THIRTEEN

I DIDN’T BOTHER GOING inside or letting Ray Anne and Ethan see me. I gave them the space they clearly wanted and drove home fast, running red lights.

I barged inside my apartment and gathered all my candles, way too on edge to sit still or pray or —God forbid —cry. I lit the wicks, then paced my dark living room. “Father, please come.”

That was all it took.

“Oh, how I wish I could have spared you this pain, Son.”

This time he emerged from my kitchen. We stood face to face. Man to man.

“Does she love him?”

He gave a single, confident nod, crushing the last shred of hope I had. “Her heart has turned away from you completely tonight. And she desires to turn you away from me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

He grinned. “Of course not. Loyalty runs in your veins. And Owen, there’s a way you can recapture her heart. Win her back and even change her feelings toward me.”

“How?”

He pointed to the desk across my living room without turning his head. “Open the drawer and remove the blue pen and a sheet of paper.”

I thought he’d give an explanation, but he just waited in silence, so I did as he said.

“136 Sycamore Lane.”

I wrote it down.

“Go there tomorrow, at midnight. When you arrive, turn right and park at the end of the road. Then wait under the oak tree.”

He turned and strode toward my living room window. “Don’t be late.” He passed through the window. I peered through the blinds, but there was no sign of him —just a random Creeper stalking a guy in the parking lot.

“Father, come back. I have more questions.” I asked a couple of times, but he didn’t return. I told myself not to take it personally. I was sure he had his reasons.

I powered up my cell phone and sent Ray Anne an impulsive text: My father was right about you. Then I silenced it and slammed it facedown on the coffee table, almost hoping it would break.

I lay on my sofa, lonely, tempted to despair. My living room was a soothing yet unsettling mix of candlelight and shadows. All was quiet, except for that unnerving sound of rustling inside the walls.

I could have used the comfort of Custos’s presence. Why hadn’t he come around the last couple of days?

At least I had Daisy. I called for my dog, but she didn’t come to me. That was a first.

I sat up and flipped on a lamp, then called to her again. Still no sign of her.

I looked around —behind the sofa, under my bed —but she wasn’t there. I turned on my kitchen light and finally spotted her hunkered in the corner by the pantry, trembling all over.

“Daisy . . .” I tried petting her, but she still shook inconsolably.

My father came from the kitchen tonight.

I’d been taking comfort in the fact that my dog had never growled or barked at him, but it had never occurred to me that maybe it was only because she was paralyzed with fear.

I sank to the floor and tapped the back of my head against a kitchen cabinet over and over, as confused as I’d ever been.

Friday was a beautiful, sunny day, but it didn’t cure the loneliness bearing down on me. It seemed like it had been forever since I’d had a close guy friend to hang with, but it was my discovery that Ray Anne was falling for someone else that was causing the most agony.

She called multiple times that morning, but I ignored it. Then she showed up at my door.

“What’s going on?” She walked past me and stood in the center of my living room with her hands on her hips. She stared at last night’s burnt candles scattered on the floor. “So . . . you’re into séances now?”

“So you’re into cheating now?” I yelled.

“What are you talking about?” She put on a shocked, innocent face.

“I saw you with Ethan last night. Nice study group.”

She reached toward me. “No, you’ve got it all wrong.” Her tone was soft and persuasive. “You know Ethan’s doing his residency at Central Hospital. He was there last night to help our group with some calculations in our pharmaceutical class. But no one showed up but me.” She forced her fingers between my folded arms. “We talked for a while —mainly about my classes and his hospital rotations —then we left. It was nothing.”

I wanted to believe her, but I could hardly look her in the face.

“Why’d your text say your father was right about me?”

I was getting tired of constantly downplaying truth to keep her happy. So for once, I didn’t. “He says you have a divided heart. That you fantasize about marrying someone else.”

She let go of me and stepped away, averting her eyes. “No . . . I . . . that’s not fair.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

She meandered to my sofa and sat, staring into the distance. “Okay, it’s true that I have thought about it, but —”

“About Ethan?”

She lowered her head and sighed. “Yes. I’ve allowed my mind to wander and think about what it would be like to be with him —I admit that. But I always end up coming to the same conclusion.” She stood and came close again. “He’ll probably make someone very happy someday, but he’s not the one for me. I was convinced that you were.” Sadness poured over her face. “But I feel like I don’t know you lately, Owen. Like you’re into things that are scary and dark and losing interest in the right things.”

I hesitated, but then gave myself permission to be completely transparent. “Ray, what if I’m not cut out for church? What if I want to relate to God in my own way —a way that happens to be a little different than you and Gordon and . . .” I didn’t want to say Ethan’s name. “And what if I do think it’s a waste of time to get baptized and sing hymns and take Communion? I mean, it’s wafers and grape juice, for crying out loud.” I clutched her shoulders. “I don’t have all the answers, but I’m sincerely looking, Ray Anne. I’m exploring what comes my way —can’t you accept that?” I pulled her toward me. “Can’t you still care about me?”

“Of course.” She didn’t hesitate. “But as for our future . . .” She shook her head.

“Why?” I threw my hands up. “You see that I’m a Light, that I have God in my life —why do I have to jump through hoops to earn your approval?”

“They’re not hoops, Owen.” She raised her voice too now. “They’re important aspects of a life of faith.”

“I don’t see it that way.” Finally, I’d come clean.

Her eyes pooled. “I know.”

We stared at one another with longing, both wanting what the other wouldn’t give.

“I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to make you happy, Ray Anne.”

“No.” She wiped her eye before a tear could escape. “You can’t.”

We both knew what this was —that we now stood on opposite sides of a mile-wide chasm that demanded a breakup. But I wasn’t willing to say it. Neither was she.

“I’ll see you at Betty’s tonight.” She made her way out the door.

“Want to ride together?” I was already battling regret.

“I think we should probably just meet there.”

“Fine.”

She left, and I collapsed into my lounge chair, wishing I could rewind the last ten minutes and do things differently, but the longer I moped, the more I realized I was acting just like my mother.

How many times had I seen her alter her personality in a pathetic attempt to keep some guy from leaving? It never worked. And yet I’d been living like my world would implode if Ray Anne didn’t stand by me.

I still didn’t want to lose her, but I made up my mind. I was no longer willing to lose myself to keep her.

It was freeing.

And excruciating.

Betty’s house was small but nicely decorated with bright colors and so spotlessly cleaned, even I noticed.

Ray Anne was already seated at the dinner table when I arrived. I sat next to her, enduring the awkward silence that now hovered like a fog between us. Betty’s grandmother sat across from me —she said Ray Anne and I could call her Dorothy. Betty called her Dot. She was a tiny, wrinkly old woman who looked a century old. Maybe more. Her brown eyes were cloudy, and she felt all over the table for her silverware, then her cup, straining not to spill.

Betty had prepared a delicious meal that we all enjoyed between periods of talking too much to take bites. Ray and I learned that Betty had never been married and had no children of her own, but she’d grown close to many of her students during the nineteen years she’d worked as a professor at Louisiana State University. As for Dorothy, she didn’t say much —just tapped her plate with her fork, searching for more chicken and potatoes.

After Ray Anne complimented Betty on her homemade peach pie, Betty pushed away from the table and stood. “Now, did you two come over to chitchat or to hear my great-great-granddaddy Arthur’s astounding life account?”

Ray Anne shot out of her chair. “We want to hear it!”

Betty looked at Dorothy, who grinned at all of us. “Dot tells the story best,” Betty said. “She heard it directly from her grandfather —from Arthur.”

Betty and Ray Anne helped Dorothy scoot her walker about an inch at a time to a wingback chair in the living room, then braced her as she eased onto the seat cushion, adjusting her granny gown to cover her legs. Ray and I sat on the floor by Dorothy’s pink house shoes and surrounding glow like preschoolers at show-and-tell.

Dorothy stared into the distance and spoke slowly, as if each word was of great importance —which it was to Ray and me. Her voice was so soft and wavering that we had to hold our breath and lean forward to catch her words, but the story . . .

I was completely fascinated. And horrified.