“What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
“Then we try again the next day and the next and the next.”
Lina was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “I don’t know if I can take that.”
“You’re stronger than you think.”
“No.”
Madelaine gazed at her daughter, loving her so much it hurt. She knew that Lina was right to be frightened, but that the fear wasn’t reason enough to stay away. If anyone knew that lesson, it was Madelaine. She’d been afraid her whole life, and what had it gotten her? A lonely bed and a daughter who felt unloved.
“If he hurts you, I’ll be there, Lina.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know. I am, too.”
Lina turned, stared at the huge poster of Johnny Depp that hung over her bed. Finally she sighed and looked back at Madelaine. “I have to try, don’t I?”
Madelaine felt a surge of pride for her daughter. “We all do. It’s all there is.”
Angel dreamed he was in the field again.
He stood there, looking around, feeling peaceful and contented. Birds were circling overhead, cawing and chirping and swooping down to the sweet green grass. He could hear his heartbeat, thudding away, pulsing and pounding in his chest.
He knew Francis was coming before he arrived.
Angel turned in slow motion and saw his brother standing at the edge of the trees. Francis was wearing his severe black priest’s clothes, and for a split second Angel almost didn’t recognize him. Then Francis started to walk toward him, floating above the flower-bright grass.
He could hear his brother’s laughter riding the breeze, joining with the crowing of the birds and the whispering of the leaves, and Angel found himself laughing, too.
Suddenly the world fell silent. The birds disappeared and the wind faded away. All he could hear was their two heartbeats, pounding out of beat in a rapid-fire rhythm.
Without thinking, he reached out. He felt Francis take his hand, felt the warm strength of his brother’s grip, and he felt anchored and safe. Their heartbeats synchronized, became a single beat in the quiet field.
I don’t have long.
Angel heard his brother’s words, though Francis’s lips hadn’t moved.
“Stay,” Angel whispered desperately. “I’ve got so much to say.”
The words don’t matter.
“They do, I know that now. Stay.”
But Francis was already fading. His image shimmered and he pulled away.
He ran after Francis, reaching out, trying to take hold of the image, but it was moving faster than he was, disappearing into the dark shadows of the trees.
And Angel was alone. The sky overhead turned dark and ugly, throwing a shadowy pall across the field, burying the flowers and the grass.
“Angel?”
He lifted his face to the sky and stared at the gathering clouds. Come back, Francis, c
ome back….
“Angel?”