Halos (26 page)

He took her long fingers in his. “Hope you don’t mind. No place was open to buy some. Oh. Merry Christmas.” Why was he babbling? Even unconscious she drew him out. He stared down at her as she lay still, the respirator bulging her lips out as it noisily put her lungs through the motions.

Steve tightened his clasp. “I was just at the church. You should have heard the nice things people said about you.” No one had said them to her face. Well, maybe Karen and Diana and Ben and Dave. Maybe Mary and the girls. They’d done well by her. “You’ve given Charity back its heart.” And annihilated his.

How could he go back to the store and not have her working on the shelves? How could he enter the storeroom and not see her sitting there, elbows to her knees, telling him off as he deserved. That was where he first kissed her.

Pain squeezed his vocal cords. How must it have felt to have Carl’s hands crushing hers? “I’m just sorry I …” He was going to say he was sorry he hadn’t stopped it from happening, but there were so many things he regretted, he didn’t know where to start.

He stroked her hand as tears fell. “We get in these tunnels, and it doesn’t seem there’s any other way to go but one.” He sniffed. “Mine’s dark and long, and I don’t think I can come out of it alone.” Then he felt like a scumbag complaining to her. He thought his tunnel was bad?

He shook with the tears. “I’m sure you want to go.” He brought her hand to his lips. “But I can’t say good-bye yet. So I’m holding you to our bargain. We’ll spend Christmas together, like we said.”

He hadn’t planned the date. What would they have done? Gone into Chambers City for dinner? Or cooked it at the house and played chess. He might have let her win. But she’d have noticed. He smiled, but it brought fresh tears.

Thirty-Four

B
URTON WELSH HAD FELT THIS WAY one other time in his life—when they told him Sarah was gone. Impotence as all encompassing as death filled his mouth with questions, yet he couldn’t utter one. He’d been in prayer when the police came, polishing his triumphant Christmas message, when they asked if Carl was home.

Carl? Of course he was home. But the bed was empty and the racing bike gone. Where had he gone, what mischief committed? But the police had sat him down with Madeline and explained, and every sense of victory had crumbled to dust. He looked at his wife now and murmured, “Did you know?”

She dropped her gaze to her hands.

“Madeline, tell me.”

“I didn’t know. But …” Her eyes held agony, and he knew it was for him. “I suspected some things.”

“What things?”

“Sneaking out. Stealing things.”

Stealing things. Like cars? A pain throbbed in his temple. Had he ever suspected? At the start he’d been vigilant, firm, ever present. Until Carl made his commitment to Christ and Burton dared to believe. In his audacity he believed he had worked a miracle. “Did you see him?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to … doubt.”

Pain and guilt. How many others had he called to blindness? A pharisaical pact of righteousness in the face of truth. He had condoned murder. Not wanting good people to suffer, and knowing that, though he struck no blow, in his heart he cried for blood more loudly than the rest, he had condoned what should have been confessed.

The man responsible for Sarah’s death had lain in his own blood, bludgeoned by the crowd, and with his own vengeance slaked, he had proclaimed it an act of God. Then in a tremendous act of love, he had taken the man’s son as his own. He called the people to share in the redemptive work of saving Carl from Duke’s curse.

Eleven years of abuse would not go away easily, but he would be a father to the boy; he would be Christ to him. They would all be Christ to him. And for the life they had taken they would present Carl, pure and unblemished. Burton dropped his face to his hands. Madeline cried softly.

“Do you know where he is?” His voice was a ghost, no longer vital.

She shook her head and sniffed. “How far could he go?”

“He has the car.” Had it all along, while they pretended no one among them could have taken it.

A well of despair opened up. He had told Alessi Moore to relinquish it, to stop accusing and accept that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. And now he thought of her, lying near death in the Chambers City hospital. Another sacrifice to his pride.
Lord God
. He was empty of words, empty of promise.

Jesus. Oh, Jesus
. He had betrayed his Lord and betrayed his flock. He had raised the scepter and ruled God’s kingdom on earth. Where else would he find such devotion, where such hunger for his words, such commitment to his charge? He could redeem them, shepherd them into the kingdom, and present them blameless.

Burton groaned. Six years he had justified the blood lust and preached freedom and redemption. What had Carl heard? That God condoned murder, considered it triumph? That Duke’s life had been righteously trampled out like grapes of wrath before the Lord? How deeply he had failed. When Alessi died, he would carry her murder on his own heart.

Madeline came and knelt at his side. She didn’t say he couldn’t have known or that he’d done the best he could. She said, “I love you.”

Ben and Dave came back. The service must have ended. Steve was glad he hadn’t stayed. He swiped at his eyes. “Look, guys. You both have people to be with. Go spend Christmas with your loved ones.” No one knew how many special times they would have.

Ben shuffled. “We don’t want you alone here.”

“I’m not.” He looked into Alessi’s expressionless face. She had agreed to Christmas together. He’d hold her to it.

Ben and Dave shared a look. Steve guessed what they were thinking.
The poor sucker. He thinks she cares. He thinks she knows he exists
.

Dave rubbed his shiny head. “Diana said she’d come by later with some food.”

Steve nodded. Food was irrelevant. But he remembered Diana sharing Alessi’s comment. Fairy ambrosia. Alessi was a girl who appreciated her food. Barb had picked and commented on every calorie. Being short, it probably did matter more. But there were times he’d wished she would just enjoy the meal he was forking out for.

Alessi had savored every bite as though she’d never tasted something so good. She was grateful. Actually, she’d made gratitude an art.

“I’d pay Dutch, but I’d still be using your money.”
Barb had never considered paying. Not that he meant for her to—it was just that she took everything as her due. Alessi didn’t seem to think she had anything coming her way. And it surprised her when it did.

Ben said, “Steve, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Go take care of Mary.” Life was too fragile to miss a day. “Those little girls need their presents.”

Ben smiled. “I got a hat and beard. I’m gonna ho-ho in with the whole bagful.”

Steve nodded. “That’s good.” He hoped Ben could pull it off in spite of it all. Ben loved the girls enough to do it.

Dave touched his shoulder. “We’ll check back in a while.”

Steve nodded again. He wished he knew what the lines and numbers on the monitors meant. Alessi’s hand was still warm, her face completely still. No fluttering in her eyelids, no quiver of the brow. Her hair was a rippled mass on the pillow. Blond from her dad, curls from her mom. His dark, unruly hair was from his mom. He hadn’t told her that. There were so many things he hadn’t told her. Two and a half weeks was not long enough to cover much personal history, although he knew so much of hers. He could fix that now.

“I don’t really remember my mother. Dad kept some pictures around so I’d know what she looked like. Maybe so I’d recognize her if she came back. I think he believed she might someday. Maybe he just wanted her to.”

Steve looked around the cubicle. They seemed to be leaving Alessi pretty much alone, probably since it was nothing more than a deathwatch. “Dad told me some things, like how they met. He saw her chasing her hat, some big floppy thing, down the windy street. And it was as though Mary Poppins had flown into town.” He sang, “‘When Mary takes your hand, you feel so grand, your heart starts beatin’ like a big brass band.’”

As his had done when he held Alessi’s. As he held it now, knowing she didn’t care one way or the other. “He told me the good things and kept the rest to himself. I guess he was like you that way. Focused on the positive.” He stroked her arm. “There must have been bad times too. Clues and indications that all was not well.”

There had been plenty with Barb and him. He was just so wrapped up in her packaging he didn’t want to see it. “Barb was no Mary Poppins.” His heart had beaten for all the wrong reasons. It was probably good God hadn’t answered that prayer.

He frowned. Maybe in some way he couldn’t see, there was good in all of it, his mom leaving, his dad dying. Maybe things that felt like catastrophe were blessing somehow. He looked into Alessi’s face. Then there were the things that were just plain wrong.
God, what are you thinking? How can you destroy something so beautiful?
But God hadn’t destroyed her. Carl had. Evil had. They all had in one way or another.

His tears came again.
I’d pray, Alessi, if I knew how
. What would he ask? For her to live? To lie there day after day as her muscles atrophied? He swallowed. Christ had cured the paralytic, the blind, the lame. Steve shook his head. Nothing in his experience told him that still happened. Brains did not regenerate.

“She went too long without oxygen.”
Was Carl sitting in a cell thinking about what he’d done? Steve doubted he had the capacity for remorse. Was he scared? Had they even apprehended him? Steve pressed his hands to his face.

If only Alessi hadn’t come to Charity. How would things be then? But you never could see the rest of the picture, couldn’t know how a decision you made today would change tomorrow. They were flying blind, all sparrows who’d lost their way. But if God truly cared, why did He let them get so messed up?

One decision could change your life forever. Or end it. Alessi had walked out. He told her he would help, but she ran out on him. She ran out into the cold, the danger. Was he such a daunting alternative? He pressed his hands to his face. Was there some Leave Me sign he wore?

Okay, so he hadn’t been approachable. And maybe he didn’t really let people in. Barb had complained about the Secret Steve, the man behind the mask. Maybe she was right. Maybe he did hold back. At first it made him intriguing. Women wanted to unlock him. But once they found he was a lock they couldn’t crack, they took it personally. Then he was the bad guy, uncaring, untrusting, insensitive.

Fine, he was all those things. Alessi should never have expected more. And she wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t led her to. What woman had he ever kissed after only two days’ introduction? And yesterday? He gripped the metal rail. “You found the key, Alessi. You stole it and broke in. I didn’t ask you to come, didn’t want you at the store. I never made you wear my clothes and sort my books.”

He stared into her unresponsive face. “You should have seen what everyone else saw, not imagined some real person, some … pool boy giving you truth.” He swallowed.

“Steve?” Karen came in quietly. “I brought you lunch.” She held out a box she had no doubt prepared herself. “Oh, what pretty flowers.”

“They’re Amanda’s.”

Karen broke into a smile. “Alessi would appreciate that.”

He didn’t know which way she meant that and didn’t care. As she pressed the box into his hands, he growled, “Thanks.”
Now go away
.

“I can sit with her while you eat.”

He couldn’t sit and eat at the same time? “Karen, I’m not really hungry.”

“I know. But you won’t do her any favors getting weak.”

“Do her any favors?” He pushed away from the bedside and rotated the stool. “What exactly do you think I can do for her?” He swallowed the sarcastic examples that wanted to follow. Take her dancing, hiking, exploring?

Karen touched his shoulder. “With Charity Chapel praying for a miracle, one never knows.”

“Yes, Karen, one does. Have you ever seen a miracle?”

She tipped her head. “Christy Gaines needed surgery for that twisted intestine. Pastor prayed, and the intestine untwisted all by itself.” He scowled. “And that’s a miracle? It’s a fluke of physiology.” He looked back at Alessi. Was she listening? No. Her brain no longer received signals. She was dead in every way except a beating heart and a machine that made her breathe.

“God can do anything.”

“He can, but He doesn’t.” Steve looked for a place to stash the box.

“I’m not leaving until you eat something.”

Who did she think she was, his mother? No, his mother didn’t care if he ate. She ran off with her own meal ticket. God didn’t stop her. But it didn’t matter because Dad was there. People helped people. And sometimes they couldn’t.

He opened the box. A fresh roasted turkey sandwich, well peppered, with crisp lettuce and mayonnaise, some pink, frothy salad with fruit in it, and a wedge of homemade pecan pie. She meant well, and she was a good friend. He’d known her from birth. He took a bite of the sandwich. “Okay, I’m eating.”

Karen had insinuated she’d leave, but she sat down in the metal chair with a cushioned seat. It couldn’t be much more comfortable than his stool, so she might not stay long. “How’s she doing?”

He scanned the pulsing, processing machines, the tubes and wires, and Alessi. “I haven’t noticed any change.” His throat constricted.

“Prayer is a mighty tool.”

He didn’t answer. Maybe her prayers would help in some unfathomed way. He munched another bite of sandwich. Let her see his obedience and go away. Fresh tears threatened, and no one was going to see that. He ate in silence. A nurse came and recorded something from the monitors, then left. He glanced at Karen and guessed from her expression she was praying for him.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Have you asked God to heal her?”