archangel, but—”
“Archangel?”
“The first sculpture.”
He shook his head. “Nattie …”
“I have some roasted chicken and asparagus.”
“Now you’re the rock star.”
“I might be too tired to warm it.”
He beamed. “Cold chicken is my favorite.”
Before they reached his car, Trevor checked his phone. “Hold on, I need to call Whit back.”
“This late? With a baby?”
“He tried six times, but I turned my phone off for our trip.” He held up a finger. “Yeah, Whit. What is it?” A pause, then, “Now?” He glanced at her. “Okay, I’m coming.”
“Change of plans?”
“We need to swing by their place.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Something weird, I guess. Whit wouldn’t say.”
If then his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil.
M iles and miles by car had not dulled the throbbing wound of senseless death. It abscessed and putrefied, filled him with silent keening as he perused this fallen world, his domain. After leaving one gasless vehicle, he searched for another and heard, like a whistle to canine ears, an infant wailing.
From a frame house begging drafts through dingy window screens came wail upon wail. How could no one hear?
Drawing close, he saw. Their ears were not deaf, rather blocked by carnal desires consuming them. Selfish passion sated; helpless need unheeded.
Deftly, he slipped through the farther window, lifted the bawling babe from his bed as their lusty coupling covered the sound of his retreat. With a mouth like a bird’s, the young one’s cries sought sustenance. A nest, then. A lofty perch for this featherless fledgling. Act Three.
Eight
W hit and Sara’s two-story cabin stood in tall pines with ruts for a driveway. At almost midnight, the other houses around them were dark and quiet. A herd of elk bedded down on the side lawn, their coats silvery gray in the moonlight. They lifted their heads as she and Trevor passed by.
He knocked once and walked in. “Whit?”
Whit came toward them, surprised, not to see Trevor in his house, but that he’d brought her.
Sara hurried behind, then halted. “Natalie.”
Even by glimpses, she could see them shifting course. Whatever was happening, she was out of place in it.
Whit said, “Where were you?”
“Denver. Nattie’s nephew is getting a robot arm.”
“Yeah?” He looked intrigued.
“It’ll connect to his nerves at the shoulder, move when he thinks, and even send touch sensations back to his brain.”
Natalie turned. “How do you know that?”
“Your brother told me while you were hugging the little guy.”
That one-armed squeeze tugged her heart, but there might have been no hug at all and a funeral instead. “It keeps hitting me that Cody’s alive because of you two.”
“Oh yes,” Sara said. “They’re superheroes in disguise.”
“I’m in disguise,” Whit said. “Trevor doesn’t bother.”
Trevor gripped Sara’s shoulders. “Got food?”
Rolling her eyes, she slid her arm through his and pulled him to the kitchen.
Natalie chewed her lip, her disconnected feeling growing. “That’s a good friend. I hope she knows he’s starving.”
Whit shrugged. “She’s used to it.”
“You’ve all been friends awhile?”
“Big T and I have. Sara was more of a nuisance.” He rubbed a hand over his short-cropped hair. “She never lets me forget I told Trevor to ditch her.”
“He didn’t?”
“Not having sisters, unlike moi , he let her tag along—which, as I could have told him, only lasted until she took charge.”
“And then you married her.”
“There’s a lot of story in between.” Whit’s eyes crinkled, the stubby black lashes dipping over coffee brown irises. A small scar rode high on one cheekbone, and a slight cleft made a shadow on his chin. “It’s better when Sara tells it.”
Natalie doubted it. Whit was pretty amusing, while
“Archangel?”
“The first sculpture.”
He shook his head. “Nattie …”
“I have some roasted chicken and asparagus.”
“Now you’re the rock star.”
“I might be too tired to warm it.”
He beamed. “Cold chicken is my favorite.”
Before they reached his car, Trevor checked his phone. “Hold on, I need to call Whit back.”
“This late? With a baby?”
“He tried six times, but I turned my phone off for our trip.” He held up a finger. “Yeah, Whit. What is it?” A pause, then, “Now?” He glanced at her. “Okay, I’m coming.”
“Change of plans?”
“We need to swing by their place.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Something weird, I guess. Whit wouldn’t say.”
If then his providence
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good,
Our labour must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil.
M iles and miles by car had not dulled the throbbing wound of senseless death. It abscessed and putrefied, filled him with silent keening as he perused this fallen world, his domain. After leaving one gasless vehicle, he searched for another and heard, like a whistle to canine ears, an infant wailing.
From a frame house begging drafts through dingy window screens came wail upon wail. How could no one hear?
Drawing close, he saw. Their ears were not deaf, rather blocked by carnal desires consuming them. Selfish passion sated; helpless need unheeded.
Deftly, he slipped through the farther window, lifted the bawling babe from his bed as their lusty coupling covered the sound of his retreat. With a mouth like a bird’s, the young one’s cries sought sustenance. A nest, then. A lofty perch for this featherless fledgling. Act Three.
Eight
W hit and Sara’s two-story cabin stood in tall pines with ruts for a driveway. At almost midnight, the other houses around them were dark and quiet. A herd of elk bedded down on the side lawn, their coats silvery gray in the moonlight. They lifted their heads as she and Trevor passed by.
He knocked once and walked in. “Whit?”
Whit came toward them, surprised, not to see Trevor in his house, but that he’d brought her.
Sara hurried behind, then halted. “Natalie.”
Even by glimpses, she could see them shifting course. Whatever was happening, she was out of place in it.
Whit said, “Where were you?”
“Denver. Nattie’s nephew is getting a robot arm.”
“Yeah?” He looked intrigued.
“It’ll connect to his nerves at the shoulder, move when he thinks, and even send touch sensations back to his brain.”
Natalie turned. “How do you know that?”
“Your brother told me while you were hugging the little guy.”
That one-armed squeeze tugged her heart, but there might have been no hug at all and a funeral instead. “It keeps hitting me that Cody’s alive because of you two.”
“Oh yes,” Sara said. “They’re superheroes in disguise.”
“I’m in disguise,” Whit said. “Trevor doesn’t bother.”
Trevor gripped Sara’s shoulders. “Got food?”
Rolling her eyes, she slid her arm through his and pulled him to the kitchen.
Natalie chewed her lip, her disconnected feeling growing. “That’s a good friend. I hope she knows he’s starving.”
Whit shrugged. “She’s used to it.”
“You’ve all been friends awhile?”
“Big T and I have. Sara was more of a nuisance.” He rubbed a hand over his short-cropped hair. “She never lets me forget I told Trevor to ditch her.”
“He didn’t?”
“Not having sisters, unlike moi , he let her tag along—which, as I could have told him, only lasted until she took charge.”
“And then you married her.”
“There’s a lot of story in between.” Whit’s eyes crinkled, the stubby black lashes dipping over coffee brown irises. A small scar rode high on one cheekbone, and a slight cleft made a shadow on his chin. “It’s better when Sara tells it.”
Natalie doubted it. Whit was pretty amusing, while
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