the truth anyway. “I ran into him today in Healdsburg.”
“You’ve touched him?”
“More like he touched me.”
“Uh oh. Houston, we have a problem.” Angie spoke into her sleeve like transmitting something from space. It would have been funny, if not for the circumstances.
“Why do you say that?” Claire asked.
“Get out, Claire. Get out now. Go home.” Angie’s lips formed a thin line, without a smile.
“I can handle it. Just give me some pointers.”
“There are no pointers to give. He’s done with Daniel; he wants you .”
Claire didn’t like the confirmation of her own feelings about this shift in Josh’s trajectory. “I sort of thought so. I’m not worried he will turn me, though, Angie. Call me foolish, but I think I can outlast him.”
“You have one tiny problem, Claire.”
“And that is?”
“You care about Daniel. That, my friend, is what the dark angel is counting on. When you don’t care about Daniel any more, Josh will no longer be a threat. Until then, hold onto your dust. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
Chapter 8
Claire sat on the corner of Daniel’s bed, propped against the wall. Quiet sounds of his slumber made her wonder what it felt like to sleep. Something she’d have to ask Father.
She often got a private audience with Father, initially because of her perfect record, but the more time she spent with him the more she considered him her real father. Something about their relationship was special to both of them.
Claire wondered if he picked up on some of her concern now. Of course he does. He knows everything. Perhaps she should ask to speak to him. Josh was making her nervous. And Angie’s words echoed constantly. “Get out now. Go home.” She had never quit before, and wasn’t about to now.
But as she settled down to her second night, watching him fall asleep, she drove out the niggling thoughts in the back of her head. Time to go to work.
Claire watched Daniel’s dream, finding herself projected onto sand. She recognized it as his home in Brazil. He was a boy of six or seven, running on a wide beach. Squinting from the blinding white sand and reflection of sunlight dripping on the waves in the ocean, he ran free and shirtless in a dirty pair of cut-off jeans secured with a worn piece of rope. The soft foam of the warm ocean licked at his small feet and skinny brown legs. He dug his feet into the wet sand and smiled as he ran toward the waves. He dove in just before a small swell could crash on him.
He floated face up, looking at the blue sky with white clouds changing shapes before his eyes. The water made melodic sounds as it tickled the sides of his face, ears and neck. Above him, in the sky, shapes appeared in the clouds, familiar faces, animals and pictures of houses and birds. Lots of birds.
Claire smiled to herself. She had done the very same thing hundreds of times in her open-ceilinged dorm room in Heaven. The clouds there were identical to those in the human world.
In the ocean, Daniel’s body weightlessly rocked back and forth on the bed of water. A wave drove over him and filled his eyes and nose with salt water. He stood up, coughing. He waded through the waist high foamy water onto the shore. A gentle wave washed over a pair of footprints in the wet sand. Today the ocean had left two gifts for him: a brightly colored piece of glass and a partial shell, a curled piece from a pink and orange home of some sea creature. He held the glass up to the sun and felt its energy as it bathed his eyes in color. He squinted.
His sandy fingers explored the pieces, turning them over and over, looking at the dance of pink and white, light and shadow. A work of art, complete in its own texture and pattern—not something broken.
He put the glass and shell into his pocket and folded over the button flap, safely securing the glass and shell in this secret place. Claire could tell by his ragtag appearance that Daniel was probably unused to holding onto
“You’ve touched him?”
“More like he touched me.”
“Uh oh. Houston, we have a problem.” Angie spoke into her sleeve like transmitting something from space. It would have been funny, if not for the circumstances.
“Why do you say that?” Claire asked.
“Get out, Claire. Get out now. Go home.” Angie’s lips formed a thin line, without a smile.
“I can handle it. Just give me some pointers.”
“There are no pointers to give. He’s done with Daniel; he wants you .”
Claire didn’t like the confirmation of her own feelings about this shift in Josh’s trajectory. “I sort of thought so. I’m not worried he will turn me, though, Angie. Call me foolish, but I think I can outlast him.”
“You have one tiny problem, Claire.”
“And that is?”
“You care about Daniel. That, my friend, is what the dark angel is counting on. When you don’t care about Daniel any more, Josh will no longer be a threat. Until then, hold onto your dust. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
Chapter 8
Claire sat on the corner of Daniel’s bed, propped against the wall. Quiet sounds of his slumber made her wonder what it felt like to sleep. Something she’d have to ask Father.
She often got a private audience with Father, initially because of her perfect record, but the more time she spent with him the more she considered him her real father. Something about their relationship was special to both of them.
Claire wondered if he picked up on some of her concern now. Of course he does. He knows everything. Perhaps she should ask to speak to him. Josh was making her nervous. And Angie’s words echoed constantly. “Get out now. Go home.” She had never quit before, and wasn’t about to now.
But as she settled down to her second night, watching him fall asleep, she drove out the niggling thoughts in the back of her head. Time to go to work.
Claire watched Daniel’s dream, finding herself projected onto sand. She recognized it as his home in Brazil. He was a boy of six or seven, running on a wide beach. Squinting from the blinding white sand and reflection of sunlight dripping on the waves in the ocean, he ran free and shirtless in a dirty pair of cut-off jeans secured with a worn piece of rope. The soft foam of the warm ocean licked at his small feet and skinny brown legs. He dug his feet into the wet sand and smiled as he ran toward the waves. He dove in just before a small swell could crash on him.
He floated face up, looking at the blue sky with white clouds changing shapes before his eyes. The water made melodic sounds as it tickled the sides of his face, ears and neck. Above him, in the sky, shapes appeared in the clouds, familiar faces, animals and pictures of houses and birds. Lots of birds.
Claire smiled to herself. She had done the very same thing hundreds of times in her open-ceilinged dorm room in Heaven. The clouds there were identical to those in the human world.
In the ocean, Daniel’s body weightlessly rocked back and forth on the bed of water. A wave drove over him and filled his eyes and nose with salt water. He stood up, coughing. He waded through the waist high foamy water onto the shore. A gentle wave washed over a pair of footprints in the wet sand. Today the ocean had left two gifts for him: a brightly colored piece of glass and a partial shell, a curled piece from a pink and orange home of some sea creature. He held the glass up to the sun and felt its energy as it bathed his eyes in color. He squinted.
His sandy fingers explored the pieces, turning them over and over, looking at the dance of pink and white, light and shadow. A work of art, complete in its own texture and pattern—not something broken.
He put the glass and shell into his pocket and folded over the button flap, safely securing the glass and shell in this secret place. Claire could tell by his ragtag appearance that Daniel was probably unused to holding onto
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