By the time Malcolm made it as far as the family’s driveway, the Chevy was pulling out and he had no other option than to either try to flag them down or wait until they returned.
Kicking himself for having parked the modest rental car he was using on the other side of the house he’d been renting down the block, Malcolm said another quick prayer.
This wasn’t turning out the way he had hoped, and he sure didn’t want to travel to another city in order to catch up with the man. But if that’s what it would take, then he’d gladly do it… an assignment was an assignment, and when the I AM was your direct superior, it was best to ask no questions other than those that would help solve the situation.
Eight
Meridian, Mississippi… July 2, 2025
Prudence Song straightened the Minnie Mouse-print headband holding back her long, dark hair and made sure that Amos was still close by. “Are you sure we want to do this,” she asked him as he neared.
A smile spread across his dark features, and he nodded as he reached for her hand. “More sure than I have been in many years, about anything. Not since moving here from India,” he told her solemnly. “Let’s do this.”
Prudence nodded back as Amos placed a kiss on her forehead, and then pulled her phone out.
What would the big boss think, and would he grant them the move they sought?
“Dial Olivier Ramos Gerard,” she said, her voice shaking, wishing her old friend Hokulani was around. Lani wouldn’t be so scared; she always had things so together, she thought. Well, almost always, she corrected with a smile.
Had she ever spoken to Gerard? She couldn’t recall, but it would never do to disobey Joel Rodrigues, who said that if they wanted the transfer, they’d have to ask for it themselves, from the top.
“Marry here, and then if you still want to move, then call him,” their boss had told them, and so, they’d gone to the county seat and applied for a marriage license that afternoon. They could be married before the end of the next week, and that suited her just fine.
“Miss Song,” she heard as an older man’s semi-bald head blipped to life on the holoscreen. “Mr. Patil, thank you for calling. Joel said you would be needing to share a concern with me.”
Prudence stared at the phone a moment as Amos greeted the man before them, the striped wallpaper of the hallway behind the screen making it difficult to see the true form of their boss.
“Did he tell you what this was about at all,” Amos asked her. “That we’re getting married, and have a request in to move to the St. Louis branch in order to continue to fulfil the duties we believe we must?”
“And why do you feel you must,” Mr. Gerard asked gently. “I had heard of the impending wedding, and congratulate you, but what of this move request?”
“We believe we owe it, if not to Romeo and Calico, to Angus. He got quite attached to us, and we, to him,” Prudence finally said. “And I believe that he is good for my healing, as much as we are good for him,” she continued, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, thankful that her boss had been kind enough to call ahead of them.
“And why is that,” Mr. Gerard asked softly as he brought a glass to his lips and drank something from it.
“My son… Angus reminds me of…. Let me try this again,” she said, taking a deep breath. “He has been very much a healing influence on…”
How could she explain what she wanted to say? How could she help him to understand the depths of her thankfulness to the Fergusons for being open with her, and allowing her to be open with them?
“Your son?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I know you read each of our files. Surely, you knew about… about…”
Could she say it aloud?
Amos ushered her into the office, and they found it empty, save for Clementina Rodrigues. They took seats on the far couch from where she sat, reading a book.
“Yes, I know what happened, but what does that have to do with the family that was transferred from your jurisdiction,” Mr. Gerard asked her softly. “I mean no offense, just a better understanding. I think we could arrange it if someone in the other city would be willing to move to Meridian, as well.”
“You mean, we’d only get to move if it was…”
“A trade, Miss Song. But no worries, because I think I know just the couple, who have wanted to find themselves closer to the South, anyway. So talk to me; help me understand,” he asked gently, then took another drink from his glass.
“Well, as you know,” she began, “my son was born out of wedlock. I was not a follower of Jesus Christ at the time; part of me knew better, but I thought that things would be better if I kept the father out of it, because of his job. And my son got ill… very ill, and one day, when I was at work, my father called to say that my son was having problems. I…” Tears streamed down her face, and Amos rubbed her back as she spoke, but the words no longer came.
“Her son died before she could arrive, Sir,” Amos said quietly, pulling her close as her tears continued to course down her cheeks.
“She never got to say her true goodbye, but when she met Angus, there was an instant bond. And then when she went to see the Fergusons one day, Angus and Calico were watching a cartoon that her son loved dearly,” he continued. “And that day was the first day she was able to tell anyone, aloud, what had happened. Even I didn’t know, really. I knew she had been hurt, but I didn’t even know she’d had a son… she didn’t tell any of us on the team until after that day.”
Prudence could hear the sadness in Amos’s voice, and her heart went out to him even as her thoughts drifted back to Lani again.
Lani wouldn’t have kept such an important secret, even if she was a private investigator. Would she?
She used to get all excited over mysteries and would let Matteo sit with her when she typed up notes sometimes, on the rare occasion that she babysat him. She even took him to the Brass Mermaid Bakery – her pride and joy – and let him chatter away to her while she prepared sandwiches and baked bread for her customers.
The depths of despair Prudence had lived through were only just recently becoming part of her relationship with Amos. She had told him when they’d agreed to date that there were things she’d have to tell him in her own time; things that had hurt her deeply. Things which she had told few people until recently.
She hadn’t told anyone about Hokulani Kealoha, or her friends Bryony Cate and Vela, who worked with her on mystery-solving, but why would she? They weren’t part of her life anymore, just as her parents were no longer part of her life. Much as she missed them; missed her friends Kynaston, Anne, Rebeka, Basil and Shi, they just couldn’t be contacted.
There was no real way to know how they were, no matter how many times she searched for them online. It wasn’t the same as being in person with them, face-to-face, talking with them.
She had only said something in her paperwork to work for HUVA because she knew they’d find out, anyway. At least about little Matteo.
And then, where would she be? Without work?
She’d needed something to take her away from the heartbreak and the shame. Something to shift her spirit out of a place of depression and grief that would allow her to help others in the process. And, praise God, she’d found it, even if she did have to leave her support system behind.
She had a new one now.
“I will speak to the couple in St. Louis that I am thinking of, if you’re positive you’d be willing to move there and continue to work with the Ferguson family,” the big boss finally said after a few seconds of silence.
Prudence looked up; looked eye to eye with the man, despite the dizzying striped wallpaper behind him, and he smiled.
“Congratulations, again, and I will be in touch soon,” he continued.
Mr. Gerard moved his thumb toward the screen, and it blipped off in the near-silence. Clementina looked up at her and smiled.
“Sounds like you two might be moving sooner than you think,” she said, her dark fa
ce lighting up with a smile and her chins wobbling a little with the movement. She set down the book she’d been reading, and approached them.
“May I say something more,” she asked, looking from Amos to Prudence to Amos again.
Both nodded in affirmation.
“Now, I know it isn’t my business, but I just… I wanted to thank you for finally opening up to us Prudence,” she said, not quite looking at her a moment before meeting her eyes. “I can’t imagine going through losing a child and then…”
Prudence nodded again, a lump in her throat as the tears continued to come. Clementina sat down on the other side of her, and Prudence turned from Amos into the large woman’s arms, her shoulders shaking with her tears.
“There, there,” her friend said. “That’s it. Let it all out, because when you get to St. Louis, ain’t nobody but the Fergusons gonna know about what happened to your little boy unless you tell ‘em.”
Prudence tried to lift her head to look into Clementina’s eyes, but the woman kept her hand heavy upon her head. And so, she cried.
With Amos rubbing her back, and Clementina beginning to rock her as she moved her hand back and forth across Prudence’s hair, she just gave in, and she cried.
And afterward, she straightened up, smiled, and quietly thanked them as she heard someone entering the room. The meeting they’d come early for would soon be underway, and for that, she was thankful.
At least they only had a few days to wait for an answer; anything more, and she wouldn’t know quite what to do with herself in the meantime.
Nine
St. Louis, Missouri… July 2, 2025
Romeo hung up from his call with Brice and shrugged. “Well, I guess I’m emailing the information to them both, because of whatever all is happening with your brother and his wife,” he told Calico. His wife glanced up at him from where she was sitting, peeling garlic, and frowned.
“Mama has a brother,” he heard Angus calling from the other room, behind him. “I have an uncle, and… and he’s mawwied?”
He popped his head around the corner, and then, with curiosity written all over his face, slid through the doorway and came bounding into the living area.
Romeo sighed.
He knew this day would come, but did it have to be now? Did it have to be when he’d been so ill, and they were just settling in to their new place, and everything felt so foreign still?
St. Louis wasn’t like Seal Beach; it wasn’t even like Meridian, and it sure wasn’t like Anaheim, though in some ways, that was closer: the crowds and the noise that sometimes presented itself here. But Romeo knew that God’s timing was perfect, even when it felt out of sync.
“Mama has a brother and a sister, and both of them are married, actually,” he heard Calico telling their son, who had gone and sat down next to her. “My brother is Felix, and my sister is Annabella.”
“Why don’ we see them,” Angus wanted to know. “Don’ we like them?”
Romeo’s heart went out to his son, and he moved closer to the pair, sitting with them at the table. “We don’t not like them, Angus; we just have different ways of living than they do. They’re…”
How could he put it?
He looked to Calico, and then back down to Angus.
“Mama loves them very much, Honey,” she said, setting down the garlic in her hand and pushing aside the bowls she was using for them to set her elbows down on the table. “But sometimes we have to wait for the right time to see people, even when we love them. Sometimes, God tells us we need to wait, and right now, Felix and his wife, and Annabella and her husband, well…”
She paused to look over to Romeo.
“Well, God said for now we need to wait. One day, they might be part of our lives again,” she continued, moving her eyes back to a very confused-looking Angus, whose brows were knit together and bottom lip had begun to tremble. “But for now, all we can do is pray for them and live out the lives God gave us where we are.”
Angus looked from his mother to his father, and Romeo hesitated a moment before offering him a hug.
“I don’t want a hug,” Angus shouted. “You lied to me!”
Romeo pulled back, the words hitting him like a fist. “Lied to you?”
“Nobody said nothin’ about any family, so you lied,” Angus nearly spat as he pushed away from the table, causing the chair to crash backward to the floor.
Romeo watched in silence as his son scrambled toward his room and slammed the door, and then, before he could so much as look at Calico to discuss it with her, there was a knock at the door.
Sighing, he dragged himself up from the chair, up-righted the one Angus had toppled, and made his way toward the insistent knock.
Now what?
Ten
Portland, Oregon… July 2, 2025
Quentin Quimby made his way through the double doors of his parole officer’s office and slammed his way outside.
Sure, he’d be able to go to Israel with the Stuarts and whomever else was all going, but at the cost of adding the amount of time he’d be out of the country onto his parole as a tradeoff? As much as three weeks?
He ran a hand through his dreadlocks, huffing under his breath. “Of course, dere be a catch,” he said for the third time. “Dere had to be a catch, an’ why nobody done said nothin’ ‘til today, an’ my ticket done been paid fo’ and such, dat takes da cake.”
“Ya’ll right, man,” an old woman pushing a cart full of mish-mashed clothes and wares asked him as he strode past her.
Ignoring the startled woman, he kept moving until he’d made his way around the corner, up the street, and had run across when the way was clear. He moved quickly, hoping he would be able to catch Lovan before he left work.
How it was that Lovan got an office job in a restaurant was beyond him, but he’d need to let his son know the timeframe for the trip, now that everything was set to go.
He nearly ran the last half-block until he was in the parking lot of the Simple Spoon and slowed down, finally stopping outside the door to catch his breath to try to calm down. Glancing at his watch, he noted that he’d made it before three, and he sighed in relief.
Readjusting the backpack on his right shoulder, and then making sure none of his dreads were stuck to it, he opened the heavy oak door, waved at the hostess, Kim, at the cashier’s counter, and nodded at an old man who gave him a puzzled look.
Glancing down at his clothes – a long black tee-shirt, black jeans, and black sneakers with a brilliant red star on them – he grimaced to himself before shrugging.
So, he didn’t fit the regular clientele of the restaurant, so what? He was here to see his son, not wait in line for a table.
“Just a moment, Mr. Quimby,” Kim finally said when he looked back up. “Have to get this finished for tonight’s guests, and then I’ll be right with you.”
Quentin noticed that she was busy typing and guessed it was something to do with the menu. Her long pale pink nails astounded him as they tapped the screen in quick sequence.
The old man who had been eyeing him turned his eyes the other direction, and Quentin shrugged.
How people could look at him and just tell he was trouble astounded him. What was it about him that shouted “prison time?”
He glanced down at his clothes again, tried to see himself objectively.
What would he think if a black man dressed all in black, with dreads halfway down his back walked into the place he, himself, worked at? Granted, The Farmers’ Café wasn’t anything fancy, but he had to pause a moment: he’d probably think the guy was trouble, just as much as the old man sitting on the other side of the entryway here at this fancy restaurant did.
“I re’lize I ain’t all fancy,” he said finally, addressing the gentleman, “an’ I ‘pologize; didn’t know I’d be comin’ here today. Ma son work here, an’ I need ta tell him somethin’ kinda ‘portan’,” he concluded, though the man did nothing more than skitter his rheumy grey eyes toward him, and then
back toward the main part of the restaurant.
Quentin looked from the older man’s slight, tan-suited figure again and shook his head.
Well, I tried, he thought. Mebbe he jus’ scared, ‘cause I’m so much bigger’n him. Mebbe it ain’t ma clothes a’tall.
He watched as Kim changed the screen on the holocomputer and, moments later, Lovan was striding toward him “Come on back into the office,” his son told him without greeting. “I’ve got about ten minutes before my next meeting; things have gotten a little more out of control here than expected, and I had to change up my hours this week,” he continued, turning and striding back out.
Quentin followed him, feeling the eyes of both Kim and the old grey-eyed man on his back as he walked.
If things were complicated here now, then what would they be like when Lovan gave his notice for either a vacation or to leave the restaurant, he wondered as he followed his son into a small cranberry and white-decorated room, complete with a heavy oak desk and holocomputer.
“So, what brings you here,” Lovan finally asked him once they’d both sat down, one across from the other. “I figured you’d be on your way to work, yourself,” he said.
Quentin glanced at his watch again. “I worked mornin’ today, a’cause I had ta go see ma P. O.,” he explained. “Had ta talk to ‘im ‘bout Israel, ya know,” he continued as his son turned away to type something, and then turned back.
“You still think they want us goin’ with them to Israel, and with that old fashion guy,” Lovan asked him, his voice cracking as he moved his hands in time with his words.
“Jason done got da tickets fo’ all of us, an’ we leave in a few weeks,” Quentin told him, surprised at his son’s lack of respect. “An’ ma P. O. just tole me dey gone exten’ ma parole the ‘mount o’ time I be dere. Can ya belie’ it?”
Lovan shook his head, his facial expression, at first, unreadable.
“They’re seriously lettin’ you get on a plane with the people you used to want to kill and go to Israel? ‘Cause, if so, they got more faith in you than me, ‘cause much as you’ve change, you don’t seem to really see how much God done did for you, Pop,” he finally said, rolling his chair backward even more.
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 95