Home Again

But he didn’t know what to do or say or think, except I miss you, Francis, I’m sorry…

He saw Madelaine rise to her feet amidst the crowd. She turned to the choir director and gave a quick nod. There was a momentary fumbling of cassettes, and then the music hit: “That Old Time Rock ’n’ Roll,” by Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band.

The lyrics came at him like an old friend…. that kind of music just soothes your soul…

Music swelled in the church, wildly inappropriate, and it took him back to his childhood, back to the crazy days when he and Francis were together all the time, when all they had was each other. They’d danced to songs like this one, and laughed to them and played them again and again on that old turntable in the living room.

He looked at Madelaine, and saw that she was laughing through her tears. He saw the glassy, faraway look in her eyes and knew that she was remembering Francis. Their Francis. Not the quiet, serious priest, but

the gangly, blond kid with the blue, blue eyes and the smile that seemed to light up a room and a heart as big as tomorrow.

In the space of a heartbeat, he remembered it all, the good times and the bad, the nights when they’d laughed and the mornings they’d cried.

And he couldn’t imagine why he’d ever left all that, or why he’d never come home. At the thought, he felt tears sting his eyes, and within seconds, he couldn’t focus. The glittering church swam before him until it was nothing but a smear of white flowers and flickering candlelight. He knew that he’d remember the smell of this church forever—that from now on, when he smelled evergreens and roses, he would think of his big brother.

I’m home, Franco…He squeezed his eyes shut, unashamed of the tears that coursed down his cheeks. I’m home again, big brother, and I’m not going anywhere this time.

Thoughts crowded his head and he tried to sort them out, tried to come up with the words he should offer to the man he loved so deeply, but in the end he realized it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about words or apologies or memories—it was about the simplicity of love.

Just that. Love. A brother’s love, a father’s love, a family’s love. And love wasn’t like bodies—it didn’t go away, not ever. It stayed there inside of you, tangled in moments and memories.

He opened his eyes slowly, saw Madelaine and Lina through the burning glaze of his tears. I’ll see it through with them, Franco. I swear to God I will.

The music came to a sudden, crashing halt and silence fell again, blanketing the church. Angel looked at the crowd, and realized that they weren’t strangers at all. He saw old Mrs. Costanza from the corner flower shop, and Mr. Tubbs from the garage on Tenth Street, and Mr. Fiorelli, the pharmacist…

He focused on Madelaine and Lina, gave them a trembling, heartfelt smile. “I can’t thank you all enough. When I look around, I see my brother, see glimpses of the man he became. I can see the way he touched all your lives, and I know how much you all must have mattered to him. And most of all, I thank you for loving him, for caring for him, for letting him love you. The world will be a little dimmer place without him, but I know now that he’ll never really be gone … because he’s inside all of us.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Lina looked at herself in the mirror and she wanted to scream. Her hair looked awful. She glanced at the dress her mother had bought for her; it lay on her unmade bed, a glorious, sophisticated swath of midnight-blue velvet.

Longing tightened her chest. It didn’t matter if she wore that beautiful dress—she was never going to fit in. All those snobby cheerleader types were going to laugh themselves silly when hell-raising Lina Hillyard walked through those gymnasium doors in a strapless dress. She could practically hear their snickers now. Get a load of Owen’s date. What grave did he dig her out of?

She wouldn’t go. Couldn’t go.

A knock rattled her door. “Come in,” Lina said, turning around.

Her mom stood in the doorway, carrying a big wicker basket. She was wearing a pair of black wool pants that made her look about four inches across the hips and a fuzzy emerald sweater that highlighted her silvery-green eyes. Not a hair was out of place, and her makeup was flawless. She looked so beautiful that Lina wanted to throw up.

Mom gave her a tentative, fleeting smile. “I thought maybe I could help you do your hair.”

Instinctively Lina bristled. She heard the subtle censure in her mother’s voice, and she almost lashed out. Then she looked at her mom—really looked at her—and saw that there was no disapproval in her face, just an honest willingness to help out. And maybe a little fear that Lina would throw a fit and say no.

“Lina?” she said, moving forward, easing the door shut behind her. “Are you okay?”

At the question, so quietly spoken and full of concern, Lina almost crumpled. “I don’t know, Mom. I was thinking of bagging the whole thing. Who cares about a stupid school dance anyway?”

Her mom set the basket down on the dresser and pulled up a chair. “I remember when I was almost your age—just a few months younger—I read about the local homecoming dance in the newspaper.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “I wanted to go, but of course, it was out of the question. My father wouldn’t have considered it—and I had no one to take me, anyway.”

Lina stared at her mother in shock. She sounded so… human—not Miss Perfect and In-Control Cardiologist at all. Lina pushed the hem of the dress aside and sat down on the bed. “Keep going.”

Mom flashed her a conspiratorial smile. “I told my father I needed to go to the UW medical library to research a paper for my tutor. He dropped me off and I waited at the window for him to leave. When I was sure he’d gone, I sneaked out of the library and walked sixteen blocks in the pouring rain to Ridgecrest High School.”

Lina leaned forward. “What was it like?”

Mom sighed wistfully. “It was … magical. They’d taken the most ordinary things—glitter, tissue paper, foil—and turned that huge gymnasium into a snowy castle, like the one in Dr. Zhivago. The theme was Nights in White Satin” She laughed, apparently surprised that she remembered something so insignificant. “Anyway, I huddled at the doorway like a church mouse, watching all those Cinderellas dancing.” Her smile faded and her voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s when I realized how lonely I really was, how different from the other girls. My mom would have let me go—or at least, I like to believe she would have.”

Lina was beginning to see her mother as a young girl, frightened and alone in that big house on the hill. She remembered the bars she’d seen on her mother’s old bedroom window, and her words, See? You don’t have the worst parent in the world. All at once she felt … connected to her mother. As if they had something in common after all, as if her mom could truly understand her. “But maybe you wouldn’t have fit in—no one knew you. They might have made fun of you.”