“A religion with no connection to the real world?”
“Who asked you?”
“Did he use the bed?”
“Aye, he laid himself down although I can’t say I know why since he doesn’t have to sleep. Good old-fashioned angels, they didn’t lay down. Have you heard he’s got himself a…” His hand pumped the air by his crotch.…
…which wasn’t a gesture Diana thought she’d ever see a saint make. “I heard.”
“And what’s the idea behind that, I ask you? You listen to me, Keeper; angels today, they have no…”
Figuring she couldn’t really be rude to a metaphysical construct, Diana cut him off in mid rant. It looked like he was winding up for another kick, and she was starting to feel a little sorry for the snakes.
The hand of Mrs. Verner was apparent in the precision of the bed making—sheets and blankets tucked so tightly in they disdained a mere bouncing of quarters and were ready instead to host a touring company of Riverdance. Not expecting much, Diana checked for anything that might have been left behind—it was, after all, a day when miracles had already happened. Skimming the surface with her palm, she drew a two-toned hair from under the edge of the pillow but nothing else.
“Have you finished?”
The hair went into her pocket as she turned toward the priest. “Yes. Thank you. He didn’t tell you where he was heading?”
“He didn’t tell me he was going to leave,” Father Harris answered shortly. At the bottom of the stairs he turned to face her. “I want you to know that if you kids are mixed up in drugs…”
“Drugs?”
“Yes, drugs. Nothing that boy said last night made any sense.”
“Unless everything he said was the truth.” Widening her eyes and cocking her head to one side, Diana gazed up at the priest. “Don’t you believe in angels, Father Harris?”
“Angels?”
“Yes.”
“His Holiness the Pope has argued for the existence of angelic spirits, and therefore the official position of the Catholic Church is that they are insubstantial.”
“Okay. And you personally?”
“I, personally, remain uncertain. However,” he continued, cutting off her incipient protest with an upraised finger, “I am sure that young Samuel was, and is, no angel.”
“Why?”
“He had…” The priest’s gesture was considerably less explicit than the saint’s.
“An upset stomach? A basketball?”
“GENITALIA!”
Which pretty much ended the conversation.
Standing on the porch, Diana watched her breath plume out and came to a decision.
In the church, St. Margaret began singing “Climb Every Mountain.”
“Uh, Claire, your head’s kind of…”
“Pointy and striped? Don’t worry, it’s just hat head.” She tossed the toque behind the seat and ran her fingers up through her hair, dislodging most of the red and white. “When Diana was ten, she decided to make everyone’s Christmas present and this was mine. I know it looks dorky, but it’s really warm and it’s getting cold out there.”
“Getting cold?” Austin pressed against Dean’s thigh and glared up at her. “Getting? I’m warning you, don’t touch me again with any part of your body or any one of your garments.”
“Look, I’m very sorry that the edge of my jacket brushed against your ear.”
“The frozen edge of your jacket.” He flicked the ear in question. “And I accept your apology only because I seem to be getting some feeling back.”
“Did you get the hole closed okay?” Dean asked as Claire fastened her seat belt. He told himself he watched only to be sure she was secured before he began driving, that it had nothing to do with the way the belt pressed the fabric down between her breasts. Unfortunately, he was a terrible liar and he didn’t believe himself for a moment.
“No problems. It looked like one of those big off-road vehicles actually went off the road, and the driver had no idea of how to use the four-wheel drive because he’d only bought the car to prove his was bigger.”
“And you could tell that from the hole?”
She flashed him a grin. “I extrapolated a little, there really wasn’t much there. I probably only got Summoned because it was on the shoulder of a major highway and could have caused accidents. And, of course, the more accidents it caused, the bigger it’d get. You know.”
He didn’t, but he was beginning to get the idea. Shifting into first, he pulled carefully back out onto the 401. “Can I ask you something?”
“Seven. But none of them meant anything to her.”
“Austin!”
“And Jacques was dead, so maybe he shouldn’t…”
Claire grabbed a piece of turkey out of the box behind the seat and stuffed it in the cat’s mouth.
“That wasn’t actually the question,” Dean admitted.
“And it certainly wasn’t the answer.” It was almost dark, and the dashboard lights left Dean’s face in shadow. She wished she knew what he was thinking. She could know what he was thinking, if she asked in the right way. She only had to say, “Please tell me what you’re thinking, Dean.”
It slipped out before she could stop it.
“The headlights look a little dim; I’d better clean them next time we stop.”
That was it?
“And, Claire? Don’t do that.”
“That? Oh. Right. Sorry. It’s just…”
“You’re used to having your own way with Bystanders.”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Okay, yes.” She slumped down in the seat. “So what was your question?”
“How could Lena create an angel? I thought angels just were.”
“The light just is, but where angels are concerned, you can’t separate the observer from the observed. Every angel ever reported has been shaped by the person doing the reporting—by what they believe, by what they need. If you need an angel to be grand and glorious, it is. Or warm and comforting. Or any other combination of adjectives. Wise and wonderful. Bright and beautiful. Great and small…”
“At the same time?”
“Probably not. Thing is, they usually deliver the message they were sent with and disappear.”
“Message?”
“Oh, you know: Be nice to each other. Fear not, there is a supreme good and it hasn’t forgotten you. Don’t cross that bridge. Stop
