The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven

by Harmony L. Courtney

  “Kids, time to wash up for supper,” Paloma called before redirecting her attention to him. “Well, Saturday sounds doable. This is exciting,” she said, walking back into the kitchen for the salad. “I can’t wait to hear what he’s got to say.”

  Edward grabbed the orange juice off the counter and made his way back to the table, then grabbed the pot roast, still steaming, fresh from the oven, with a pair of mitts. Confetti, multi-hued fuzz ball that she was, nearly careened into him, her incessant mewling causing him to laugh as he shooed her away, carefully setting the roast down.

  The kids came scrambling to the table and held out their hands without comment or query as he and Paloma took their seats. The family bowed their heads, and Edward – wondering what the kids really wanted, then dismissing it – began to pray.

  “Thank You, Lord, for this wonderful meal, and bless it to our bodies even as You bless the hands that prepared it. Thank You for our family, and the blessings You have provided for us; we are amazed by Your deep grace and love for us. Thank You, too, for breakthroughs. We don’t always understand them, or see them when they happen, but thank You for them, anyway. Help us to see them for what they are and praise You for them, that Your Son is glorified, and it is in His name we pray,” he said. “Amen.”

  A round of amens followed his own as they unclasped their hands and the kids smiled at him. He did his best to ignore the overt attention as he sliced the roast and divvied it up as plates were passed around.

  “Um, Papa,” Chosen finally said, somewhat hesitantly.

  “Yes,” Edward asked in return.

  “Well, I know we’ve talked about this before, but… we talked to Mama and she said you had to agree,” his son continued.

  With a glance at Paloma, who shrugged her shoulders, lifting her hands to show she was staying out of it, he looked back at Chosen, then at Duncan and Cherish on either side of him.

  “Go on…”

  “We want a dog, and… one of our friends has one they can’t keep, and offered him to us, and-“

  “What kind of dog,” he asked, trying to process everything that was happening as he reached for the juice.

  A dog?

  Now?

  Seriously, God? Do we need a dog, on top of everything else going on right now?

  “Well, he didn’t say no,” he heard Cherish whisper in her brother’s ear.

  “Well…”

  “I’m listening,” Edward said, pouring himself some juice, and then filling Paloma’s cup, as well.

  “Um…, well, Papa…” Duncan put in, and then clamped a hand over his mouth.

  Apparently, this was up to Chosen.

  The trio were becoming known for flipping coins and playing rock, paper, scissors to see who would ask him for things lately. Just the past few weeks, it had heightened, and when he’d asked them about it, they’d said it was just the cool thing to do: their classmates said so.

  Edward did what he could to maintain a neutral face as he began to eat, waiting patiently to see if his son would get up the courage to finish what he’d begun.

  Now that the twins were on the verge of becoming teenagers, it was time for them to begin to take these life lessons in as they could. And it wouldn’t hurt for Cherish to pick them up, either. They had been through a lot, but that was no excuse for remaining behind in the things that mattered, like courage and valor, honesty and being trustworthy in the midst of trials and temptations.

  Everyone ate in silence a while, save for the cat’s occasional begging meows and mewls, and the ticking of the clock, before Chosen spoke up again.

  Well,” he tried again. “It’s an Italian Greyhound named Sparky,” he said. “But Billy says we could change his name, and he isn’t very loud, or big, and he’s used to being around cats, and it just isn’t fair for you to say no because we’ve wanted one since we were little, and Mama said it’s all up to you, so what do you say?”

  The words were flung into the air so fast it took a few moments for Edward to catch up to what he was saying, and then, he laughed.

  For the first time in weeks, he laughed so hard it made his stomach hurt, as his wife and kids watched him like he was crazy. And he didn’t blame them, really, since they didn’t know what was going on in his mind, but it struck him as funny, just out of nowhere.

  There wasn’t anything he could do to stop the laughter, and so he excused himself to the living room so he could try to calm down and think.

  Several minutes passed before he was able to rejoin his family and answer their questioning eyes.

  “We’ll see…,” Edward told them tentatively. “We’d have to do a test run of how Sparky and Confetti get along, and how he fits into the rest of the household… if you three can be responsible enough to feed him, walk him, bathe him… the works,” he said. “We’ll do a trial run.”

  A round of hoorays greeted him, trampling over his words before he was even finished. He glanced over at Paloma, who was beaming.

  “Did you hear what I said,” he asked the jubilant trio who were high fiving one another, now completely ignoring their meal. “We’d want you to sign an agreement promising to take care of him… all three of you, as a team. And no guarantees… just a test to see how it works out,” he said, reaching for his juice.

  “Now if you’d eat your dinner and finish your homework, I’d appreciate it,” he said, with a smile.

  Paloma finished toweling off her hair as she entered the bedroom, glad for the end of the day, but excited to learn more about Edward’s conversation with Uncle Masao.

  The man’s words, when he’d revealed he had some knowledge of the Hebrew language, had been playing through her mind and she hoped that what he’d found would not only be accurate, but helpful; encouraging.

  Otaku… the word of the fan; the word, she had learned, of the nerd. It was the word that had struck her as oddly wonderful, and had been stuck in her mind ever since. Much more so than golem, which she’d learned could mean a ghost as much as a yet-unformed person or thing. Otaku, too, had positive as well as negative connotations, but for the most part, the negative ones had to do with obsessions.

  Being obsessed with something good and helpful was still an obsession; still something that took people’s eyes off of God; off of the important things in life; off of family. But were they obsessed, or merely interested and curious and hopeful?

  Sometimes she wasn’t sure.

  Thoughts of the mirror didn’t consume her, although there were times that she found herself wondering about it. There were times she stopped to think what her life would be like if neither she, nor Edward, had ever encountered it. They would never have met; Edward would have ended up married to Jurriana Rufet, and lived for how long, since there were no heart surgeons in the seventeenth century; not really.

  And would she have married, or remained single, never to bear children or share a home with someone?

  Would she have given in to all of Quentin’s pesterings, desperate for someone’s attention… even if it was negative, overall?

  She didn’t think so, but who was to truly know what might have happened without a single incident that altered their life. A turn of phrase, meeting a new person, being at just the right place at the right time, overhearing a confession, whatever it was. She had come to realize, over the years, that all the cumulative moments and experiences that make us who we are have significance. Tiniest to largest, each one changes us, and helps create who we are as we continue to become all we will ultimately be.

  “Hey,” Edward greeted her as she slid the towel into the hamper. “You seem pretty lost in thought,” he observed.

  “I’ve just been thinking… these weeks we’ve been waiting for Masao, these weeks of wondering what Timothy – or maybe someone else – wrote on that second, longer…” She let the words die. Why try to explain something that he would already understand?

  Her husband nodded as he looked at her, their eyes meeting a moment before she pulled her side of
the covers down and climbed into bed, where he was already waiting, Bible opened. She was thankful for the early night. Thankful that the kids had decided to finish their heftier homework over the weekend in order to get some extra sleep. With Valentine’s Day the next day, she was glad they, too, saw the benefit of rest.

  Maybe all the excitement over the potential of adopting a dog had worn them out – and if that were the case, she was all for it. If they had a dog, would the children end up in bed earlier, having utilized more energy throughout the day?

  “Well, again,” Edward said as Paloma nestled into his shoulder, “he doesn’t have the whole thing down… that could still take weeks, even months. But I’m excited that we’re going to hear at least some of it; how it begins. If for no other reason than that there may be a clue already, and that Masao has really been diligent in his efforts to help us all,” he said, then paused a moment before continuing.

  “What do you suppose he learned from that Geoffrey fellow and his wife? I know he told me her name, but it isn’t coming to mind…”

  “I think Jason said their names were Geoffrey and Maude, Honey,” she told him, thankful that her brother had a good memory for names. “And as for what they had to say, I guess we’ll just have to be patient on that one, too. Though I find it interesting Masao wants to have both discussions at once.”

  “There’s that,” he said. “But for now, are you ready? I’ve already opened up to where we left off last evening,” he told her, though it was already apparent.

  Paloma nodded, offering to read first. The Bible shifted from his lap to hers, and she began to read from the Amplified.

  “James two, starting with verse one reads, “My brethren, pay no servile regard to people [show no prejudice, no partiality]. Do not [attempt to] hold and practice the faith of our Lord Jesus Christ [the Lord] of glory [together with snobbery],” she began. “For if a person comes into your congregation whose hands are adorned with gold rings and who is wearing splendid apparel, and also a poor [man] in shabby clothes comes in, And you pay special attention to the one who wears the splendid clothes and say to him, Sit here in this preferable seat! while you tell the poor [man], Stand there! or, Sit there on the floor at my feet! Are you not discriminating among your own and becoming critics and judges with wrong motives?”

  She paused a moment to turn the page, and then continued.

  “Listen, my beloved brethren: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and in their position as believers and to inherit the kingdom which He has promised to those who love Him? But you [in contrast] have insulted (humiliated, dishonored, and shown your contempt for) the poor. Is it not the rich who domineer over you? Is it not they who drag you into the law courts,” she continued, pausing a moment for breath before she continued.

  “Is it not they who slander and blaspheme that precious name by which you are distinguished and called [the name of Christ invoked in baptism]? If indeed you [really] fulfill the royal Law in accordance with the Scripture, You shall love your neighbor as [you love] yourself, you do well.”

  Edward stopped her there, a hand over the text; their signal. “Sorry to interrupt, but I… I keep thinking about that man Jason and I saw the first time….” He started over again. “When I first arrived, and Jason took me shopping, there was a man sitting next to the doorway at the store, in a sleeping bag. As the day progressed, and even over the week, I thought about that man. What his life must be like – of course, since I knew almost nothing of this time, this world, it frightened me. We had gone back after our errands were done; after Trent cut our hair, hoping to bring him some food, but…”

  “But he was no longer there, I’m guessing,” she said softly, trying to follow the train of his thought.

  “No, he was there… but so were nine other people by the time we got back. Lined against that same store’s wall, just along the one side. It was so overwhelming that I… we had stopped to get him something from McDonalds. I forget now, exactly what… a few burgers and a fry, I think,” he continued as he pulled her closer. “So we changed tactic; we didn’t have enough with us for everyone along that side, but the burgers were enough for three to have something to eat. Jason told him we’d be back; handed the bag to him, telling him to share with a couple of others, and we’d be back.”

  For several moments, Edward was quiet. Paloma felt a tear land on her shoulder, even through the fabric of her nightgown.

  “When we got back with another three bags of food, the man had eaten it all… not caring enough to share, though we had said we’d return with more. Jason said it’s the only time he’d ever done that… made sure more than one person had something to eat at a time. That, until that moment, it hadn’t dawned on him that when he helped one, in the sight of others, maybe just maybe, the others felt worse, instead of more hopeful.”

  “Really,” she asked him, trying to picture the scene.

  She knew the area where his clothes had initially come from; the stores downtown that attracted homeless like some people collected fur coats or diamonds. She thought of Jason and Edward, overwhelmed by the need; Edward, never having seen or experienced such a level of destitution.

  “So in that instance,” Edward continued, his hand tracing the open page of the Bible. “In that instance, did we love our neighbors as ourselves, or were we feeling pity? Were we trying to meet a need because of compassion, or guilt and unease? To this day, I truly don’t know. Can they be one and the same?”

  Paloma didn’t have the answers; she could only guess, and at this moment, she wasn’t sure he wanted an answer from her, anyway. Life was fraught with decisions, and not all of them made sense. Not at the time, and not even later.

  But, she thought, they did a good thing; something helpful, whatever their motive was. Can I say I’ve done the same? That I’ve gone out of my way for someone as pronouncedly as they did, and that being Edward’s first true outing into the twenty-first century?

  “Well, anyway, would you like me to read now,” her husband asked her. “Or are we good, and pick things up tomorrow?”

  Paloma pondered his question a moment before answering. “You know, much as I like to get through a chapter a night, sometimes it doesn’t take very much to have something to chew on. I think we’ve met our limit for now,” she told him. “I just…”

  What words to use?

  “I just think that prayer will do us good, and catching a little extra sleep will help settle our spirits down enough to absorb what’s happening. So many changes; so many challenges, and God doesn’t give us too much. I think…” she said, “I think that when there’s too much happening, it’s because we take too much on. It isn’t necessarily that He gives it to us. We take it.”

  Twenty Six

  Pendleton, Oregon… February 13, 2025

  Lovan Quimby grumbled as he made his way up the penitentiary steps and headed inside.

  Why was it that, instead of his father getting the calls for bad behavior, he did? Why was it they had switched roles, without even being in each other’s daily lives?

  He waited in line behind a short blonde blind man, cane out to the side, sunglasses on, and suit, just a little ill fitting. Three women – one looking like she was dressed for church, another, as if she were on the way to a party, and the third, as though she had just stepped out of one of those magazines that airbrushed everyone to the point of false perfection – were ahead of him, as well.

  The woman dressed like a partier – with platinum and pink hair, shorn in a style more typical of the 80s, a slim build, and a purse bigger than her head – was at the counter, complaining about something to do with a man she referred to as Snookums. The woman behind the counter, usually quite patient from what Lovan recalled, was beginning to raise her voice, and a nearby officer came to see what was happening.

  Lovan rolled his eyes and began tapping his foot.

  All this, just to come see what his father had done wrong this time?
It felt like a waste. He had other things he could be doing – like homework. Now that he’d moved, the couple he was staying with insisted he be homeschooled in order to allow for him to make visits to his father. But since Quentin was supposed to have been released already – the date had been pushed back three times now, due to one uncouth behavior or another – what was the point?

  And when Quentin was released, what did it matter how Lovan was schooled, or where he lived? His father would drift on out of his life, anyway, wouldn’t he?

  “Young Mister Quimby,” he heard someone say from behind him and to the right. “No need to wait in line, Son, yes? Come on over here into my office, and we’ll talk.”

  Lovan turned to see his father’s counselor, Daan Lucas Vandroogenbroeck – whose name he could never pronounce – a Dutch-born man sporting a low blonde ponytail, his angular face serious. He stood near the metal detector, where an officer was monitoring those who were being called for first round of visiting, arms crossed, a packet in one hand.

  A roomful of eyes on him, Lovan moved toward the counselor and followed him down a hallway, turned, and entered onto a second hallway before they arrived at his office. Mr. Vandroogenbroeck motioned for him to sit, and, taking a seat himself, set his paperwork on the desk before turning on his computer.

  “So, it seems to me that, overall, your father has been doing well lately,” the man began. “Even with his surprise visitors, he did well, given the circumstances. And so-“

  “What surprise visitors,” Lovan interrupted. “Sorry, but I just don’t know anyone that would…” He paused a moment. How many people were on his father’s accepted visitor’s list? Now that his Mama was gone, who was left? Lovan had never thought to ask such things.