Halos (15 page)
S
TEVE WAS BACK TO GROWLING, Alessi noted the next day. After grousing at her all morning, he responded to her current question with a sarcastic, “Can’t you read my mind?” He was either a sore loser or had something on his mind she didn’t want to read. “If you ever looked away from your monitor I might.”
He turned and glared. Definitely moody today. “What was your question?”
She repeated it.
He took the three books she held, checked the codes, and expelled his breath. He took out the slips and threw them away, then penciled the correct codes and held the books out. “Thank you for catching that.”
“You’re welcome.” She turned.
“How did you do it last night?”
“Do what?”
“Know the right answers.”
She clutched the books to her chest. “Lucky guessing.”
“Hah.”
There he was, calling her a liar again. She started toward the correct shelf for the recoded books, but he caught her arm.
“Look at me.” What on earth?
“Guess what I’m thinking.”
“I can’t.” She pulled her arm free. “But I could sure say how you’re feeling.”
“How?”
“Angry. Resentful.”
He looked away. “That’s only what you see.”
“I’m not psychic, just observant. You’re not comfortable with untruth.”
“As you are?” He scissored her spirit.
For a while there she had thought he might believe her. Now she realized she had only wished it.
He dropped his hands to his lap. “I don’t like someone thinking she knows what’s in my head.”
“Then you shouldn’t play guessing games.”
He scowled. “It was about words, definitions. You’re the one who took it further.”
So he was a bad loser. “Sorry.”
“I’m not looking for an apology. I just want to know my mind’s safe from you.”
And they were back to that. She set down the books, took the register keys from her wrist, and laid them on his desk. “There. You’re safe from me.” She started for the door. She could use the day to find her car, and by nightfall …
“Alessi.” He caught her arm. “I’m sorry.”
She closed her eyes.
Seventy-seven times
. But this wasn’t about forgiveness. It was about self-preservation. She had promised herself never again to stay where she wasn’t wanted.
“It’s not my best day.” He admitted this last under his breath, which made it somehow more believable.
“We all have bad days.”
“Do we? Have you ever had a bad day?”
Her throat tightened. That recitation would take way too long.
“The one when my car was taken didn’t exactly shine.”
“And did you snap and growl at everyone?”
She shook her head. “I think I was too stunned.”
“You’re too nice. That’s the thing. No one believes it.”
“Guess I’ll work on my act.” She tugged her elbow out of his grip and tried again for the door. There were only so many times she could—
“Wait. I don’t mean that. You are nice.”
“I’m not fishing for compliments.” She reached the door. He blocked it. “We had a deal.”
She dug into her pocket and pulled out the money. She had earned part of it, but she didn’t want his money.
Someone tried to come in, but Steve barked, “I’m closed,” and pressed the door shut again.
She thrust the money toward him. “I don’t want the job.”
“You’re not a quitter.”
She crossed her arms. “And how would you know that? Maybe I’m …” She swallowed hard against the tears.
“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. I want you to stay.”
She closed her eyes. If he’d said anything else she could have walked out. But she wasn’t a quitter, and he’d just removed her excuse. If he wanted her to stay, she could not justify ditching. She raised her chin and opened her eyes. “What do you need me to do?” Maybe it was stupid, but she had taken the job and accepted his money. If she couldn’t handle a little rudeness, she hadn’t learned anything.
“You can unpack some boxes and look for a couple things that got separated.”
“Okay.”
He showed her what he needed and even gave her an explanation of what he and the others in the network did. It was almost like Go Fish. A complete three-volume set was worth more than the individual books alone, so if he had two and someone else had one, he could buy it or trade for it.
I’ll give you my Wordsworth for your Shakespeare
.
She found the books he wanted, boxed up his express packages, and turned him down when he suggested lunch.
“What?”
“I said, no thanks.”
No need to stare with that non-comprehending expression
.
“I know you haven’t eaten.”
“I’m going to look for my car.” In the daylight, she might just see that red, shiny convertible with
LESS
on the license plates.
“If you’re tired of Moll’s, we could do something else.”
She tugged on her jacket. “If I don’t find my car, no one’s going to.” And sitting across a booth from Steve again was not her idea of fun.
“You won’t get far on foot.”
“You’d be surprised. These shanks can cover some ground.”
He expelled a slow breath. “We can grab sandwiches from Moll’s and take the truck.”
She stared at him. “You’ll drive me to look for my car?”
“You asked Ben.”
“Ben believes me.”
He frowned. “We’ll see more in the daylight.”
So he couldn’t say he believed her, but if they found the car, he’d know she wasn’t making it up. And she would get farther driving than on foot. “All right.”
Steve’s truck died in front of Moll’s. Alessi sighed. “So much for that idea.”
“No fear. It does this sometimes.” He stepped out and opened the hood, then turned back. “Here.” He pulled some bills from his pocket. “Get us lunch while I fix it.”
Since his head was deep under the hood, she guessed she’d choose the fare. She went inside with the money and stopped at the counter. Moll scooped a burger onto its golden toasted bun, did a single pirouette to the counter, and set it before the man in overalls. She ran her gaze over Alessi during the motion but didn’t acknowledge her. Catching up the spatula, she scraped thin brown curls from the grill.
“Excuse me.” Alessi folded her hands on the counter. Moll turned, spatula ready.
“Could we get a couple sandwiches, please?”
Moll put her wrists to her hips, eyebrows raised.
“Oh. Um. Roast beef?”
Moll slid the spatula into the slot beside the grill and took down two plates.
“Oh. Could we have them to go?”
Moll stared at the plates, her tongue making a lump inside her lower lip. Then she whisked them back to the stack and replaced them with Styrofoam boxes. There were several kinds of bread, but she grabbed white and smeared it with mayonnaise, layered lettuce leaves, mounds of roast beef, still pink, and salt and pepper. She clapped the lids on, stuck in the pickle spears, and shut the boxes.
Alessi gave her the money at the register. “Those looked really good.”
Chin down, Moll raised her eyes through her ample eyebrows and silently counted the change.
“Could we get some napkins?”
Moll snatched a couple and laid them atop the boxes she handed over.
“Thanks so much.”
Moll’s tongue found the corner of her mouth as she turned back to the grill.
The entire process without speaking to her once. That had to be an art. Alessi called, “Bye,” at the door, just for the ornery pleasure of having the last word. Again.
Steve had the truck running by the time Alessi came out. She got in and handed him his box. “Hope you like roast beef.”
“Nothing Moll serves I don’t like.”
“She sure seasons it with love.”
“At least she can cook.” He hadn’t meant it as a commentary on Alessi’s lack, but she obviously took it that way. She stared out the window, eating in silence. Her body language was all “back off.” And he deserved it. He had hurt her again.
What—Mr. Wonderful? If he did inflict himself on one of the piranhas, she’d have indigestion for life. He rubbed his left eye and drove the long stretch of road between houses within the township. Charity was rural outside the village, and mostly woods. Even if her car were out there, they could easily miss it. He chomped his sandwich and slapped his chin with a slice of beef.
Elegant, Steve
.
Alessi handed him a napkin.
He gave his chin a swipe. “Thanks.”
“Thank you.”
He glanced at her. “For what?”
“Driving.” She went back to staring out the window.
Her expectancy filled the cab like fog, until he drew it in with every breath, hoping fiercely to see her car. But it didn’t happen. The thief might be bold enough to tease her with it in the dark, but he wasn’t so stupid he’d leave it out in plain sight. Had she thought he would? Steve scanned the next property they approached. Phyllis Bartle lived there with her Down’s syndrome daughter and three dogs. She would not have the Mustang stashed away, but he drove up to the house so Alessi could ask if she’d seen it.
He waited in the truck as Phyllis shook her head, holding two of the dogs by the collar and one between her ankles. Her daughter, Debbie, rounded the corner in mittens and a knit cap, barrel-shaped in her parka. She went straight for Alessi, patting her with the mittens, then pulling one off to feel her hair.
Alessi didn’t pull back. She smiled while Debbie patted her arms again and then closed her in a hug. Debbie was affectionate, but he’d never witnessed that demonstration, not at first sight. Even Phyllis seemed surprised, but the twenty-five-year-old child hugged Alessi as though she’d known her forever. Something in that stood the hairs up on his neck. He’d always believed in the intuition of simpler people. But what did it mean now?
At last Debbie released her. Alessi waved, then climbed back into the truck. “They haven’t seen my car.”
That was it? No comment on being pawed and squeezed by a total stranger? He put the truck in reverse.
She sighed. “I guess we have to go back. We’ve used up the lunch break.”
Steve sent her a sideways glance, reluctant to return to the store. It was easier to be civil in the truck, and it had raised his spirits to help her. “We can look a little longer if you want.”
“You only put an hour on the sign.”
Contradiction again, showing diligence and dedication to the job she almost walked out on just hours ago. He was still surprised she’d stayed, but then, he had an unfair advantage. She had nowhere to go.
He pulled around and stopped. “Alessi, I’m sorry for what I said before. The mind reading and all.”
She didn’t answer.
He had definitely punctured her spirit. “I don’t open up easily. Barb called it the ‘Secret Steve’—all the stuff inside me I wouldn’t share.”
Alessi actually turned, no longer giving him the back of her shoulder.
What was he doing telling her this? “It scared me to think you could see inside.” Way too open.
Her face softened. “All I saw was your discomfort when you read the wrong answers.”
He nodded, his chest tightening. “Honesty was a big deal in my house.” He ran his hand over the curve of the wheel. If Barb had told him up front about the guy, if his mother had not sneaked away … Dave was right. He did expect the worst from women. He’d thought Alessi had some trick he couldn’t withstand. But all she saw was his own need for truth.
“I’ve been a jerk.”
She smiled. “I’ve seen worse.”
He tucked his chin. “You make excuses for everyone.”
She braced herself as though what came next might be hazardous. Some accusation of too-niceness.
He caught her eyes with his. “You need to know some people are exactly what they seem.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Please don’t assume the best of people who don’t deserve it.”
She held his gaze, but for the life of him he could not see that she understood. Maybe she had a dose of her mom’s disability. Maybe Debbie had sensed it too. He put the truck in gear and headed for the store, confident now that he could once again treat her right. But the reality was she only seemed too nice juxtaposed with his meanness. And if someone had taunted her with her car, that person was meaner still.
T
HE FRIDAY EVENING SERVICE WAS MORE PACKED than Sunday’s had been. Pastor Welsh had a loyal following. Ben had told her the village population was only eighty-seven, with the other eighty on the Charity population sign accounted for in the thirty-six square miles of the township. The count hadn’t been updated since the last census, so a few births and deaths might have changed the figures some.
Although she’d been born in Miami and spent the first years of life there, she and Mom had wandered among the small beach towns after Dad’s death. But they were hardly more than tourist stops and didn’t feel the same as Charity. It was easier where everyone was a stranger passing through. Charity had a unity and singleness of purpose she hadn’t seen anywhere else.
She leaned over to Diana, who had invited her to sit with her. “I wouldn’t have guessed all these people went to the same church.”
Diana whispered, “They’ve got the denominations in Chambers City. Some go there on Sundays. But most everyone comes to hear Pastor Welsh on Friday night.”
And he was in prime form, standing before his flock, looking sublime in a camel-hair jacket that set off his auburn hair and amber eyes. His looks alone would bring them in, but it was his voice you remembered. His wife looked like one of those shiny Lladró statues, and Alessi wondered how it would be for her to hear “Pass the salt” in Burton Welsh’s Mosaic tones.
What kept a minister with his skills in a little place like Charity? She could see him in some big cathedral, stretching his hands out to the masses with television cameras moving in for the close-ups, catching the fire in his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, his voice carried out over the radios and TVs of thousands, maybe millions of people. He must be the most humble, obedient man to stay in such a little place and affect so few. But she had to admit, he sure did affect the ones he had.
His son, Carl, sat on the platform with him. Again she noticed he took his looks from neither his dad nor his mother. Maybe they’d adopted him. They didn’t have other kids, as far as she could tell, and they actually didn’t look old enough to have a son that age.
The music tonight was contemporary, no hymns, contrasting with Sunday’s more sedate tone. Tonight’s service had more the feel of a revival, only not the old tent style where they dunked you in the river. This was more youthful, and she realized that many of the seats were filled with teens and young adults.
Actually, the seats weren’t filled, because the worshipers were on their feet for the first twenty minutes. Karen was at the piano, but there was also someone on electric guitar and a drummer. People were clapping and dancing in their places. Alessi couldn’t help but smile. They seemed to have a real joy in the singing, but she guessed it was also the thrill of being part of such a believing group.
The pastor said, “Carl,” and his son took the podium. A hush fell over the crowd, though it had a different feel than the hush Burton Welsh inspired. This one seemed cautious and tense, like a parent at a child’s musical recital. Would he play it well, as he did at home, or make a mistake with so many faces watching?
Carl opened his Bible and read, “‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.’”
His voice was nothing like the pastor’s as he read on, but his mannerisms and delivery were similar enough that she wondered if he might be their biological son after all.
“‘Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.’”
Some girls in the front row whispered something and covered their giggles with their hands, but their eyes never left him. Alessi wondered if they thought they were seeing God. Carl did have strong Nordic good looks. Not the magnetic attraction of the pastor but a strapping farm-boy build and carriage. His large hands and broad shoulders looked anything but meek, and he wasn’t through growing yet.
“‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.’” He looked up and startled Alessi with a direct glance. His blue eyes were cold, though his face warmed. “‘Blessed are they who are persecuted because of righteousness.’”
She felt something sink inside and squeeze. How could Jesus’ own words be haunting? She was in a predicament but hardly persecuted. Not like people losing their lives and loved ones.
“‘For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’” Not even the attached promise chased away the chill that crawled up her spine. But it passed as Pastor Welsh thanked Carl and took his place front and center. Carl sent a sideways smile to the front-row girls and sat down with his mother.
“Whom does the Lord bless?” Pastor’s voice carried powerfully after Carl’s adolescent pitch. “The rich and powerful? The proud? Those who live the ‘good life’?” He looked over their faces. “Whom does the Lord bless?”
He raised a finger and pointed to them individually, then collectively. “You—the poor in spirit, the meek, who hunger for righteousness. You merciful, you clean of heart. You—the children of God. Ours is the kingdom of heaven, for we have closed the gates of hell, locked them fast, and thrown away the key.”
His glance brushed her but didn’t stay. “We, the redeemed, are the living embodiment of these beatitudes. Who is proud among us, let him confess it now. Who mourns without comfort? Hungers and thirsts and is not satisfied? Who has not seen the mercy of our God? Call out if you are peacemakers!”
The assembly roared.
Certainly a different treatment than she’d heard before. Instead of a call to holiness, it seemed a confirmation of a given state. She looked at Steve, sitting with Stacie and a small walnut-skinned man who must be her husband. Sheriff Roehr was next to them and looked away from her glance. He resettled in his seat as though his hip pained him, but she guessed it was probably her.
“We who mourned have been comforted.” The pastor walked a few steps to the side and said, “We who were persecuted for the sake of righteousness have inherited the kingdom.”
There it was again, those words taking extra meaning. It was almost as though he referred to something specific, but whatever it was, she didn’t know. Maybe the things Steve alluded to that she didn’t understand. She wasn’t part of Charity, only marooned there. She sighed. Being with Ben and Dave and even Steve had given her some sense of belonging. But the whole of Charity at once … Her throat tightened. It was worse than the cliques at Palm Beach Gardens High School.
“We were shown mercy and are now the merciful. Praise God!” The roaring echo filled the rafters. “Praise God!” he hollered again and again as they echoed louder and stronger. The body around her gained energy, but Alessi felt leached by the time the pastor stopped speaking and the music began again. While it continued, people went forward for prayer, and Pastor Welsh sure did groan in his spirit over some of them. No question how deeply he cared. She felt emptier still.
Once the final song ended, she made her way to Sheriff Roehr. He did not look happy to see her. And she was sorry to spoil his evening, but something had to be done. “It’s been a week now, and I wondered if we should get help from someone to find my car. Does Chambers City have a police department?”
“They do, and I’ve consulted them. They haven’t seen your car, and it’s not their jurisdiction.”
Steve came up beside her. “Do you have anything at all?”
The sheriff scowled. “Well, it wasn’t listed stolen before I did it myself.”
Alessi pulled herself up. “Why would it be?”
He cocked his head and the tuft of hair lifted and dropped. “You’ve provided no form of I.D. and no registration. I don’t know you from Adam, except for some obvious differences. It was just as likely you’d taken the car as anyone else.”
She could not believe he had thought she stole the Mustang. No wonder he wasn’t trying too hard. “Now that you know I didn’t steal my own car, what are you going to do?”
He took a cigar from his pocket, then seemed to realize he was still in church and replaced it. “It might be your car, but that doesn’t mean you’re telling the whole story. I think you should come clean with the rest of it.”
“What rest?” She fought a rising indignation.
“Maybe you were with someone. Maybe that someone went off and left you.”
Was that the story going around? That she’d been ditched? She swallowed hard and gained her composure. “There was no one with me, and I’ve never found a place so ready to condemn the innocent and excuse the guilty. If Charity is God’s kingdom on earth, it’s got some flaws, in my opinion.”
Steve pressed his hand to her lower back, and in a minute he’d suggest she shut up and leave. So she stalked up to the platform while people were still milling around, laughing and visiting, the younger ones making eyes at each other in clusters. She stepped behind the podium and cleared her throat.
Several people turned her way, and she said, “Excuse me. You may not all know me yet. I’m Alessi Moore and I came to Charity a week ago. I know it’s hard to believe, but somehow in this fine place my car was stolen. So far nothing much has been done about it. I’d like to ask you all to look for a red convertible Mustang and give Sheriff Roehr any help you can. And just in case you’re the one who has it, I’d sure appreciate it back.” She started to step down, then added, “Actually, the sooner I get it back, the sooner I’ll be out of here. I guess that’ll be better all around.”
All the faces stared at her, but Carl’s had a look of pure spite. Okay, so she’d ruined his daddy’s show. She got down and walked for the door as fast as she could go. No one moved to stop her.
The night was cold and clear, and her breath made a cloud as she stalked out. But she was glad no one offered a ride. It was only a few blocks back to the store, and not long enough to dispel the furious tension that reached the farthest points of her chilled fingers and toes. But better she stomp it out alone than inflict it on anyone else.
It was one thing to know she didn’t belong, another altogether to have people thinking that someone would have been so sick of her that … She clenched her hands and strode fiercely. It didn’t matter what they thought. She just wanted to get her car and leave. God’s halo must have meant somewhere down the road. The good was out there; she just couldn’t get to it. Frustration threatened to strangle her. Wasn’t she doing her part?
Or maybe …
She stopped and clasped her hands at her chin. Maybe it was a test. A trial. She breathed tightly, suddenly pensive and expectant. Maybe a miracle took more than just seeing. If keeping her heart open helped her see the magic, maybe something this big called for more. But what?
Steve looked from Cooper, whose face had gone crimson, to Carl, standing like a wax figure. Was it shock? Confusion? Or malice in his face? Alessi’s likeness to his mother must churn inside, and at the moment Carl looked more like Duke than ever. He had a personal stake in the pact that no one else could match and had, by far, the most to lose if people started doubting. Surely he would want the car found and Alessi out of there.
Burton Welsh stood to the side, staring at the doors she had disappeared through. He had said she deserved compassion and assistance, and Steve saw that in his expression, but there was also a calculating tension that made Steve glad he hadn’t heard her opinion of Charity’s kingdom of heaven.
Voices broke into a buzz, and he could guess the comments. She had made her point in spite of his urging caution, and Cooper wasn’t the only one on the hot seat now. The pastor’s face came alive and his voice, though not his words, carried through the room as he did damage control for the fledglings of feeble wing. But Steve couldn’t help wondering, if the pact crumbled and the premise proved false, what was left but guilt? And what strides would people take to avoid it?
He caught Ben’s eye and shared a shrug, then turned to Cooper, who was searching for something meaningful to say. Steve saved him the trouble. “It would be a good thing to find her car.”
“You think I’m not trying?”
“I don’t know, Coop. But I have a bad feeling.”