“The Wexford Carol. It tells part of the Christmas story. The angels appear to the shepherds. The shepherds are afraid. The angels tell them to go to Bethlehem where a blessed child has been born. So they go and, in great joy, find their Messiah as had been foretold."
They danced to the rest of the song, its story unfolding in music, until the room was again quiet.
Deirdre and Will came down the hallway, heads together, chatting like best friends. "There you are," said Will. "Thought we lost you. I have our coats. It’s late, we should go."
Jordyn stepped away from Oisin. "Thanks for the lesson.”
Oisin smiled warmly. "I'll walk you out." The band began to play a raucous pub song. The four of them pushed through the crowd out onto the street in front of Molly’s.
The sky was clear and black.
Jordyn hugged herself. “It’s so cold in this town.”
Will looked at her. "Told you.” Will giddily went on, “but, the upside is that Quig has learned to make a perfect cup of hot cocoa."
“Now you're just giving me grief, Emerson."
"No. It's true."
Jordyn grinned at him. "It is pretty good if I do say so, myself."
Oisin chimed in, "Humble, isn't she?"
"Have you met this girl?" said Will.
Jordyn sneered. "I work at it, you know. It’s the best . . . I’m telling you.”
"That sounds worth trying," said Oisin.
"Okay, no need for you to get smart, too," said Jordyn.
"Honestly, I'm not," said Oisin.
She looked him over. “You really aren't, are you? Okay, I'll play. Wednesday after next? After Thanksgiving.”
"I’m game," said Will.
Deirdre interrupted. "Will, you promised to help me with that essay that week." She glared at him.
"Oh, right. Sorry, Quig. Busy."
"Guess it’s just me then," said Oisin.
"Okay. How’s eight?"
"Perfect." Oisin stepped into the street and hailed a cab. He held the door as Jordyn climbed into the back seat of the yellow sedan.
"Get in, Emerson. I'll drop you on the way."
Will jumped in and closed the door. Jordyn gave the driver directions and the cab pulled away. She looked out the window. "The stars are bright tonight."
"So what was that all about?" asked Will.
"What?"
"I don't know. You. Oisin."
"Nothing."
Will watched her looking up at the sky.
"Stop looking at me like that," said Jordyn. "It's nothing."
"Whatever you say, Quig."
"Me and guys are definitely not a good idea."
"What about me?"
"Oh, don’t be a goof. You’re different."
"I’m beginning to feel a little hurt." He stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.
"Stop it."
He pushed his lip out more. Jordyn slugged him on the arm.
"Ouch.” He rubbed the sore spot. “So, sweet sixteen and never been kissed."
"That’s a cliché." Jordyn looked out the cab window. "Well, yeah."
"Really?"
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"Well, I just thought . . . "
"What about you?"
"I’ve kissed girls." He bit off the edge of a broken fingernail. "Well, just one. Last summer. On the dig. Her name was Yehudit, a professor’s daughter. Her hair was long and soft and she always smelled like flowers, even in the dirt." He smiled at the memory. "I almost forgot about that."
"Sounds nice, Emerson."
"So, you like him?"
The cab stopped in front of Will's building.
"Here’s your stop," said Jordyn. "Get out and stop bothering me." She grinned.
"See you tomorrow, Quig." He closed the door.
Jordyn directed the driver. “Can you take Lake Shore to Fullerton, please?”
"Lovely tonight," said the driver as he drove along the lake, glassy and dark as the night sky above.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: GONE
Will enjoyed the ease of Saturday mornings. He stayed in bed an hour past his alarm. Jordyn wouldn't be over until eleven.
He prayed under the warmth of his blanket, figuring God would forgive his sloth on such a chilly morning. He snoozed his alarm fifteen minutes more. When the radio went on he forced himself out of bed.
Will had just swallowed the last bite of his biscuit when Jordyn buzzed.
"Hey, Emerson. It's me."
"Come on up. I’ll leave the door open. I'm going to get the file. Meet you in the study."
Jordyn shut the apartment door behind her. She met Will at the study door. "Want me to call again?"
"I'll do it this time." Will dialed the number.
The line rang once and popped into the voicemail system. "The subscriber you are trying to reach has exceeded the maximum capacity of this mailbox. Please try your call again later."
Will hung up. "Voicemail's full." He sat and leafed through the file. "I don't see anything else here that would help. What now?"
"Are you sure there wasn't anything else in the envelope?"
"Nothing. Check for yourself."
Jordyn took the envelope and shook it upside down. She opened it wide and felt inside, pushing her fingers to the corners, feeling for anything. On the back of the envelope she felt something rough. She looked inside. There was nothing. She thought for a moment. "Can I have a pencil?" she asked Will.
"Why?"
"Just an idea."
Will found a pencil in the side table drawer. "Here."
Jordyn lightly rubbed the edge of the graphite over the envelope. "Look at that. All those leaf rubbings in third grade were actually useful."
Will craned to see. "What is it?"
"An address."
"Is it Stillman's?"
"I don't know, but it's in Chicago. I say we find out."
Will put on his coat and they went downstairs.
"What's the address?" asked Will.
"It's on Lakewood."
"That's not far. We can walk."
The address took them to a brick courtyard building with three wings.
“Can I see the envelope?” said Will. “No apartment number. Maybe there’s a manager.”
They found the intercom button marked ‘Office’ and rang.
A woman answered. "Yeah." Her toddler screamed in the background.
“We're looking for Mr. Stillman. Timothy Stillman," said Jordyn.
"Hold on. I’ll meet you out front."
She came to the door, a baby with ruddy cheeks dressed in fuzzy yellow feet pajamas on her hip. "I was wondering if someone else would come," she said.
"What do you mean?" asked Will.
"He left so suddenly. I thought something must be wrong." She looked Jordyn up and down. "He your dad or something?"
"No. Nothing like that," said Jordyn. "We're working on a paper. For school. Mr. Stillman just has some information we need."
"Information? That’s what the other guy said."
"Other guy?" asked Will.
"Oh, yeah. He came looking for Mr. Stillman. None too happy, either. I didn't tell him anything. Not like I know where he went, anyway. Here one day, gone the next. He’d only just come back. Now I have to find someone to rent the place. At least I have his deposit."
"What did he look like? The man that stopped by?" asked Jordyn.
"Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. Honey, I have three kids and tenants coming and going at all hours. Memory isn’t what it used to be. Wish I could help, but if it isn't important it just doesn't stick, know what I'm saying?" The baby began to fuss. "I gotta get my kid back in."
"Thanks," said Will.
The apartment manager stopped in the doorway. “Oh, and there was this other guy who came by before Mr. Stillman left. Real nice kid. Not much older than you two. Stopped to ask me how it was going. Told me to have a good day. And he actually meant it. Funny about that, how one c
omment can completely change your mood. Know what I mean?” The apartment manager took her baby inside.
Will frowned. He and Jordyn walked out of the courtyard. Halfway down the block, Will stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
"What's wrong, Emerson?"
"You heard her. Someone else was looking for Stillman. Someone else is looking for this thing."
"So? Nobody knows you have it."
"Pritchard does."
"You think it's him?"
"He saw the file. Stillman's name is there. Maybe he's doing the same thing we are."
"Even so, what would he do?"
"I don't know. You didn't see him. He's not . . . thinking clearly . . . he's not thinking."
"You can't give up now."
"No. You're wrong. I can." Will stormed off.
"Emerson?"
"I need to be alone." Will turned the corner.
He walked a few blocks and found himself in the church courtyard standing before Ita. He crossed himself and knelt.
"I know you'll help me make the best choice. Just tell me what to do. I don't know what to do."
Jordyn walked up the stone steps. "Emerson?" Will did not turn around. "I'm sorry. If you don't want to go on, that's up to you."
Will crossed himself and stood, still looking at Ita. "This book is supposed to contain all the knowledge of God. It's supposed to be sacred. How come I have it?"
"I don't know. Maybe because you believe it's more than just an old book with no words. Maybe because you think it's something worth protecting." She took his hand. "Come on. Let's go home."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: WARM
Nearly a week had passed since Thanksgiving and the crisp days of autumn had given way to winter’s chill. Jordyn's doorbell rang precisely at eight. Oisin stood outside in the glow of the porch light. Jordyn brushed cocoa powder off her silky white sweater. She opened the door and smiled. "Gotta love a punctual guest."
“And hello to you, too, Miss Quig.” He handed her an old fashioned rose, white and full blown. It filled both her hands put together.
“The gentleman brings flowers, too. Thank you.” Jordyn touched the flower to her nose. “It smells like . . . June. Our neighbor’s garden was full of these when we came to see the house last summer. Where did you find it this time of year?”
He only smiled.
“Come in, it’s cold out there.”
Jordyn led him upstairs to the kitchen. “Let me put this in some water.” She filled a juice glass at the sink, dropped the flower in, and set it on the counter. "There, that works. I’m glad you could come."
“How could I resist?”
“No teasing, now,” said Jordyn.
“Of course not.”
“You’re in luck. The snow’s gone and the wood guy came today so we can go outside. Come with me.” They went up another floor out onto a terrace at the front of the house. It was furnished with a sofa, a pair of chairs, and iron tables with stone tops, all arranged cozily around an oversized fireplace where a small fire crackled.
"Make yourself at home," said Jordyn.
Oisin took off his overcoat and a soft red scarf. He draped them over one end of the sofa and sat, sinking deep into its cushions. Jordyn curled up on a chair. Between them, the coffee table was set with two heavy mugs, a thermos, a bowl of whipped cream, and bright silver spoons.
“Cocoa?” asked Jordyn.
“I’d love some.”
Jordyn poured two cups. “Whipped cream?”
“Absolutely.”
She spooned a dollop on top of each and handed Oisin his cup. “It’s still a little hot, I think,” she said.
The fire died down to a single weak flame. Jordyn got up and poked at the mostly unburned wood. “My fire-building skills could use a little work. We may have to go inside soon.” She folded her arms around herself and went back to her seat.
Oisin set down his cup. Without a word, he got up and wrapped his scarf around Jordyn’s shoulders. The fire waned. He added a couple of pieces of wood, shuffled them around with the poker, and sat down to drink his cocoa. “Not bad.”
Jordyn scrunched up her face. “Not bad? What you really mean to say is ‘this is the best hot cocoa I have ever tasted.’”
Oisin put on a serious expression. “This is the best hot cocoa I have ever tasted.”
Jordyn smiled sideways. “Told you so.” She laughed.
“I was at the opening of your father’s new headquarters,” said Oisin.
“Please tell me you aren’t a gamer.”
“No. Not that.”
“Good. Because I would have to kick you out immediately.”
“You’re serious.”
“Dead.” She took another sip. “I heard it was pretty crazy down there.”
“Your father knows how to work a crowd.”
“He’s good at that. He’s still there now, at the office. He spends more time with Serendipity than me.” She paused. “Did that sound bitter?”
“A little,” said Oisin.
“I just miss him, you know? He really does try to make it all work for us. When I was little I used to always be at his desk. He used to spend hours sketching the most beautiful images of Serendipity. I thought they were pictures of me. I guess, in some ways, they were.” She stopped talking for a moment then shook her head. “You must think I’m pathetic. I have everything. I should be happy.”
“No. It’s okay.” He took a slow sip of cocoa and looked at her warmly. “Really.”
Jordyn took another sip. Oisin cracked a smile.
“What? What’s so funny?” said Jordyn.
“You’ve got a little chocolate mustache.”
She tried to lick it off. “Did I get it?”
He pointed at his own upper lip. “No. There.”
Jordyn tried to reach it again. He laughed.
Jordyn threw up her hands. “Help me!”
Oisin set down his cup. He knelt in front of her and reached for her face. “Hold still,” he said. She looked up at the sky like she did at the doctor’s office or the cosmetics counter. He touched her upper lip, running his fingertips slowly across her mouth. He wiped away the chocolate, his touch familiar and unwavering. Jordyn lowered her gaze and looked into his eyes, unembarrassed.
“Beautiful night,” she said.
“Beautiful.”
On the street below an ambulance wailed. Oisin looked over his shoulder. “I should go.”
“But you just got here.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Thanks for the cocoa.” He gathered his coat.
Jordyn showed him back into the kitchen. “I’m glad you could come. Thanks for the rose.”
He put on his overcoat and she walked him to the porch. He started down the stairs. “Oisin, wait,” Jordyn called after him. He turned around. “I’m supposed to go to this benefit for our school. It’s the Saturday before Christmas. Would you like to come? With me, I mean.”
“Oh, uh, I have something I . . . a prior commitment.”
“Of course. It’s Christmas. You already have plans. No big deal. I can’t let Emerson go alone anyway, can I?” she added with a forced smile.
“I’m just a bit busy that night. Can I see you Christmas Day?”
Her smile warmed. “I’d like that.”
The sirens grew loud. “I have to go.”
“Bye,” said Jordyn. He pulled his coat tight, jogged down the stairs, and walked toward the children’s hospital at the end of the block.
Jordyn went back upstairs to clean up the terrace. She leaned over to pick up the cups. The red scarf fell forward. Jordyn looked over the edge of the terrace, but could not see Oisin. She ran downstairs and out onto the sidewalk to catch him, but he was already at the end of the block, silhouetted in the lights of the ambulances pulling into the emergency room driveway. She ran her hand down the soft wool and went inside.
Jordyn stopped in the kitchen to give the rose another drink. She picked it up, sniffing its summe
ry fragrance one more time. With her free hand, she pulled the red scarf to her face. It smelled like cloves and cinnamon. The front door rattled. She listened for the sound again. When it didn’t come, she decided it was the wind or her imagination. She turned off the lights and carried her rose upstairs to bed.
Devin waited for Oisin at the end of the block.
“It must be hard to leave her,” she said.
“It is.”
Devin looked at her watch. “It’s almost time.”
“I know.”
“We need to go now.” Devin took Oisin by the elbow and they walked together into the screaming light of the ambulance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: COMPULSION
Jilly sat on the window sill just before Geography. Logan called from the front of the room, "He hasn't been here for at least a month. What makes you think he'll show up today?"
"I don't know. Maybe a little Christmas miracle or something."
Alex sat beside her. "Yeah, Logan. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”
“Term's almost over. I don't think so," said Logan. He looked out the window. "I don't see anyone out there."
"Really?" said Alex. "Take a look at that." She pointed at a man in a dark overcoat.
The street cleaners hadn’t been out in weeks and the trash had accumulated since Pritchard last walked the block. He carried an armload of small bags, stooping every few feet to pick up a scrap of paper or crushed pen.
"Santa Claus does exist," said Logan.
Alex squealed. "Mark, you still got the binoculars in your desk?"
"Yeah."
"Hand 'em over. Now!" she yelled. She peered out the window. "Weird.”
“Of course he’s weird” said Mark, handing over the binoculars.
Alex scowled and adjusted the focus. “No shit, Sherlock. I meant, he's not wearing a tie."
Logan pushed her aside and took the binoculars from her hand. "Let me see." He watched Pritchard fill bag after bag, scribbling so many notes he didn't pocket his pen once.
Jordyn and Will walked through the classroom door. A dozen students angled for a spot at the window. Jordyn whispered in Will's ear. He nodded and they pushed into the crowd. Prichard poked at the bits caught in the storm drain.
Assumptions Page 11