Eventually, we venture into the suburbs. Perfect little houses on their perfect little lawns. Two and three bedrooms, mostly. Some double stories here and there.
Where are we headed, boys? I can’t for a second believe Gabriel would live in a place like this.
Trinity.
I start looking around a little harder. Driving a little slower.
Is this her old neighborhood? There was no address on the intake form at Saint Amos. I guess, by then, she was officially a ward of the state.
Or someone had fucked with her records.
My brothers turn down a side street. I park on the sidewalk, tracking them on my phone’s app, because I have a feeling this is their last turn.
Seconds later they stop.
Then I’m out of the car and jogging down the opposite side of the road. Thank God I had the foresight to pack a hoody. I keep the hood pulled up as I jog. Paired with sunglasses, I’m hoping I’d look like another guy out on a jog, but I know it’ll only take one longer-than-normal glance in my direction for my brothers to recognize me.
The people around here like their trees and shrubs. And not so much fences between properties. As long as no one looks out their window and spots me jogging over their freshly manicured lawn, I should be good.
My brothers’ silver car is parked a few drives down, opposite side of the road. I slow down, slip behind a bushy shrub, and stretch like I’ve got a cramp. But all the while peeking at them through a gap in the foliage.
A minute later they get out of the car. Reuben first, his head turning all directions as if he’s scouting for danger.
Then Cass.
Then Apollo.
But they just stand there, talking. Watching.
I peer down my side of the road. There are a few trees and shrubs I could use as cover, but I have no idea which house they’re targeting. I could end up jogging right into their line of sight.
Reuben turns and looks straight at me.
I throw myself back, stumble over a fucking garden gnome, and land flat on my ass.
As I’m about to get up, I hear a door open behind me. I look back as an old lady walks out onto her porch. She scans her lawn, and despite her thick glasses—or perhaps because of them—sees me.
Shit.
I get up, trying not to bolt, and then stop when I feel a tug on my pants leg.
Christ, I’ve gotten my jeans hooked in a thorn.
The old lady’s garden isn’t quite as well kept as the others around here. Her roses, for instance, are the kind you’d expect growing wild around a mansion where neighborhood kids dare each other to knock on the door.
I yank at my pants, and that shakes the entire row of fucking roses.
If Reuben is still looking this way, it would look mighty suspicious.
So I fall into a crouch and do my best to unhook my jeans without rustling as much as a single leaf.
“Everything all right, dearie?” a thin, wobbly voice wants to know.
I glance up into a pair of watery blue eyes, and give the old woman the most charming smile I have. “Got a little stuck on your roses,” I tell her through my teeth.
“They are magnificent, aren’t they?” she wheezes, clasping her hands at her breast as if she’s offering up a prayer to God for her killer botanicals.
Another subtle yank, and finally my jeans are free. But I don’t stand yet, because that would put my head and shoulders above the rose bush. I don’t want to reveal myself until I know what the hell they’re up to. And the last thing they need is a distraction.
I glance around. I could head back the way I came, but Mrs. Nosy’s yard is wide open but for this thorny hedge.
“Are you with the church?” Mrs. Nosy wants to know.
I stare up at her with a frown. Dressed in a hoody? In what world could I possibly—
But then her eyes move down my chest, fix on something there a second, and fly back to my eyes. Her smile brightens a little.
I look down too, to see what she finds so fascinating.
Trinity’s crucifix. Blood red against my gray hoody. Impossible to miss. It must have come out while I was jogging, or when I landed on my ass beside her roses.
Mrs. Nosy beckons me with a frail hand. “Why don’t you come inside, dear? I’ll fix you a glass of lemonade.”
I feel like I’ve stepped through a portal back to the eighties where old ladies go around offering cold beverages to any sweaty teen that happens to come within yelling distance of their whitewashed porches.
But my options are limited. If I break cover, my brothers could see me. If I go inside with the nice lady and let her pour me a drink, I could wait them out. Keep track of them on my phone. Fuck, I might even give them a call and see if they pick up.
Don’t know what I’d even say if they did, but I’d think of something.
The old woman’s name is Langley, and she’s a Mizzz because her husband died a long time ago.
I’m starting to think she had ulterior motives for the lemonade, especially when she puts down a plate of cookies too. I ignore them—I haven’t touched refined sugar for many years. I don’t plan on falling off that wagon any time soon, so I only take imaginary sips from the glass of lemonade.
“Are you one of the new missionary boys they told us about on Sunday?” Miss Langley asks.
I would have choked on my cold drink if I’d actually been drinking it. “Missionary boy?”
“For the mission to Ghana.” Langley beams, which happens anytime she mentions the church.
Now I’m convinced this is Trinity’s old haunt. It could just be this one biddy, but I have a feeling everyone around here is really serious about finding Jesus.
A priest like Gabriel really brings that out in a person.
I figure I don’t have much to lose except having the cookies withdrawn—God willing—so I say, “Ghana.” I look introspective. “God willing, Miss Langley, we’ll be changing hundreds of lives in that village.”
She clasps her hands again, her lips trembling. “Oh, you must be so excited.”
“I am.” I shift in my seat, nod my head a little. “But if it wasn’t for Father Gabriel, I wouldn’t even be here.”
“Father…” Langley sags in her chair. “I miss him so much. He was such a good influence on you young ones.”
Fuck, if she only knew. But I nod along, try and look as Catholic as possible, and even go as far as to toy with Trinity’s crucifix.
“Actually, I’ve never met him.”
Langley’s eyes widen behind her thick glasses. “You haven’t?”
“No. It was Trinity.” I pick up a cookie, break off a piece. “She told me all about Father Gabriel.”
“Trinity!” Langley lets out a long sigh as she sinks back in her chair. “How is she, the little lamb?”
“Oh, she’s doing wonderfully.”
“I’m so glad.” Langley shakes her head as she looks out the kitchen window with its lacy curtains. “I was so upset to hear what happened. And right here, so close to home.”
“The accident happened here?”
“Oh no, that was somewhere in town.” Langley waves a dismissive hand. “I mean, for such a gifted child to lose her parents. So young.”
“Gifted?” I sound incredulous, and Langley doesn’t like that one bit.