which made him my sudden adversary. As he stepped in front of me for a better look, I saw a long, black braid hanging down over his shoulder, secured by a beaded thong. Frick! A priest was bad enough, but a Native American priest to boot? That said he pretty much had all the spiritual bases covered, didn’t it? Not only intimate with the very same God who was up there chortling over the little surprises I was receiving on a nearly daily basis, but chummy with the natural world as well—a world I wasn’t even sure I was part of.

“It
is
you!” He pulled me into a crushing hug and stroked my hair. “You’re back and you’re safe! You have no idea how worried I’ve been since you disappeared. I thought…” His words trailed off.

It was Lane’s turn to be confused. “You two know each other?”

* * *

Sure enough, the church entrance was a monstrous, dark wood door that slammed shut behind us with a loud
thud
that reverberated from polished concrete floors. Even before the noise died away, I was stunned by what I saw. Instead of merely passing through the main room to get to some other part of the church building, the whole interior worship room was filled with kids, nuns, priests, and parents. There couldn’t have been fewer than a hundred, and most of them had turned to see who’d just come in.

Arrgh! Double aargh! Lane was ushering me right up to the… oh, no… right to the front. There were a few empty spaces in the second pew back. Crap! That’s where he was taking me… us. Why couldn’t he just have taken the one closest to the back? I could see Shae in the front pew, right in front of where I’d be sitting. Looking very solemn, she turned back as soon as she’d seen me. No smile, no wave, just a really sober look.

Father Gabe passed us, talking to the pair of nuns sitting in the front row with the kids. “Sorry we’re late.” He smiled at Shae, who was gnawing at her fingernails. “Are you ready, Shae?”

She nodded and stood. Lane leaned forward and gave her arm an encouraging squeeze as she made her way to the very end of the front pew. Good thinking! By having her go first, it would be over and done with, and then we could all relax. Both front pews were filled—probably twenty children in all. What if she’d been forced to wait until they’d all finished giving their little presentations? That would have been too cruel.

But wait! She wasn’t stopping once she stepped into the aisle. With both hands balled into little fists, she made her way up the five steps that led to the stage. Did that mean she’d have to stand up
there
for her speech? And now that she was that much farther away from everyone, wouldn’t she have to shout in order to be heard?

The lectern had a microphone, but
that
thing was even higher by at least another two steps. She was heading for it.
Oh, no! They don’t expect her to climb up there and speak into that microphone, do they?
For a moment she all but disappeared behind the three-sided tower, and then I saw her small hands gripping the edges as she hauled herself up. The lectern was as tall as she was, but still she was visible from the chest up. Was there a box or something back there, out of sight?

She looked so tiny standing way up there all by herself. With a trembling finger, she tapped the microphone twice. It responded with a loud squeal that had us all covering our ears. The whole thing was ridiculous, putting kids through such stress. Why hadn’t all the technical stuff been worked out before? Poor Shae! One priest scurried up to mess with the microphone while another made his way to the control panel.

Father Gabe must have seen my expression of dismay. He came over and kneeled so he wasn’t blocking anybody’s view. “This was all Shae’s idea,” he explained. “Usually show and shares are done in the classrooms, but she insisted the whole school needed to hear what she had to say. Actually, she said the whole world needed to hear, but I convinced her that small steps eventually get you to the same place as leaps and bounds.”

“Do you know what she’s going to say?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Only that it’s about a letter someone very special sent to her.”

I sat back. What in the world was so important about my letter that she was willing to endure… this?

The priests took their seats. Conversations stopped. So did all the other noises one gets used to while in the midst of a crowd, like the rustling of clothes, coughs, and sniffs. The room was unnaturally quiet, so much so I could hear the hum from the speakers.
You can do it
, I willed to her. As if I’d spoken out loud, her eyes snapped to mine.
It’s just us
,
Shae.
Pretend you’re talking to me
.

I watched her unfold the letter. Secretly, I hoped mine had been confused with another, but there was no mistaking the large silver stars all over the sale-priced Hallmark stationary she was holding. As she gently smoothed out the creases, somebody flipped a switch that bathed her in harsh, white light. What on earth were they thinking? Couldn’t they see how nervous she was? Sure enough, as soon as the spotlight came on she squeezed her eyes closed, held her breath, and gripped the lectern like she was on a roller coaster. Out came the air through her mouth, back in it went through her nose—her stuffy nose. The microphone picked up the whole noisy process, broadcasting it clearly to everybody in the room.

Finally she opened her eyes, settled her gaze on me, and smiled—a brilliant “I will do this” kind of smile.

Go ahead, Shae. Don’t be scared.
She nodded just once, as though she’d heard me, then started in a loud, confident voice that would have carried to the back of the room even without the aid of a microphone.

“My name is Shae Riley. I want to talk about miracles this morning. There is a living, breathing miracle in this room right now, and this letter proves it. Her name’s Sydney Turner, and she’s sitting right there!”

Seattle

Sarah’s hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t get the metal doohickey of her seatbelt into the other metal thingy. What the hell? She was gambling on everything else, why not her safety?

Eliam glanced over just as she let the seatbelt go. “Forget the belt, sweetie. You’re with me now.”

Sweetie? God, how could anyone sound sexier than that? And his voice—it practically caressed her skin as it took her breath away. It wasn’t everyday she ran away with complete strangers who’d just beat up her father, but she had to sound like she was in control at least, even if she wasn’t. She drew a long breath. “I hate seatbelts.”

It was a dorky thing to say, but it seemed to please him. The car’s tires chirped once again as he gunned the engine.

“Your old man is really pissed. Want me to turn the car around and finish him off?”

“Finish him?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Why don’t
you
do it? I know you want to. I’ll let you drive.” He glanced in his rearview mirror. “He’s still down and no one’s around. It’ll be easy. Bump-bump.” Then he laughed. “Maybe you can squish his head first pass if you steer just right. If not, there’s always reverse.”

The idea sounded appealing enough, but her racing heart had little to do with finishing off her father and everything to do with that sexy grin just inches away. Once more she fought to breathe, stuffing her hands between her legs to keep them from shaking. What would he be like in bed? Would he make her feel like this? Would he be masterful? How would he kiss? How would he…

As he slowed and began a U-turn, images flashed across her mind, images of times her “loving” father had cleansed her of sin, otherwise known as beating the shit out of her. He’d never hit her in places other’s would see and always tried to place new scars on top of the old ones from past “cleansings.” When he was done, he’d pepper her with those stupid questions while he rubbed salt and alcohol and sometimes iodine into the wounds, anything that would add to the pain.
Feel better now? Feel clean now? Feel our Lord now?
Oh, he’d made sure nothing got infected, she had to give him that much, and she’d been too stupid not to deliberately infect herself so that she’d have to go to the hospital.

Killing him wouldn’t erase all that, even if the prospect of squashing his head like a watermelon was exciting as hell. Suffering would be better, a
lot
better, provided he suffered long enough. Like maybe a lifetime.

“Don’t get me wrong—I’d
love
to do it that way, yeah—but it would only put the bastard on a pedestal, like a god or something. Better he has to explain to his flock why his only daughter hated him enough to run away.” She gritted her teeth. “That’s what I really want, even more than killing him. Now let’s get outta here before I change my mind.”

Awkward silence punctuated her short monologue. Was he angry? Another U-turn and they sped away toward the interstate.
Oh, great job, Sarah. You’ve probably just scared off your new personal Superman with that drivel. He’s not the type to carry around lots of psycho-baggage, so better say something hot—something he’ll like—so he’ll keep you around. Right now he’s looking pretty bored, and you have no place to go if he dumps you, unless it’s back home
. It was true. They’d stopped for a traffic light, and he was already eyeing a pair of girls in another car. She had to think of something fast. “Know what would
really
piss off my father?”

His answer was a shrug.

“Here, I’ll show you.” With that she lifted her butt off the seat, slid her hand under her formless dress and latched a finger around her granny-style panties, sliding them off. Granny would turn over in her grave if she had to wear them, that’s how embarrassing they were, but no matter. They were old-lady pink—the same color as Pepto-Bismol—and her preacher father’s car was black, of course. If hung over the car’s rear view mirror, they couldn’t be missed a block away. Let her father try to explain that one! Meanwhile she’d be wearing nothing under her dress and Superman would be thinking about that, wouldn’t he?

She twirled the nylon around on her finger so he couldn’t get a good look. Sometimes imagination was better than reality. “Let’s go back quick and put these on his rear view mirror before anyone checks out his car. They’re probably taking him off to the hospital by now, and the car’s way over on the next block. It’s unlocked. Nobody will see us do it, but for sure some of his parishioners will come around to check the car later.”

He glanced just once at the spinning panties before slamming on the brakes.
What had she done? Why did he suddenly look angry? Was it fear?
A Texaco station was just ahead. Without a word, he squealed the tires and swung into it before slamming to a stop a second time. He didn’t look at her after that, just sat there, breathing hard. A driver or two who’d nearly run into him when he’s stopped the first time yelled obscenities as they passed.

Finally he closed his eyes, and this time his tone of voice wasn’t sexy at all. In fact, he suddenly sounded just like her father when she’d done something in public he disapproved of, but it wasn’t so much his tone—it was what he said.