Halos

by Kristen Heitzmann

  “You haven’t written yours, Steve,” Dave hissed in his ear. “Are you drawing a blank?”

  Steve shook his head. “Just let me see the word again.”

  They played until ten o’clock, when Diana yawned and said, “I have an eight-o’clock perm. Gents, this is your last chance.”

  Several times they had drawn their score close to the women’s. But they were still trailing.

  “Find a good word,” Karen’s eyes gleamed, “and we’ll give you double points.”

  “We could tie it with that,” Ben said.

  Steve took the dictionary, holding Karen’s eyes. “You’re sealing your fate.”

  Karen folded her hands. “We’ll take that chance.” She glanced at Alessi. “With our new secret weapon.”

  Alessi’s definitions had been easy to discard, but she had an uncanny knack for ferreting out the right one of theirs. Steve could swear she didn’t know the words, practically didn’t listen to the definitions. She just watched whichever of them was reading.

  Steve scanned the pages and came to xenogenesis—the production of offspring entirely unlike their parents. He showed it to the guys and got their nods. He said the word aloud to the women, and none of them knew it. So he quickly jotted the real definition and one of his own as the other two made up their versions. He took the papers and mixed them solemnly while Diana giggled.

  “You’d make a great undertaker with that face, Steve.”

  He flicked a glance to Alessi, who was studying him closely. Undertaker face or not, he was giving nothing away this time. He pulled the first paper and read it, careful to do nothing with the inflection that would indicate its veracity. He slid the slip to the bottom and read the next with equal aplomb.

  His false one was next and he stumbled a little but got it out, then read the last. They got no points if all the women guessed the right one, double points for whichever decoys any of them fell for. Diana had to guess first this time. She chose Dave’s, as she had with regularity throughout the evening. Either their minds worked alike or she felt sorry for him.

  Steve noted her vote and went to Alessi. She stared into his face and said, “I’d like to hear them again.”

  He frowned. This time he would only look at the papers, no glancing up at all. He read through the choices in the same order, and he didn’t stumble on any of them. But when he met Alessi’s eyes, he sensed her confidence. She chose the right one and Karen parroted her answer, leaving the guys four points short of the tie.

  “Well, of course you two got it.” Steve handed the dictionary to Karen. “Next time we’re blindfolding Alessi.” He had no idea what she’d seen, but she was some kind of clairvoyant if she’d read anything from his expression that last time.

  “The Lord loveth a cheerful loser, Steve.” Karen took the books with a laugh.

  “Find that chapter and verse.”

  She laughed harder. “It’s implied.”

  “Your interpretation.” Let her laugh. He didn’t care about losing; it was Alessi’s uncanny ability to read him he didn’t like.

  Diana stood and stretched, and Alessi unfolded beside her. She’d have a dark walk back to the store. He stood reluctantly. “I’ll walk you back.”

  “Oh, we’ll give her a ride.” Diana took her arm. “Good night, Dave.” She smooched his head. “Nice tree, by the way.” She and Karen giggled, and Dave reddened.

  A twinge of disappointment stung Steve as the girls walked out the door. Had he wanted to say good night to Alessi outside the store? He frowned, watching Dave wipe lipstick from his crown.

  “I wish she wouldn’t do that,” he mumbled. But the goofy grin said otherwise.

  Just another example of female brainwashing. And after Alessi’s demonstration tonight, he intended to keep his brain to himself.

  Twenty

  STEVE WAS BACK TO GROWLING, Alessi noted the next day. After grousing at her all morning, he responded to her current question with a sarcastic, “Can’t you read my mind?” He was either a sore loser or had something on his mind she didn’t want to read. “If you ever looked away from your monitor I might.”

  He turned and glared. Definitely moody today. “What was your question?”

  She repeated it.

  He took the three books she held, checked the codes, and expelled his breath. He took out the slips and threw them away, then penciled the correct codes and held the books out. “Thank you for catching that.”

  “You’re welcome.” She turned.

  “How did you do it last night?”

  “Do what?”

  “Know the right answers.”

  She clutched the books to her chest. “Lucky guessing.”

  “Hah.”

  There he was, calling her a liar again. She started toward the correct shelf for the recoded books, but he caught her arm.

  “Look at me.” What on earth?

  “Guess what I’m thinking.”

  “I can’t.” She pulled her arm free. “But I could sure say how you’re feeling.”

  “How?”

  “Angry. Resentful.”

  He looked away. “That’s only what you see.”

  “I’m not psychic, just observant. You’re not comfortable with untruth.”

  “As you are?” He scissored her spirit.

  For a while there she had thought he might believe her. Now she realized she had only wished it.

  He dropped his hands to his lap. “I don’t like someone thinking she knows what’s in my head.”

  “Then you shouldn’t play guessing games.”

  He scowled. “It was about words, definitions. You’re the one who took it further.”

  So he was a bad loser. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not looking for an apology. I just want to know my mind’s safe from you.”

  And they were back to that. She set down the books, took the register keys from her wrist, and laid them on his desk. “There. You’re safe from me.” She started for the door. She could use the day to find her car, and by nightfall …

  “Alessi.” He caught her arm. “I’m sorry.”

  She closed her eyes. Seventy-seven times. But this wasn’t about forgiveness. It was about self-preservation. She had promised herself never again to stay where she wasn’t wanted.

  “It’s not my best day.” He admitted this last under his breath, which made it somehow more believable.

  “We all have bad days.”

  “Do we? Have you ever had a bad day?”

  Her throat tightened. That recitation would take way too long.

  “The one when my car was taken didn’t exactly shine.”

  “And did you snap and growl at everyone?”

  She shook her head. “I think I was too stunned.”

  “You’re too nice. That’s the thing. No one believes it.”

  “Guess I’ll work on my act.” She tugged her elbow out of his grip and tried again for the door. There were only so many times she could—

  “Wait. I don’t mean that. You are nice.”

  “I’m not fishing for compliments.” She reached the door. He blocked it. “We had a deal.”

  She dug into her pocket and pulled out the money. She had earned part of it, but she didn’t want his money.

  Someone tried to come in, but Steve barked, “I’m closed,” and pressed the door shut again.

  She thrust the money toward him. “I don’t want the job.”

  “You’re not a quitter.”

  She crossed her arms. “And how would you know that? Maybe I’m …” She swallowed hard against the tears.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. I want you to stay.”

  She closed her eyes. If he’d said anything else she could have walked out. But she wasn’t a quitter, and he’d just removed her excuse. If he wanted her to stay, she could not justify ditching. She raised her chin and opened her eyes. “What do you need me to do?” Maybe it was stupid, but she had taken the job and accepted his money. If sh
e couldn’t handle a little rudeness, she hadn’t learned anything.

  “You can unpack some boxes and look for a couple things that got separated.”

  “Okay.”

  He showed her what he needed and even gave her an explanation of what he and the others in the network did. It was almost like Go Fish. A complete three-volume set was worth more than the individual books alone, so if he had two and someone else had one, he could buy it or trade for it. I’ll give you my Wordsworth for your Shakespeare.

  She found the books he wanted, boxed up his express packages, and turned him down when he suggested lunch.

  “What?”

  “I said, no thanks.” No need to stare with that non-comprehending expression.

  “I know you haven’t eaten.”

  “I’m going to look for my car.” In the daylight, she might just see that red, shiny convertible with LESS on the license plates.

  “If you’re tired of Moll’s, we could do something else.”

  She tugged on her jacket. “If I don’t find my car, no one’s going to.” And sitting across a booth from Steve again was not her idea of fun.

  “You won’t get far on foot.”

  “You’d be surprised. These shanks can cover some ground.”

  He expelled a slow breath. “We can grab sandwiches from Moll’s and take the truck.”

  She stared at him. “You’ll drive me to look for my car?”

  “You asked Ben.”

  “Ben believes me.”

  He frowned. “We’ll see more in the daylight.”

  So he couldn’t say he believed her, but if they found the car, he’d know she wasn’t making it up. And she would get farther driving than on foot. “All right.”

  Steve’s truck died in front of Moll’s. Alessi sighed. “So much for that idea.”

  “No fear. It does this sometimes.” He stepped out and opened the hood, then turned back. “Here.” He pulled some bills from his pocket. “Get us lunch while I fix it.”

  Since his head was deep under the hood, she guessed she’d choose the fare. She went inside with the money and stopped at the counter. Moll scooped a burger onto its golden toasted bun, did a single pirouette to the counter, and set it before the man in overalls. She ran her gaze over Alessi during the motion but didn’t acknowledge her. Catching up the spatula, she scraped thin brown curls from the grill.

  “Excuse me.” Alessi folded her hands on the counter. Moll turned, spatula ready.

  “Could we get a couple sandwiches, please?”

  Moll put her wrists to her hips, eyebrows raised.

  “Oh. Um. Roast beef?”

  Moll slid the spatula into the slot beside the grill and took down two plates.

  “Oh. Could we have them to go?”

  Moll stared at the plates, her tongue making a lump inside her lower lip. Then she whisked them back to the stack and replaced them with Styrofoam boxes. There were several kinds of bread, but she grabbed white and smeared it with mayonnaise, layered lettuce leaves, mounds of roast beef, still pink, and salt and pepper. She clapped the lids on, stuck in the pickle spears, and shut the boxes.

  Alessi gave her the money at the register. “Those looked really good.”

  Chin down, Moll raised her eyes through her ample eyebrows and silently counted the change.

  “Could we get some napkins?”

  Moll snatched a couple and laid them atop the boxes she handed over.

  “Thanks so much.”

  Moll’s tongue found the corner of her mouth as she turned back to the grill.

  The entire process without speaking to her once. That had to be an art. Alessi called, “Bye,” at the door, just for the ornery pleasure of having the last word. Again.

  Steve had the truck running by the time Alessi came out. She got in and handed him his box. “Hope you like roast beef.”

  “Nothing Moll serves I don’t like.”

  “She sure seasons it with love.”

  “At least she can cook.” He hadn’t meant it as a commentary on Alessi’s lack, but she obviously took it that way. She stared out the window, eating in silence. Her body language was all “back off.” And he deserved it. He had hurt her again.

  What—Mr. Wonderful? If he did inflict himself on one of the piranhas, she’d have indigestion for life. He rubbed his left eye and drove the long stretch of road between houses within the township. Charity was rural outside the village, and mostly woods. Even if her car were out there, they could easily miss it. He chomped his sandwich and slapped his chin with a slice of beef. Elegant, Steve.

  Alessi handed him a napkin.

  He gave his chin a swipe. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you.”

  He glanced at her. “For what?”

  “Driving.” She went back to staring out the window.

  Her expectancy filled the cab like fog, until he drew it in with every breath, hoping fiercely to see her car. But it didn’t happen. The thief might be bold enough to tease her with it in the dark, but he wasn’t so stupid he’d leave it out in plain sight. Had she thought he would? Steve scanned the next property they approached. Phyllis Bartle lived there with her Down’s syndrome daughter and three dogs. She would not have the Mustang stashed away, but he drove up to the house so Alessi could ask if she’d seen it.

  He waited in the truck as Phyllis shook her head, holding two of the dogs by the collar and one between her ankles. Her daughter, Debbie, rounded the corner in mittens and a knit cap, barrel-shaped in her parka. She went straight for Alessi, patting her with the mittens, then pulling one off to feel her hair.

  Alessi didn’t pull back. She smiled while Debbie patted her arms again and then closed her in a hug. Debbie was affectionate, but he’d never witnessed that demonstration, not at first sight. Even Phyllis seemed surprised, but the twenty-five-year-old child hugged Alessi as though she’d known her forever. Something in that stood the hairs up on his neck. He’d always believed in the intuition of simpler people. But what did it mean now?

  At last Debbie released her. Alessi waved, then climbed back into the truck. “They haven’t seen my car.”

  That was it? No comment on being pawed and squeezed by a total stranger? He put the truck in reverse.

  She sighed. “I guess we have to go back. We’ve used up the lunch break.”

  Steve sent her a sideways glance, reluctant to return to the store. It was easier to be civil in the truck, and it had raised his spirits to help her. “We can look a little longer if you want.”

  “You only put an hour on the sign.”

  Contradiction again, showing diligence and dedication to the job she almost walked out on just hours ago. He was still surprised she’d stayed, but then, he had an unfair advantage. She had nowhere to go.

  He pulled around and stopped. “Alessi, I’m sorry for what I said before. The mind reading and all.”

  She didn’t answer.

  He had definitely punctured her spirit. “I don’t open up easily. Barb called it the ‘Secret Steve’—all the stuff inside me I wouldn’t share.”

  Alessi actually turned, no longer giving him the back of her shoulder.

  What was he doing telling her this? “It scared me to think you could see inside.” Way too open.

  Her face softened. “All I saw was your discomfort when you read the wrong answers.”

  He nodded, his chest tightening. “Honesty was a big deal in my house.” He ran his hand over the curve of the wheel. If Barb had told him up front about the guy, if his mother had not sneaked away … Dave was right. He did expect the worst from women. He’d thought Alessi had some trick he couldn’t withstand. But all she saw was his own need for truth.

  “I’ve been a jerk.”

  She smiled. “I’ve seen worse.”

  He tucked his chin. “You make excuses for everyone.”

  She braced herself as though what came next might be hazardous. Some accusation of too-niceness.

  He caught her eyes with his.
“You need to know some people are exactly what they seem.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Please don’t assume the best of people who don’t deserve it.”

  She held his gaze, but for the life of him he could not see that she understood. Maybe she had a dose of her mom’s disability. Maybe Debbie had sensed it too. He put the truck in gear and headed for the store, confident now that he could once again treat her right. But the reality was she only seemed too nice juxtaposed with his meanness. And if someone had taunted her with her car, that person was meaner still.

  Twenty-One

  THE FRIDAY EVENING SERVICE WAS MORE PACKED than Sunday’s had been. Pastor Welsh had a loyal following. Ben had told her the village population was only eighty-seven, with the other eighty on the Charity population sign accounted for in the thirty-six square miles of the township. The count hadn’t been updated since the last census, so a few births and deaths might have changed the figures some.

  Although she’d been born in Miami and spent the first years of life there, she and Mom had wandered among the small beach towns after Dad’s death. But they were hardly more than tourist stops and didn’t feel the same as Charity. It was easier where everyone was a stranger passing through. Charity had a unity and singleness of purpose she hadn’t seen anywhere else.

  She leaned over to Diana, who had invited her to sit with her. “I wouldn’t have guessed all these people went to the same church.”

  Diana whispered, “They’ve got the denominations in Chambers City. Some go there on Sundays. But most everyone comes to hear Pastor Welsh on Friday night.”

  And he was in prime form, standing before his flock, looking sublime in a camel-hair jacket that set off his auburn hair and amber eyes. His looks alone would bring them in, but it was his voice you remembered. His wife looked like one of those shiny Lladró statues, and Alessi wondered how it would be for her to hear “Pass the salt” in Burton Welsh’s Mosaic tones.

  What kept a minister with his skills in a little place like Charity? She could see him in some big cathedral, stretching his hands out to the masses with television cameras moving in for the close-ups, catching the fire in his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, his voice carried out over the radios and TVs of thousands, maybe millions of people. He must be the most humble, obedient man to stay in such a little place and affect so few. But she had to admit, he sure did affect the ones he had.