"Another guy in our organization is also an agent."
I noticed he took care not to mention the name of our “organization."
"Oh, that guy!” I'd been de-briefed by two FBI agents last June, because of the kidnapping issue. I'd liked Ruth, but the other agent, with his moist, lily-white hands and bad comb-over, gave me the creeps.
Mike said. “He's on another case now, but we're working to get him over there. Just make sure the moonstone is in a safe place."
"It is,” I assured him.
Later, I was getting ready to go to the Laundromat—my other Saturday duty—when Beck called. I told him what my dad said and he reacted in silence. When he spoke, his words surprised me.
"Wanna go to church with me tomorrow?"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-Two
The way I figured it, why not? The moonstone was taking a dirt nap and, as I mentioned before, I wasn't sure what saved me that awful day in Junior's house when Revelle sniffed out my hiding place. Could have been the moonstone. Could have been Jesus. I needed all the help I could get. Might as well give the Catholic Church a shot.
I was thinking about all of this when Beck picked me up Sunday morning for mass. Not knowing what to expect, I was a little nervous when we pulled into the parking lot of the St. John the Baptist Catholic Church. Beck started to open the door.
"Hold it,” I said. “If St. John was a Baptist, why is this church named after him instead of the Baptist Church?"
Beck sighed. “Gee, Allie, I really don't know."
Despite the note of sarcasm in his voice, I persisted. “What do I do during the service?"
"You don't have to kneel when I do. Just scrunch forward in your seat and bow your head. That way, the person kneeling behind you won't have his nose in your hair."
I tried to think of people I knew of the Catholic persuasion. Oh, yeah, Bea and Harold from the diner. I had a sudden visual of Harold snorkeling around in my hair with his humungous nose and lapsed into laughter.
I was still snickering as we exited the Ranger and walked across the parking lot. Beck, his forehead furrowed with worry lines, looked at me like I was a ticking time bomb ready to blow. As he led me to the pretty little stone church, he said, “I'm not sure what's funny, but you better get it out of your system before we go in."
"No problem,” I said, desperately trying not to think about Harold's enormous quivering nostrils. “You may find this hard to believe, but I do know how to behave in church."
If I was trying to put him on the defensive, it worked. “Sorry. I thought the whole church thing was getting to you and you were, you know, kinda hysterical."
I assured him I wasn't hysterical. To prove my point, I told him about Harold's nose. He smiled politely. Apparently, he didn't find it as amusing as I did. Then, it occurred to me, Beck was probably nervous too. After all, he was bringing his semi-heathen girlfriend onto sanctified ground and, most likely, into the bosom of his family.
"One more thing,” he continued. “During the Eucharist, just stay seated."
"Well, of course,” I said, hoping I'd figure out what the Eucharist was once the program got underway.
"And, if you don't want to do the hug of Christian fellowship, just shake hands."
I squeezed his hand. “Your choice ... hand shake or hug?"
This time, the smile reached his eyes.
We mounted the worn stone steps and followed two women I recognized from Kizzy's book club through the wooden double doors and into the lobby or, as I found out later, the narthex. A beaming middle-aged couple rushed over to us to bid us welcome. Beck introduced me to Milt and Maisie Duncan, today's official greeters. Milt winked and punched Beck in the shoulder.
"New girlfriend, huh?"
New? Geez, how many girls had he brought to church? I shot him a look while Maisie clasped both my hands in hers. “We're delighted you're here, Allie."
I murmured my thanks, and they dashed off to greet another group of newcomers. Before we went into the sanctuary, Beck dipped his fingers into a bowl of holy water and touched his forehead. The sight and sound of his fingers dipping into the water evoked the memory of the night in his apartment. Once again, I felt the touch of his warm, wet hand against my skin ... inhaled the sweet scent of sage and lavender ... heard the deep, soothing sound of his voice.
Snap out of it, Allie, I told myself. You're in church. Thinking about pagan rites is probably the worst kind of sin.
Nevertheless, I reached in my pocket, wrapped my fingers around the healing stones and followed Beck down the aisle. As we slipped into the pew behind his mother and Nicole, I thought about Beck's strange existence. He was like the result of a bizarre science experiment. What do you get when you mix an incubus with a wannabe nun and add a generous portion of Native American shamanism? Beck Bradford, that's what. The very idea almost sent me to giggle-land again. Fortunately, at that moment, Melissa Bradford turned and gave me a tight little smile. I sobered immediately and arranged my face in what I hoped was the proper look of reverence.
I was doing okay until Nicole turned around, grinned at me, and then crossed her eyes. Taken by surprise, I disguised my snort of laughter as a cough. Beck kicked the pew beneath Nicole, and she turned around. Their mother hissed at Nicole, snapped her head around and raked both of us with a non-nonsense glare that clearly said, “Shape up!"
I glanced at Beck, who looked positively joyful. Was bringing me to church his little act of rebellion? Is that why we were sitting behind his mother and sister instead of alongside them? Was he using me to say, In your face, Mom?
The priest, Father Xavier Francis MacDougal, entered, and I forgot all about family dysfunctions and immersed myself in the sights, sounds and smells of a Catholic Mass. I stood when others stood, sat when others sat and scrunched forward when it was time to kneel. I even figured out the Eucharist was the Catholic term for Holy Communion.
Because Thanksgiving was just around the corner, Father MacDougal's message was about appreciating what God had given us. Nicole began to squirm and fidget in her seat. Even her mother's warning glance had no effect. Beck was gazing off in the distance over the top of the priest's head, lost in his own little world. It seemed like Melissa and I were the only ones thankful for our blessings.
Suddenly, Nicole went utterly still, as still as the stone saints lining the sanctuary. Alarmed, I stared at her back. Was she even breathing? Was she about to have a seizure? A stroke? I was getting ready to poke Beck with my elbow when she finally took a breath. I counted, one thousand one, one thousand two, etc. I got all the way to one thousand twenty five before she took another. I stopped counting and gasped when the aura appeared, a radiant, dancing rainbow alternately flaring and subsiding over her crown of dark hair like an incandescent flame.
I tugged at Beck's sleeve until he came back from wherever he'd been. He inclined his head toward mine. I whispered, “Do you see it? The rainbow over Nicole's head?"
He studied his sister. “Yeah, I see it. It means she went somewhere else."
By “she went somewhere else,” was he talking about astral travel? I stared at him, unwilling to believe he could be so casual about something so bizarre. I needed answers.
After the service, Melissa and Beck mingled and shook hands with other parishioners. Nicole took off down the hall, presumably to the ladies’ restroom. I waited outside the door until she came out. She looked surprised to see me.
"Looking for the bathroom?” she asked.
"No,” I said. “Looking for answers."
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she didn't walk away. I waited until the hallway was clear and then asked, “Okay, how did you do it? The astral travel thing? Did you know you have an aura?"
Nicole scowled. “What's an aura?"
"Dancing lights shooting out of your head. Beck saw it too."
"Oh my God! How embarrassing! Do you think everybody saw it?"
Trust Nicole to
miss the whole point. Since I wanted more information, I told her, “Just Beck and me. I guess you didn't know that happened during astral travel, huh?"
She gave me a dark look. “Apparently, my dear, sweet brother didn't think it was important enough to mention."
"So, where did you go?"
She ducked her head and looked up through her long, dark lashes. “I know I should have been listening to Father MacDougal, but he was just so boring, I had to get away. I went to the top of the Space Needle in Seattle, but it was foggy. Couldn't see a thing."
"Anywhere else?"
"I wanted to go someplace warm, like Disney World. But, then mass was over, so I couldn't."
I shook my head in disbelief. “You can really do that? Leave your body and go somewhere else?"
She nodded. “It's getting easier."
"So, it doesn't matter if it's day or night?"
"No,” Nicole said. “Beck and I are different that way."
I waited, but Nicole had clammed up. I turned toward the narthex. “Guess we should go find Beck and your mom."
Before I could take a step, Nicole plucked at my sleeve. “You know what's weird?"
"What?"
She thrust out a hand and pointed at her demon mark. “I have no idea what I'm capable of doing. I'm only half-human. What if I do something really awful?"
Whoa, was Nicole developing a conscience? Of course, we were standing in a church. If reassurance was what she needed, I was all over it.
"You won't,” I said. “It comes down to making choices, and it doesn't matter if you're fully human, half-human or. like me, some hick chick with a magic moonstone."
She managed a weak smile. “It's scary, ya know?"
I smiled back at her. “Believe me, I know."
* * * *
That night, I dreamed of my long-missing grandmother, Melia. Dressed in a long, green dress, she hitched up her skirt and ran through the woods after a little girl with blond braids. Each time the woman caught up, the little girl squealed with laughter and scampered out of reach.
"Faye, stop!” Melia called. Her voice was high and sweet but layered with a note of panic. “Wait for Mama."
But, Faye wouldn't listen. She'd wait for her mother to catch up and then run ahead. Finally, she reached the edge of the woods and ran into a sunlit meadow. Melia stopped at the edge of the forest, her tangled dark hair wild and frizzy, her gown snagged with bits of moss and fern. Her face was streaked with mud, her eyes wild with grief.
"Come back,” she cried, her voice escalating in fear. But, Faye didn't look back. She skipped through the meadow, stopping now and then to pick a wildflower.
I awoke from the dream, not screaming out in terror like I did with my Baxter nightmare (thank you, Beck) but with a sense of melancholy.
Melancholy. I snuggled under my faded pink comforter, smiling as I recalled how I'd added that particular word to my vocabulary. It was last year, in ninth grade English.
Mrs. Burke had said, “Melancholy. How many of you think it's a fruit?"
My hand shot up along with half the class.
Then, she said, “How many of you think it's a breed of dog?"
Everyone else in the class, minus one, raised their hands. The hold-out was Charles Raymond Atkinson Jr., who sneered and said, “It means sad."
Junior Martinez had been sitting directly behind me. He leaned forward and whispered, “What an asshole!"
Mrs. Burke must have agreed because she got a pained look on her face. “You're almost right, Charles. However, there's a bit more."
She paused and gazed around the class. “Have you ever seen something on TV, a movie that ends with a group hug? Or, maybe a Hallmark commercial that tugs at your heart and tears well up in your eyes?"
All the girls nodded. The boys stared at the floor.
"That's melancholy. A thoughtful sadness mellowed by a touch of hope."
I'd never forgotten it. My very next thought was, Ask Faye about her mother and do not let her squirm away from an honest answer. I swore I'd do that when she got home from work tonight.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-Three
Much to my relief, Shane Boldt and his buddies weren't at school Monday. The last thing I wanted was Round Two of the Friday night fight, especially at school. I was sure Beck would think he had to protect me even though I was “Killer garbage-can-lid girl.” He'd offered me a ride home, but I'd promised Mercedes I'd help her after school. Our job was to keep four little Trujillos plus Rocky and Ricky, her twin two-year-old cousins, out of the kitchen while her mother, Juanita, and Tia Elena made tamales.
A little after six, weary beyond words, I trudged home, vowing I would never reproduce. My hair was sticky because Ricky decided to park his Tootsie Pop behind my ear while I changed his poopy diaper. My pristine white tee was splotched with crimson stains thanks to Rocky's cherry Popsicle, and the brown stuff on my jeans? Yuck! All I wanted was a quick shower, homework and bed.
After I unlocked the door, turned on the lights and flipped on the heat, I saw the message light blinking on the phone.
Faye's voice. “Allie. It's Mom. Call me."
She sounded, well ... happy. Very strange, for Faye. So strange, in fact, I decided not to wait until the dinnercrowed thinned out before calling her back.
Her words came out in a rush. “Roy misses me. He sent me a plane ticket. Bea said I could take a few days off, and I called Kizzy. You can stay with her while I'm gone. Okay?"
"Sure,” I said. “When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow morning. Could you do me a huge favor and iron my good jeans, my blue blouse and..."
The list went on and on.
"Sure,” I said, knowing Faye's aversion to ironing.
"You don't mind if I go? I'll be back for Thanksgiving."
I assured her I didn't mind at all. In fact, I was glad she was getting away from creepy Benny. Compared to Benny, Brain Dead Roy was the catch of the day. She was so excited, I couldn't help but be happy for her, at least until I asked who was driving her to the airport.
"Benny."
After my long silence, she added, “He's not so bad, you know. Give him a chance."
I let that pass. “I'll get the suitcase out from under the bed."
"Thanks, baby. Love ya."
"Love you, too."
I jumped in the shower, washed off the icky-stickies and ate a bowl of ramen before I retrieved the iron and ironing board from the storage shed next to the trailer. A bitterly cold wind was blowing in from the north. Beck had told me a snow storm was coming ... he said he could smell it in the air. Not that I believed him. Blaster was nowhere in sight. He was probably in his heated stall. Nothing but the best for big, old stinky Blaster and his money-maker, the sperm Uncle Sid sold online. By the time I got back inside, my teeth were chattering, and I was actually looking forward to ironing because I knew it would warm me up.
In my world, ironing was a major pain in the butt because Faye wouldn't let me keep the iron in the house. I guess she thought I'd leave it on and burn the place down. I set up the ironing board—it took up the whole living room—plugged in the iron and turned on the TV. While I was ironing Faye's good jeans, I realized I couldn't spoil her day by hammering her with questions about Melia. I had two choices. I could wait until Faye came back, or I could take matters into my own hands.
I looked around for the phone book. If I find the phone book, I'll call Claude Emerson. If I don't, I'll wait until Faye gets back. I found the phone book. The little devil on my shoulder said, Why not? It's not a long distance call and Faye won't tell you a thing. You need to know.
Before I could chicken out, I dialed Grandpa Claude's number. After three rings, he picked up the phone and said, “This is Claude Emerson."
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Oh, crap! Why hadn't I thought this through before I dialed?
After a couple of grumpy Helloes? and his mumbled curse words, I sensed he w
as getting ready to slam the phone down.
I gathered my courage and croaked, “Hi. It's Alfrieda."
He breathed into the phone—wet, raspy inhalations that made me cringe.
"Alfrieda,” he repeated. “How's your mother?"
"Oh, she's fine. Actually, she's the reason I called. She won't tell me anything, and I really need to know about my grandmother, Melia."
"Oh, you do, huh? Did you ask her about Melia?"
His voice was sharp. I had the feeling Grandpa Claude was no dummy.
"I didn't actually mention her by name."
He chuckled into the phone. “So, now I'm supposed to fill in the blanks. Is that it?"
"Even a few of the blanks would be nice. Like, where did Melia go? Why did she leave her daughter? What did you mean when you said Faye is unhappy because of whoshe is? And, why did...?"
"Hold it! You said ‘a few of the blanks.’ Pick one."
Chastised, I was silent for a moment. “Okay, the one about Faye."
More raspy breathing. Finally, Grandpa Claude said, “Faye needs to tell you why she's unhappy, but here's something for you to chew on. I'm going to ask you questions. Just think about them. Don't answer. Ready?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever wondered why you have, shall we say, special abilities?"
I froze. How did Grandpa Claude know? Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was fishing for information.
"Special abilities? Like what?"
He roared into the phone. “Don't try to fake me out, Alfrieda. I know about the moonstone. I know about the apple bins."
He scared me so bad I almost dropped the phone.
"Oh,” I said, feeling like an idiot. I wondered how he found out, but was afraid to ask.
He continued, “And why, of all her boyfriends, did Faye choose Mike Purdy to be the father of her baby ... Mike Purdy, who has major mojo of his own?"
Whoa! Faye chose Mike Purdy? Definitely not the story she'd given me.
"Still there, Alfrieda?"
I gulped loudly. “I'm here."
"Think about it. Combine Mike Purdy's DNA with..."
He paused.
"With what?"
Moon Rise Page 16
