the stairs and picked up his coffee. As he began to climb, he glanced over his shoulder to see Marlowe watching him with serious, dark eyes.
Eyes that didn’t know whether to believe him or not.
A lumber-truck rollover on Route 128 had traffic backed up all the way into the city, but despite the delay, Remy still found himself on Route 2 to Lexington by ten past nine.
He didn’t listen to the radio, preferring the noise inside his head to morning deejays, Top 40 pop tunes, the news, and the weather.
Remy had a lot to think about.
On the one hand was his concentrated effort to return his life to some semblance of normalcy. Madeline was gone, and that sucking void could never be filled, but he had to try something. He had to find the special things in the human life he’d built for himself, and grab hold to prevent them from being drawn into the black hole as well. He had to continue to live, even though his wife had not.
It was what human beings did every day.
But then there was an alternative, the flipside that he did not really care to entertain, hoping that it was just a passing thing—a part of his prolonged grief. The idea that he could return to Heaven.
He thought of what it had been like there before the war, and wondered if there was even an inkling of a chance that it could be that way again. Remy already knew the answer.
The Seraphim inside stirred with the thought.
Nearing his exit, Remy pushed the troubling thoughts aside, switching his focus to the job at hand. He picked up the printout from Mapquest and gave the directions a quick perusal.
He threw his blinker on, getting over into the right-hand lane so that he would be ready for the next exit.
Not all that familiar with Lexington’s layout, he’d used one of the online services and printed out directions and a map to Karnighan’s home. He’d been in the town only once, the last time being more than ten years ago, when he and Madeline had been out shopping for antiques—well, Madeline, really—and they’d gone to one of the stores in the downtown area of the historic location.
Lexington was probably best known for its history, being home to many historical buildings, parks, and monuments dating from colonial and revolutionary times. Driving a ways, he glanced out the driver’s window to a triangular patch of green that he understood to be the Lexington Battle Green, which, according to the history books, was considered the birthplace of American liberty. On that spot more than two hundred years ago, the first shots of the American Revolution were fired. Remy tried to recall where he was at that time but couldn’t really remember—somewhere in the Middle East maybe.
He was looking for Florian Drive and found it without any difficulty, steering down the paved driveway that led to an open metal gate. As he drove through the gateway, he noticed a wobbling plastic sign stuck in a patch of grass to the right of the driveway advertising Heavenly House Painters; a cartoon angel with white robes and a yellow halo brandishing a paintbrush hovered with feathery wings below the company logo.
Normally he would’ve been amused by something like this, but of late nothing really seemed to penetrate the fog of gloom that surrounded him.
The driveway ended in a spacious cul-de-sac, a fountain, not yet turned on for the season, in its center. The house was big, expensive looking, and with some scaffolding still in place around the side, it appeared to be having some work done to it. With the Heavenly House Painters sign out front, it all made sense.
He got out of the car, pocketing his keys, and walked toward the front door. He’d just about reached the front steps when he heard the heavy, excited sound of panting, and toenails clicking upon concrete. From the corner of his eye he saw the three large dogs tearing around the side of the house, heading straight for him, low rumbling growls escaping from deep in the rottweilers’ broad
Eyes that didn’t know whether to believe him or not.
A lumber-truck rollover on Route 128 had traffic backed up all the way into the city, but despite the delay, Remy still found himself on Route 2 to Lexington by ten past nine.
He didn’t listen to the radio, preferring the noise inside his head to morning deejays, Top 40 pop tunes, the news, and the weather.
Remy had a lot to think about.
On the one hand was his concentrated effort to return his life to some semblance of normalcy. Madeline was gone, and that sucking void could never be filled, but he had to try something. He had to find the special things in the human life he’d built for himself, and grab hold to prevent them from being drawn into the black hole as well. He had to continue to live, even though his wife had not.
It was what human beings did every day.
But then there was an alternative, the flipside that he did not really care to entertain, hoping that it was just a passing thing—a part of his prolonged grief. The idea that he could return to Heaven.
He thought of what it had been like there before the war, and wondered if there was even an inkling of a chance that it could be that way again. Remy already knew the answer.
The Seraphim inside stirred with the thought.
Nearing his exit, Remy pushed the troubling thoughts aside, switching his focus to the job at hand. He picked up the printout from Mapquest and gave the directions a quick perusal.
He threw his blinker on, getting over into the right-hand lane so that he would be ready for the next exit.
Not all that familiar with Lexington’s layout, he’d used one of the online services and printed out directions and a map to Karnighan’s home. He’d been in the town only once, the last time being more than ten years ago, when he and Madeline had been out shopping for antiques—well, Madeline, really—and they’d gone to one of the stores in the downtown area of the historic location.
Lexington was probably best known for its history, being home to many historical buildings, parks, and monuments dating from colonial and revolutionary times. Driving a ways, he glanced out the driver’s window to a triangular patch of green that he understood to be the Lexington Battle Green, which, according to the history books, was considered the birthplace of American liberty. On that spot more than two hundred years ago, the first shots of the American Revolution were fired. Remy tried to recall where he was at that time but couldn’t really remember—somewhere in the Middle East maybe.
He was looking for Florian Drive and found it without any difficulty, steering down the paved driveway that led to an open metal gate. As he drove through the gateway, he noticed a wobbling plastic sign stuck in a patch of grass to the right of the driveway advertising Heavenly House Painters; a cartoon angel with white robes and a yellow halo brandishing a paintbrush hovered with feathery wings below the company logo.
Normally he would’ve been amused by something like this, but of late nothing really seemed to penetrate the fog of gloom that surrounded him.
The driveway ended in a spacious cul-de-sac, a fountain, not yet turned on for the season, in its center. The house was big, expensive looking, and with some scaffolding still in place around the side, it appeared to be having some work done to it. With the Heavenly House Painters sign out front, it all made sense.
He got out of the car, pocketing his keys, and walked toward the front door. He’d just about reached the front steps when he heard the heavy, excited sound of panting, and toenails clicking upon concrete. From the corner of his eye he saw the three large dogs tearing around the side of the house, heading straight for him, low rumbling growls escaping from deep in the rottweilers’ broad
Similar Books
