“Yes,” she says. “And Samjeeza. .” She stops. Thinks about how much she should tell me. “Samjeeza couldn’t save his family. His children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, every single one of them drowned.”
No wonder the guy’s pissed.
“That’s when the Watchers joined the other Black Wings and declared war against heaven,” she says.
“The other Black Wings?”
“Satan and his crew.”
I laugh at the idea of Satan having an entourage, even though I know it’s not funny.
“They fight the sovereignty of God and try to ruin heaven’s plans whenever possible,” she explains. “But their desire doesn’t stem from grief, it’s just pure evil, being contrary for their own sakes.”
“Uh-huh. How do you know all this?” I ask her.
“Sam told me.”
“Because you were friends.”
“Yes,” she says. “Once upon a time.”
Still can’t get my head around that one.
“He’s in love with you, you know,” I add, just to see her reaction.
She smoothes her scarf down against her hair. “How do you know?”
“When he touched me I could feel him thinking about you. Well, first he was thinking about me. But after you showed up, he was completely distracted by you. I saw you, in his mind.
You looked different. You had short brown hair and”—I stop myself from mentioning the cigarette—“a lot of lipstick. He’s definitely obsessed with you and your lipstick.” Her hand rises like she wants to touch her neck where, if she was a normal person, there might still be bruises from Samjeeza choking her. “Lucky me,” she says.
I shudder, remembering the feeling of his cold hands moving underneath my shirt.
“If you hadn’t shown up when you did, he would have. .” I can’t finish the sentence.
She frowns. “Rape is not a Black Wing’s style. They prefer seduction. They want to win you over to their side.”
“What about Angela’s mom?” I point out. “She was raped.”
“Yes, so she says.”
“You think that’s not true?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”
“Well, I think Samjeeza was planning on it with me,” I tell her. “He didn’t exactly try to charm me.”
“He was behaving strangely that day,” she says. “The way he talked, all melodrama and cliches, like he was playing a part. It wasn’t like him. It was as if he was trying to prove something.”
“But nobody was watching him but us.”
“Somebody was,” she says cryptically. “Somebody always is.” Oh. I guess she means God. Always watching. Gulp.
Her mouth twists into a pained line. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Me too.”
“Anyway,” she says like she’s relieved to be changing the subject, “I thought we could go into town for some ice cream, maybe do some shopping.”
“Can’t,” I tell her. “I’m supposed to go fishing with Tucker this afternoon.” She tries to hide her disappointment. “Oh.”
“I’ve hardly had a chance to see him lately, because he got a job at Flat Creek Saddle Shop and he’s been working all these hours. . ”
“No, I understand,” she says. “You should go be with him.” I wonder if she cares about Tucker at all now. If she still disapproves.
“Maybe we can do something this weekend?”
“Sure,” she agrees. “I would love that.”
“Okay.”
Then there’s nothing to do but turn the key in the ignition, put the car in gear, and drive home.
There’s something magical about the way my head fits into the crook of Tucker’s neck. I lie there, breathe in his scent, which is a delightful mix of earth and hay and his own brand of man smell and aftershave, a touch of bug spray thrown in there, and for a minute all my worries evaporate. It’s just him and me, the lull of the water gently rocking the boat, particles of dust floating around in the warm air. I don’t know what heaven’s like, aside from the sense of brightness that Mom described for me once, but if I got to choose my heaven, this would be it.
On the lake with Tucker. I’ll take the mosquitoes and everything.
“I so needed this,” I say, which comes out almost as a yawn.
I feel him smile against my hair. “Me too. Your hair smells like wind, did you know that?”
Yep, me and Tucker, smelling each other.
