studying my reflection. I was wearing a tight white top and a long purple skirt with lots of sparklysilver threads running through it. I touched the skirt worriedly. Was it OK? People dressed up for church, didn’t they? Not that it mattered, really, but I wanted to blend in if I could.
It’ll do,
I decided. Quickly, I brushed my hair, then twisted two long locks on each side, pulled them back, and caught them with a small barrette. I pulled on my jean jacket and sneakers, grabbed my drawstring bag, and went downstairs. I could hear the clatter and splash of Aunt Jo doing the dishes in the kitchen; in the living room, Mom was asleep in her favorite chair. Not a surprise: sometimes I think her sleeping dreams must be as seductive as her waking ones. Asleep, she looks just like anyone else — as if her eyes might light up with recognition if she were to open them and see me.
Gazing at her now, something tightened in my stomach.
I’m never going to see her again,
I thought.
What kind of stupid random thought was that? I shook it away, ignoring the fear that had suddenly spiked through me. Leaning over the chair, I kissed my mother’s sleeping cheek.
“Bye, Mom,” I whispered. I smoothed her pale hair back. “I won’t be gone long. I love you.”
She murmured slightly and fell still again, her breathing soft and even. I sighed. At least she seemed peaceful. I kissed my fingers and touched them to her lips before I slipped from the room. Poking my head into the kitchen, I told Aunt Jo I was going out, and five minutes later, I was in my car, heading toward Schenectady. There wasn’t much traffic, even when I got onto I-90. Once or twice I noticed a black Porsche behind me. I glanced at it in the rearview mirror. I’d seen it back in Pawtucket, too, lagging a block or so behind me when I left town. Someone else going to the church, maybe?
If they were, then they didn’t need to follow me to find the way. Miles before I even got to Schenectady, huge signs started appearing on the side of the interstate: billboards with sparkling silver letters proclaiming, THE ANGELS CAN SAVE YOU! CHURCH OF ANGELS, SCHENECTADY, EXIT 8 WEST. My hands tightened on the wheel. There it was, that generic image so familiar from all the commercials, of the huge white church on a hill.
When I finally pulled into the mammoth parking lot, all I could do was sit in my car and stare for a minute. I’d been to New York City; I’d seen big buildings before — but nothing quite like this. Maybe it was the way the church sat by itself, rising up from a vast landscaped lawn, but the sheer impact of it was just breathtaking. I took in the high vaulted roof; the stained-glass windows glittering in the sun. On the other side of the parking lot, I could see a complex that looked like a huge shopping mall. There
was
a mall in there, I remembered — plus apartments, a gym, a hair salon — anything you might ever need.
It was almost two o’clock; crowds of people were drifting into the church. I steeled myself as I got out of my car and started heading toward it. With luck, I’d find Beth . . . but her angel could be in there, too. My hands turned cold at the thought. I didn’t want to see that thing ever again if I could help it.
I’d only gone a few dozen steps when a nagging “turn around” feeling tickled at the back of my neck. I looked over my shoulder. There was the black Porsche again, a few rows down; a guy about my own age with dark hair had just gotten out of it. He wore faded jeans and a leather jacket hanging open over a blue T-shirt. I let out a breath, glad for the distraction . . . because the closer I got to that church, the more I seriously didn’t want to go inside it.
Half turning, I dawdled so that the dark-haired guy would catch up. He hesitated; then we made eye contact, and he walked slowly toward me. He had a medium build — slim, but with firm-looking shoulders — and moved like an athlete, confident
It’ll do,
I decided. Quickly, I brushed my hair, then twisted two long locks on each side, pulled them back, and caught them with a small barrette. I pulled on my jean jacket and sneakers, grabbed my drawstring bag, and went downstairs. I could hear the clatter and splash of Aunt Jo doing the dishes in the kitchen; in the living room, Mom was asleep in her favorite chair. Not a surprise: sometimes I think her sleeping dreams must be as seductive as her waking ones. Asleep, she looks just like anyone else — as if her eyes might light up with recognition if she were to open them and see me.
Gazing at her now, something tightened in my stomach.
I’m never going to see her again,
I thought.
What kind of stupid random thought was that? I shook it away, ignoring the fear that had suddenly spiked through me. Leaning over the chair, I kissed my mother’s sleeping cheek.
“Bye, Mom,” I whispered. I smoothed her pale hair back. “I won’t be gone long. I love you.”
She murmured slightly and fell still again, her breathing soft and even. I sighed. At least she seemed peaceful. I kissed my fingers and touched them to her lips before I slipped from the room. Poking my head into the kitchen, I told Aunt Jo I was going out, and five minutes later, I was in my car, heading toward Schenectady. There wasn’t much traffic, even when I got onto I-90. Once or twice I noticed a black Porsche behind me. I glanced at it in the rearview mirror. I’d seen it back in Pawtucket, too, lagging a block or so behind me when I left town. Someone else going to the church, maybe?
If they were, then they didn’t need to follow me to find the way. Miles before I even got to Schenectady, huge signs started appearing on the side of the interstate: billboards with sparkling silver letters proclaiming, THE ANGELS CAN SAVE YOU! CHURCH OF ANGELS, SCHENECTADY, EXIT 8 WEST. My hands tightened on the wheel. There it was, that generic image so familiar from all the commercials, of the huge white church on a hill.
When I finally pulled into the mammoth parking lot, all I could do was sit in my car and stare for a minute. I’d been to New York City; I’d seen big buildings before — but nothing quite like this. Maybe it was the way the church sat by itself, rising up from a vast landscaped lawn, but the sheer impact of it was just breathtaking. I took in the high vaulted roof; the stained-glass windows glittering in the sun. On the other side of the parking lot, I could see a complex that looked like a huge shopping mall. There
was
a mall in there, I remembered — plus apartments, a gym, a hair salon — anything you might ever need.
It was almost two o’clock; crowds of people were drifting into the church. I steeled myself as I got out of my car and started heading toward it. With luck, I’d find Beth . . . but her angel could be in there, too. My hands turned cold at the thought. I didn’t want to see that thing ever again if I could help it.
I’d only gone a few dozen steps when a nagging “turn around” feeling tickled at the back of my neck. I looked over my shoulder. There was the black Porsche again, a few rows down; a guy about my own age with dark hair had just gotten out of it. He wore faded jeans and a leather jacket hanging open over a blue T-shirt. I let out a breath, glad for the distraction . . . because the closer I got to that church, the more I seriously didn’t want to go inside it.
Half turning, I dawdled so that the dark-haired guy would catch up. He hesitated; then we made eye contact, and he walked slowly toward me. He had a medium build — slim, but with firm-looking shoulders — and moved like an athlete, confident
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