Oh, my heart. Oh, my soul. “Yes,” I whisper. “He crossed.”
“I wonder,” sh
e says, “if Christie will too. If God has enough forgiveness in his
heart.”
I take her hand in mine.
For the first time in a very long time, I pass mile marker seventy-seven and I do
not slow.
I do not stop.
And here, at the end of things, I show you this:
Five days have passed since the storm hit, but Poplar Street is still littered with debris. Large tree branches pile up on sidewalks. Broken windows are boarded up, waiting to be replaced. Puddles of water still remain in the shadows of buildings.
I drive slowly down the road that is my home.
Rosie’s Diner survived and is still standing, though it’s closed up tight. Big Eddie’s Gas and Convenience looks none the worse for wear. There’s a pile
of debris off to the side, and the whole front of the store has been swept clean. Someone has taken care of it for me. Maybe my mother. Maybe Mary or Nina. Maybe someone else entirely. I don’t know.
All the other businesses are still standing. They’re all dark, but they’re all still there. Roseland might have been struck by what is now being called the worst storm of this century, but it has survived. It has rolled with the punches. It has known sacrifice, but what is love without sacrifice? It has taken all of this on and it has survived. Its foundations might be shaky, and it might not be in the same shape it once was, but it has survived.
And it has also kept a great secret.
Our Lady of Sorrows blazes ahead, bright, like a beacon in the dark. It calls to me. It sings to me. Voices whisper to me out in the night, like I’m still trapped in the White Room, now gone black. Here, they say. Here he is. Here he is, coming to change the shape of things. This is a pattern of impossible endings. This is a design of improbable beginnings. O, joy. O, wonder. O, behold, for it is miraculous.
I see people standing off in the shadows, almost hidden because the streetlights are all burned out. They watch as I drive by. I know they can’t see inside the vehicle, but I feel they know who it is just the same. As I pass them, they step out onto the road and begin to follow us on foot, step by step, until I see hundreds of people behind me, their heads bowed low, hands folded in front of them. I see people I’ve known all my life, people I’ve laughed with, people I’ve cried with. I see people who helped to pick up the pieces after I shattered away into the wind. It seems all of Roseland is here, watching, waiting.
“What is this?” I whisper, unable to process what I’m seeing.
“It’s been like this since he came,” Nina says softly. “They’ve all waited for you. They’ve all prayed for you. And for him. For Blue.”
“This is going to get out,” I say, sure of my words. “This won’t stay secret for long. Someone will talk, and they’ll descend on Roseland. They’ll come here with their questions and their cameras. Their scalpels and their knives. They won’t understand. They won’t understand who he is. It won’t matter what he is to me. They’ll try and take him away.”
She watches me curiously. “Not here,” she says. “Not this place. Roseland is… different. The people here are… different. We protect our own. Now that everything is out in the open, we protect our own.” She sighs and looks back out the window. “The eyes of everyone were here for a few days. The news people with their cameras and their reports of this poor little town. Such tragic things happened to them, they said. Drugs and deceit. Betrayal and heartbreak. They told the story, and then they left. There are always stories to be told, I think. Elsewhere. Every day. It was just our day, and now it’s over. He was protected.”
“Why?” I ask, as we approach the front of the church, the crowd behind me bigger than I would have ever thought. “Why are they doing this?” I pull into a parking space in front of the church and turn off the SUV.
She puts her hand on top of mine. “Because they know love. They know sacrifice. They know miracles do exist, and they must be protected. They must be cherished.” She removes her hand. “We protect our own,” she repeats.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I say, the doubt in my voice evident. “Why me? Out of all the people in the world, the worlds, why me? Why this moment? Why now? I’m no one. I’m nothing.”
“You’re the one Calliel chose to love,” my aunt says, her sweet face breaking into a sad smile. “If that’s not enough for you, I don’t know what else could be.”
“I love you,” I tell her. “I love you so very, very much.”
Her eyes fill with tears and her lip quivers. “Oh, I know,” she says. “And I love you more than the moon and the stars. Secret?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Cross your heart?”
“Hope to die.”