Assumptions (17 page)

“The pages are blank,” said Will.

“Of course they are,” said Barrett. He
laughed then returned to the altar. He ran his hand over the book,
pausing at the stone. “I saw the story in the paper months ago.
There it was in the photo, the book with the sapphire clasp, next
to frogs in dresses in a junk shop only two hours away. Tell me,
what kind of place is that for something so sacred?"

Barrett leaned forward, both hands on the
altar, head down. "They shouldn’t have pulled me out.”

“But they saved you,” said Will.

“Saved me?” Barrett shook his head. “They
condemned me! I should have died in that pond.”

Will walked to the bottom of the steps. He
looked up at Barrett. “You risked your life to save hers.”

“I failed," whispered Barrett. "I have failed
her every day since. There’s not a moment that goes by that I don’t
hear her screams. Don’t you see? I’m not meant to be here.”
Suddenly he raised the small book above his head and shouted,
“Faith is the key!”

The sapphire burned, radiating blinding light
in every color. Tendrils sparked off the stone, surrounding
Barrett, arms wrapping him in a luminous embrace. The intensity
forced Will to shield his eyes.

Barrett’s eyes were wide and unblinking. He
did not shrink in pain. Unable to bear the brightness, Will turned
away. The thunder of a thousand voices speaking a thousand
languages shattered the century old stained glass. Will ducked
between the pews and covered his head as the shards rained down
around him. Then, in an instant, the light and the sound
ceased.

Will crawled out. There was no glass on the
floor. He was alone in the church under Ita's pristine window. Will
stumbled into the aisle and up the stairs. He knelt before the
altar, eyes closed.

"Take me! Please, take me! Please . . .”
shouted Will.

Someone touched his shoulder. "Will." The
voice was clear, Deirdre's delicate brogue, sweet and
uncomplicated.

“Take me with you,” he pleaded.

She sat on the steps beside him.

“I don’t belong here any more than Barrett,”
said Will.

“You asked me for help. I came. Do you think
God would abandon you? Your faith is strong, Will."

"I’m not strong," he whispered. "I opened the
book. It didn’t work. I stood at that grave and I wished for
death." Tears streamed down his face. “Why did you send it to me if
I wasn't supposed to use it?"

"It was meant for you, Will, and everyone it
touched. They prayed, too. Stillman and Barrett. Even
Pritchard.”

Will’s brow furrowed. “It was you,” he said.
“The museum. Dorothea.” He paused. “And the messenger. Oisin. God’s
messenger . . .”

"Open your eyes, Will."

He looked at her. She wore a simple beige
dress, her hair covered by a gray hooded cape, a soft halo
surrounding her body. “Ita . . ." Will said her name, letting it
echo through the church.

She stood. "I must leave now. And you must
choose."

"I need . . . I need to see my mother . .
."

"Your mother is not with us, Will."

Ita's halo intensified. Will forced his eyes
to stay open. “Where is she?” he shouted. “Please, where is she?”
Ita’s light enveloped him then exploded, passing through his flesh
as if he did not exist.

Jordyn ran back to the front of the church,
climbed the stairs, and went inside. She searched the dark
vestibule expecting to find Will where she had left him moments
before. She cracked the sanctuary door and looked down the aisle.
Will lay at the top of the stairs in front of the altar, lifeless,
on his back like before, below the library window. She tore off her
shoes and ran toward him. His jacket flew off her shoulders and
dropped softly to the cold tile.

She knelt and leaned over him. "Emerson!" She
shook his shoulders. He did not move. She put her forehead on his.
Her hair fell onto his face. "Emerson," she whispered. Jordyn laid
her head on his chest. She heard no heartbeat, felt no breath.
"Will, come back. Come back to me," she pleaded. She closed her
eyes and lay with him on the hard stone.

Will opened his eyes and whispered, "She's
here.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: CHRISTMAS DAY

Will rolled out of bed before dawn. He pulled
open the curtains at his window. Fresh snow covered the street,
thick and clean, still untouched by the plows. He showered and
dressed, then headed for the kitchen where he sat sipping dark tea
and stuffing his mouth with biscuits while he waited for Jordyn.
Down the hall, his father cleared his throat.

Will crumpled the empty biscuit wrapper, the
crunch of the foil extraordinarily loud in the quiet of the
apartment. He tossed it in the trash and stood as still as he
could, listening. His father cleared his throat again. Will walked
to his father's door and knocked softly. "Dad?” There was no
response. He knocked harder. “Dad? Please. Open the door.” There
was no sound from the other side. Will leaned, back against the
jamb, and whispered, "Dad, I need you." The knob turned. William
Emerson, Sr. invited his son inside.

Jordyn switched off her clock radio in the
middle of
The Christmas Song
, having heard every version
ever made about a hundred times by now. She checked herself in her
bedroom mirror. She picked a speck of lint off her trousers and
pushed a pearl button at the cuff of her blouse into its hole. She
ran her fingers through her hair fussing with the loose curls until
they fell, tousled over her shoulders, as if by accident. She
fumbled through her makeup bag, pulled out her contact lens case,
and flipped open the side marked
R
. The brown iris stared up
at her. She closed the case, flipping it over a few times in her
fingertips before she tossed it onto the nightstand next to Oisin’s
rose. A petal dropped to the floor.

Will hadn’t spoken to Jordyn since the night
of the Black and White. He waited for her in the entryway of his
building, pressing his nose to the glass in the door. He made
smiley faces in the condensation. Ten minutes passed.

Jordyn jogged up the steps to Will's door,
red scarf wrapped to her nose, her cheeks flushed, pink and full of
life. Will opened the door.

Jordyn pulled the scarf down. “Sorry. I’m
late. El. Snow.”

“Nice scarf. Nice eyes. Is that
lip-gloss?"

She smiled at him. "Come on, let’s go.”

The neighborhood still slept under the gray
dawn light. Will and Jordyn kicked the snow into delicate poufs as
they walked. Neither spoke.

They rounded the corner at Clark Street.
Jordyn raced up the block. She turned to face Will, backed up a few
steps, and grinned. Will stopped in his tracks, tucked his hands
into his pockets, and shrugged. “What?”

Jordyn ran a few steps ahead and crouched
down. She scooped together a fist full of snow and compacted it
into a near perfect sphere.

“I see," taunted Will. "Give it your best
shot. Show me what you’ve got, California.”

Jordyn pressed the snow into a hard ball.
Will tucked his shoulders, cowering, trying not to laugh. He held
his arms out in self-defense. She gave him a sideways smile and let
the snowball fly. It landed hard on his shoulder with a distinct
fop
. Snow spattered his chin with an icy and unexpected
sting. Jordyn giggled.

“Funny, Quig. Very funny.” Will waded into
the biggest snowdrift he could find. He shoveled up a loose handful
of snow, packed it fast, and flung it in Jordyn’s direction. The
ball disintegrated in the air.

“Nice try, Emerson!"

"Dry snow. Makes lousy snowballs." He scooped
up another handful, packing it into a lumpy, but more stable ball.
He took aim. By the time the snow grazed Jordyn’s shins, Will was
already prepping his next snowball. Jordyn brushed the snow away,
covertly forming another ball. She popped up and whipped it,
sidearm, at Will. It spattered across his knees. He did not move.
The snowball dropped from his hand, sinking into the drift at his
ankles.

Jordyn’s brow crinkled. “Emerson?”

“Oh, Jordyn . . .” Will paused. “I’m . . .
I’m so sorry,” he said, gaping at the storefront behind her.

Jordyn turned sharply, coming face-to-face
with her own distorted reflection in a dirty, cracked window. The
sign above her head creaked as it swung in the morning breeze, the
gold and black lettering faded and peeling.

She cupped her hands to look through the
window. The room was dark. Her lips tightened into an angry bow.
She flicked a chip of gold paint off the window frame then rested
her head on the cold glass. She traced a small three-lobed knot at
the center of a circle onto the grimy window then wiped the glass
clean. She stepped back and closed her eyes then inhaled the winter
air deeply and emptied herself of all expression.

She opened her eyes. Will stood beside her,
his reflection distorted in the cracked window. He opened his mouth
to speak. Jordyn put her fingertips to his reflected lips before he
could form the words.

“Molly’s is gone. He’s gone,” she whispered.
Jordyn slammed her palms hard against the cracked glass. “No!” she
shouted. Gold flakes fell from the windowpane and fluttered,
shimmering to the snow-covered sidewalk below.

Will grabbed Jordyn’s wrists and pulled her
to his chest, holding her tight. She buried her face in his coat,
her body heaving with each sob. She leaned on him, heavy with
sorrow and disappointment. He held her until she stopped. She
stepped back, composed herself, and took his elbow. They walked to
St. Ita in silence.

When they turned the corner at the front of
the church courtyard, Will stopped in mid-stride. "What?" said
Jordyn.

At the far end, leaning with his back against
the fence, Oisin watched the cars pull into the church parking lot.
Jordyn searched Will’s face.

“I’ll see you inside,” he said. “Go.”

Jordyn let go of his elbow. Will walked up
the stairs and disappeared into the church.

Jordyn watched Oisin for a minute. He turned
to her and smiled warmly. She walked to him, hands in her coat
pockets. Her brow crinkled. “I thought . . . I thought you were
gone.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It was time for us to
leave.”

Oisin raised his bare hands to her wind
chilled cheeks. She closed her eyes, giving in to his touch. "Trust
me?" he asked.

Jordyn opened her eyes.

"There’s something you need to see," he said.
“Trust me.” Jordyn nodded.

Oisin held out his hand. She took it without
hesitation. The sky turned to night. They stood at the top of the
stairs in front of a stone rowhome.

"This is my house. How?" asked Jordyn, eyes
wide. She tried to open the door. An ambulance wailed in the
distance.

"That is your past. You can’t go in." Oisin
stepped down onto the sidewalk. Again, he offered her his hand.
"Please, Jordyn. Come with me."

"Do I have a choice?"

“We all have free will." She took his hand
and they walked down the street. A short woman with long
wheat-colored hair waited at the end of the block.

"Devin?" said Jordyn.

Devin smiled tenderly. "He hasn’t explained,
has he?"

Oisin frowned. "Some things require showing,
don’t you think?"

Jordyn stopped in her tracks. She tucked the
red scarf tight around her neck. "Someone, please tell me what's
going on.”

Oisin looked her in the eye. "Trust me."

“You keep saying that,” said Jordyn. She
looked at Devin.

Devin shrugged. "It’s time to go."

They walked to the end of the block and into
the lobby of the children's hospital. The woman at the reception
desk did not look up as they passed by. They followed a bright red
railroad track inlaid into the floor tile past the gift shop and
the elevators. They walked by an empty waiting area, quiet except
for cheerful tinging and clanging of a kinetic sculpture. Devin led
them down the hallway to the ER waiting room, painted soft green
with blocky trees and ladybugs perched on curvy blades of
grass.

A young mother with a car seat hanging from
the crook of her arm struggled with an exam room door. Oisin placed
his hand near hers and pushed. Clear of the door, the mother tucked
a pink blanket around her sleeping baby’s chin. The lines on her
forehead softened. She smiled at no one in particular.

A gray-haired couple sat together near the
nurse’s station. The woman folded and re-folded red and brown feet
pajamas. The man looked at his watch. Devin took the seat across
from them. The man reached for his wife’s hand and she exhaled.

An ambulance pulled into the driveway, lights
flashing. Devin looked at Oisin. “It’s time,” she said and the
three of them stood at the edge of a room busy with nurses wearing
teddy bear scrubs and a doctor barking out instructions. A small
boy lay on the exam table under a harsh halogen lamp. The boy’s
father stood near the door holding a bottle with a pink label and
no cap.

Devin held Jordyn’s hand. The doctor and
nurses stopped cold.

Oisin walked to the bedside. He stroked the
boy’s face and lifted him into his arms, rocking him gently as he
sang an Irish cradle song, soft and sweet.

He laid the boy back on the table, brushed
the hair back from his tiny forehead, and stepped away. A nurse
turned the boy on his side. He gagged and the smell of bubblegum
filled the room.

The halogen lamp went dark. The doctors and
nurses, the boy and his family, and Devin were gone and Oisin stood
in front of Jordyn.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said.

Jordyn ran her fingertips along the side of
his face. “I’m not.” She wrapped her arms around him.

Oisin stroked her soft hair. He held her
tight and whispered, "I have loved you forever.” And she knew it
was true.

She stood with him, her soul laid bare in his
presence as it had been for countless lifetimes.