by Jill Morrow
“Yum!” Rachel, the waitress he’d hired just two weeks earlier, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “That smells terrific, Mr. Carmichael.”
“Needs something,” he mumbled, trying to think of an herb that might lift this dish from the humdrum ordinary and transform it into something more acceptably avant-garde. Basil, maybe? A pinch of marjoram?
“Oh, no!” Rachel’s blue eyes flew open. “Don’t change a thing. It’s perfect. It reminds me of winter days in my grandmother’s house.”
Wonderful. But then, what had he expected from Rachel, who was as pert and blond and freckled as a Brady Bunch kid? Stephen winced. Rachel was just another indication of how far down the food chain he’d slipped. She was competent and pleasant, but he’d always hired his waitstaff with half an eye toward what they could add to the ambience of the dining room. He’d usually gone for the exotic, the esoteric, the downright ethereal. Slam a cowboy hat on Rachel’s head, and she’d look right at home chirping, “Want fries with that?”
“Glad you like it,” he managed to say, reaching for a towel to wipe his hands.
“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything about this restaurant I don’t like,” Rachel said cheerfully. “My folks used to take me here when I was a kid, back before you expanded.”
“Really?” He tried to remember exactly how old Rachel was. He assumed she was of drinking age, or he wouldn’t have hired her.
“Oh, yeah.” She grinned. “I was about seven when you opened up. So you see, Mr. Carmichael, I’ve been a fan for quite some time.”
Seven. Younger than Julia. Younger even than Claire. Stephen suddenly felt irreparably old.
“Well,” he said, afraid that if he said anything more, it would brand him a geezer conjuring up memories of the good old days. He smiled, grateful that the straight white teeth in his mouth were still his own, and ducked out the kitchen door.
He slumped against the dining room wall. Was he losing his touch, becoming an anachronism in his own time? He surveyed the room with a weary sigh, almost expecting to see plush, dusty furniture draped with ancient doilies. No, everything looked as it should. Prisms dangled in each window, sending delicate filaments of light dancing off the creamy walls. The mismatched china looked artlessly elegant. The collection of angel memorabilia he’d long ago dispersed throughout the restaurant assured him that his vision, both commercial and artistic, remained intact.
But he felt so old, so utterly out of it.
Of course he did. His life consisted of work, worrying about his children, work, longing for his wife, work, worrying about Francesca, and more work. He was as used up as a dried winter leaf.
He stared at the ceiling. If he was going to have a midlife crisis, couldn’t he at least have a less stereotypical one?
“Hey.”
The voice jarred his reverie. He looked across the room to see Kat at the dining room entrance.
“Hey, Stephen,” she said. “You look farther down than the dumps actually go.”
Thank God she was alive, one vibrant particle in a world he felt atrophying about him. For some reason she wasn’t dressed in her professional uniform of suit and heels. Instead, she wore jeans and boots. He caught a glimpse of a soft red sweater peeking out beneath the collar of her navy winter coat. Her hair, freed from its businesslike chignon, trailed down her back and to her waist. She looked so very much like the young woman he’d married fifteen years ago that he had to smile.
“Um…well, Kat, it seems I wandered into the kitchen this morning to create a lunch masterpiece and…uh…came up with a yummy batch of homey beef stew.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, Stephen,” she breathed, and he could tell that she wanted to laugh. He didn’t blame her; he wanted to laugh, too.
“It’s over,” he said sheepishly. “That debonair man-about-town who originally caught your eye is gone. Just make sure you lay out my slippers and pull my rocker extra close to the fire tonight.”
“I hated that debonair guy,” Kat said. “I like the good-hearted family guy who came after him.”
They smiled across the room at each other. God, he missed her. Somehow, between crazy work schedules and Frannie’s illness, they seldom managed to be in the same place at the same time. Even the nighttime had suffered. In the past, no matter how busy and fractured the day had been, Stephen could always count on a few hours snuggled against his wife in the safe harbor of their bed. Now Kat rose in the middle of each night to sit with Aunt Frannie. He wondered what thoughts taunted her there. He kept meaning to ask, but she always crept back to bed just after his alarm went off at 4:00 A.M., and she was asleep by the time he emerged from the shower.
“Long time, no see,” he said, wondering how the most important part of his life had become the part to which he paid the least attention.
She nodded her acknowledgment, then held out a hand. “Come.”
He weaved through the tables to reach her side. Her hand, when he grasped it, was warm and confiding. He brushed a kiss against her lips, then took a step backward to appraise her.
“Vacation day?”
“First of many.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ve taken a leave of absence, Stephen.”
A leave of absence? Kat? This was the woman who’d returned like clockwork after each maternity leave, who allowed accrued vacation days to slip through her fingers like fistfuls of worthless sand. As far as he knew, Kat hadn’t taken a leave of absence since…
…Asteroth.
He tugged at the hand still in his possession. She followed him into the lobby and down the small hallway that led to his office. He propelled her into the wing-backed chair near his desk and squatted at her feet.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Lots.” Kat squared her shoulders. He recognized that steely air of determination, although he had to admit that it had been years since he’d seen it. “Julia’s English teacher called this morning. She wanted to know if anything’s wrong at home.”
He looked puzzled. “Wrong?”
“Yes. I mentioned Aunt Frannie, of course. Mrs. Giles sounded instantly relieved that there might be an explanation.”
“An explanation for what?”
Kat’s gaze captured his. “She wanted to know if we’d noticed any unusual behavior from Julia at home.”
Stephen broke their stare. He knew the answer to that one. Neither of them had been home long enough this past week to notice much of anything. There’d been time for the cursory “How was your day?” and “Do you have homework?” but that was about it.
“Damn,” he said.
“You bet.”
He slowly stood. “So what’s happening at school? Julia’s a terrific student.”
“That’s why Mrs. Giles called. She said that Julia’s been distracted. Sometimes she’ll sit in class with her eyes wide open, yet she seems to be in a dream world. This morning the bell rang at the end of class, and everybody left the room except Julia. She stayed in her chair, staring straight ahead. Mrs. Giles had to shake her a few times to snap her out of it.”
For a moment, the only sound in the office was the loud ticking of the antique desk clock.
Kat’s tight voice broke the silence. “I won’t have it.”
Stephen began to pace. “Of course not. We’ll talk to Julia tonight, remind her that school is the most important—”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He turned to stare at her. Her back was rigid. Her hands clenched the chair arms so tightly that each knuckle blanched white.
“Put on your armor, Stephen,” she said in a low voice. “This is war.”
His heart thudded to his toes. She had not spoken like that in years, not since the battle with Asteroth. Once, donning spiritual armor had made perfect sense. With the passage of time, however, the whole idea of unseen warfare had dimmed into memory alongside myth and fairy tales.
Kat’s voice cut like a knife. “Do you hear me? This is war. I will not allow Asteroth to destro
y our children.”
Stephen opened his mouth to protest, but the words would not come. He wanted to shout that this situation defied logic and therefore could not exist. Unfortunately, he knew better. Logical or not, he’d lived through it once. Besides, he recognized a profound change in his wife. He suddenly recalled the self-righteous young woman she’d been, ready and willing to barrel forward in pursuit of justice.
His warrior had returned.
“It was different last time, Kat. We had help.”
“Then what do you suggest, Stephen? That we roll over and play dead?”
“But Frannie isn’t here! I don’t see how we can do this without her. Last time we had—”
“—your messages,” she finished with the precision of the litigator she was.
He unconsciously massaged the back of his neck. He still didn’t know why he’d been the one to receive the spiritual guidance they’d needed last time. It seemed a lifetime away.
“That may never happen again,” he said with a sigh.
“Maybe not. But we’ve got to try.”
“We can’t do this without Frannie.”
Kat pulled herself forward in the chair. “Listen to me. My aunt is a wonderful woman, but she is not magic. She never was. She was born in an ordinary fashion, just like you and me. She lived a normal childhood. She made decisions, lived a life. What she did have—does have—is faith: faith in the light, faith that good can prevail over evil. We can do this, Stephen, or God wouldn’t have called us to it.”
Francesca had used those same words fifteen years ago.
A wave of inevitability washed over him. “You haven’t talked this way in a long time.”
Her fierce expression cracked for an instant. The catch in her voice went straight to his heart. “Asteroth can’t have my baby,” she said.
Baby.
The idea caught him off guard. His legs could no longer support him. Shocked, Stephen sank to the top of his desk.
“Kat. You don’t think that Julia is the baby Frannie saw in that vision, do you?”
The misery in her eyes told him that the possibility had crossed her mind. “I don’t know, Stephen. There’s so much I don’t know. Please, say you’ll help me.”
He studied her. He seldom took the time to really look at his wife these days. He knew her face as well as he knew his own, but at that moment, staring into her chocolate-colored eyes, he remembered that his connection to this woman ran far deeper than the marriage license tucked away in their safety deposit box. They’d been brought together against impossible odds, kept together despite their own attempts to escape each other. Against his will, he’d been inordinately blessed.
Help her? As if he could do otherwise. He and Kat were meant to be partners forever. Ultimately, every other distraction could go to hell.
He reached for his phone and buzzed his hostess. “Could you send Laura back, please?”
One of Kat’s eyebrows raised.
“Laura can run this place on her own until Nick comes in tonight,” he told her.
His wife looked as if the moon had tumbled from the sky. “You’re leaving work in the middle of the day?”
He ignored her surprise. “Where do we start?”
“I’m not sure. I guess we should go back to the cathedral.”
“Fine.” Stephen looked up as a knock sounded on the door. “That’s Laura.”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby.” Kat rose from her chair.
Stephen swallowed hard, summoning the guts it would take to relinquish control.
14
THE MOST WONDERFUL IMAGES DRIFTED ACROSS KAT ’S RESTING mind: pink-streaked skies and soothing ocean waves, endless blocks of time with no obligations jammed into their corners. She smiled in the rosy land of half-awake, then burrowed farther beneath the soft down of her comforter. How glorious this was. How sweet.
How utterly unnatural.
With a gasp, she bolted upright in her bed. Outside, the sky was indeed streaked with the muted pink of the setting winter sun. The bedroom clock read 5:30— P.M. This was not a moment for peaceful reverie, that was for sure.
What on earth did she think she was doing, napping the afternoon away? She never pulled this irresponsible stuff!
A deep flush overtook her as she recalled exactly how this debauchery had come about. She tugged the comforter up to her chin, trying to ignore all sensations of pleasure as the silky duvet caressed her skin.
A slight indentation remained on Stephen’s side of the bed. He’d left a note there: “Gone to pick up the kids—back soon—thanks for a great time.”
She crumpled the incriminating paper into a little ball and flopped back against the pillows. She’d married a loon. Oh, well, at least that loon had remembered Julia’s afternoon soccer game and Claire’s play date. How awful it would have been had both parents sunk so far into depravity that neither could spare a thought for the children.
There was no time to marvel at the fact that Stephen had actually remembered the kids’ schedules without prodding. The least a reasonable wife and mother could do was have dinner ready for her loved ones when they limped tired and hungry into the house. Pushing through clinging tendrils of sleep, Kat jumped from her bed and dashed across the cold floor in search of clothes.
A fine couple of warriors she and Stephen had turned out to be. So she’d taken a leave of absence from her precious career and he’d somehow torn himself away from the restaurant. That wouldn’t do them a hell of a lot of good if they couldn’t stay out of bed.
She punched her arms through her sweater sleeves. Battling Asteroth the first time around had been simpler. She and Stephen had disliked each other so intensely that they’d funneled all their energy into the fight at hand.
She tugged a brush through her hair, then leaned forward to study herself in the dressing-table mirror. Wide eyes stared back, luminous enough to make her forget the delicate crow’s-feet forming at their corners. Pink cheeks replaced her usual fluorescent-light pallor. She looked great. And what, pray tell, was the message here? That a little sexual satisfaction might go a long way toward curing all her ills? Wouldn’t Stephen love that one!
She shook her head, hard. When had this cynical, sarcastic voice taken control of her mind and tongue?
Fact was, this stolen afternoon with her husband had been absolutely wonderful. She just wasn’t quite sure how it had happened.
With a sigh, Kat wandered into the hallway, down the stairs, and toward the kitchen.
She and Stephen had left Angel Café that morning with the vigor of seasoned warriors. They’d fought this surreal battle once. They would fight it again and emerge victorious. Stephen had swung their white Volvo into the cathedral’s parking lot with the masterful command of a hero who’d never tasted failure.
“What’s your plan?” he’d asked as they’d stepped from the car.
Every ounce of bravado had drained from Kat’s body as she gazed up at the cathedral’s majestic spires. Plan? She was still awaiting confirmation that God was indeed on their side. Wasn’t there supposed to be a sign of some sort? A dove, or maybe a rainbow? Even the fluffy white snow flurries of morning had tapered off, leaving only a dull gray sky that occasionally spit forth a flake or two. The oppressive grayness felt like a cloak descending over her head, muffling every thought.
“You’re not getting any messages?” she’d asked, struggling to keep desperation from her voice.
“No.” Stephen turned up the collar of his coat.
A miserable, damp cold had seeped through Kat’s bones as she reached for his hand. Together they’d approached the massive iron doors.
The cathedral had felt more welcoming with Aunt Frannie as their guide. Francesca was someone who spoke the language of this place fluently, who understood the nuances of this lush land. Kat stared up at stained glass, statues, and wall plaques as she and Stephen drifted back to the Lady Chapel. These details had struck her as interesting pieces of art the last time
around. Now the saints seemed accusing, as if they knew darn well that she had no idea who most of them were. She gulped and turned away from the reproving visage of Saint Vincent de Paul. Suddenly it seemed vital that she recollect exactly how he’d spent his sojourn on earth.
Aunt Frannie would know.
She drew closer to Stephen. “This is downright spooky.”
“Don’t think that way,” he said. “It’s okay. This is our territory. We belong here.”
Kat swallowed hard before entering the Lady Chapel. Was there any place else on earth this quiet? The silence practically boomed. She quickly settled herself into the pew that Aunt Frannie had chosen on their last visit.
“What happened that day, Stephen? You were the one who prayed with Aunt Frannie.”
Still standing in the aisle, Stephen hesitated. “I don’t know what Frannie did. I only held her hand.”
“And?”
He groaned. “Jeez, Kat, you know how it is. Frannie talks about the light and feeling the peace of God, but I have no clue how any of that stuff is supposed to happen. I just closed my eyes and asked God to protect us and keep us safe.”
“And?”
“And as a monument to my great effectiveness, Frannie slipped unconscious to the floor. Still think we can do this on our own?”
Her eyes narrowed as they met his. “Got a better idea?” She slid down the pew and patted the empty space next to her. Stephen sank down beside her.
“Aunt Frannie would tell us to assume that your prayer was heard,” she said. “Therefore, we were safe. Aunt Frannie is safe. We’ve just got to believe that. Do whatever you did before. I’ll ask for help.”
“Ask for guidance. And request some discernment while you’re at it.”
“Discernment?”
“That’s what it’s called, right? That ability to know whether the instructions you get are actually from God? After all, if you just plug in a TV, who knows what kind of programming will come through?”
She leaned back in the pew, surprised. Stephen’s parents had been intellectuals who’d managed to turn every miracle or mystery into a rational event. How on earth had he remembered discernment?