Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(46)

“It would be all right if you cried,” he said. “I like it when you do. It gives me an excuse to play that overprotective nineteenth-century macho man you’re always talking about.”

“Like you ever need an excuse to do that. I heard you spoke to Dr. Patel. What did he say?”

“He says the father faces a long recovery, but if he can make it through the next twenty-four hours without infection, he should pull through.”

I had to turn away to look very closely at the statue of St. Francis that stood beside the hospital’s entrance, because I sensed a leak from the corner of one eye. Fortunately it was an old-fashioned statue in the same vein as the statue of Junípero Serra in the courtyard outside my office at the school (only the head had never been severed by an irate NCDP), so there was a lot to look at. Gathered at the feet of St. Francis were bronze sculptures of grateful animals he’d saved, instead of the Native Americans Father Junípero had enslaved.

“Susannah,” Jesse said, reaching out to stroke my hair. I don’t think my trick of staring at the statue was fooling him.

“So in other words,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “he really could die. Emily said so.”

“Emily? Emily’s only five, and not a trained medical professional.” Jesse put his arm around me and pulled me close again. His warmth was comforting, especially as the sun had begun to go down, and the air had become cooler. “He’s very badly hurt. But he’s also very stubborn, as you know.”

I shuddered and buried my head against his chest the way Jesse’s cat, Spike, sometimes did on the odd occasions when he was feeling affectionate.

“Jesse, it’s my fault.” My fingers tightened on the soft brown suede of his jacket. It was a coat I’d bought him for Christmas last year, one he’d chastised me gently for spending too much money on, but I’d refused to exchange it for “something more sensible.” “I should never have let him go over there alone. I don’t know what I was thinking. He said he could handle it, that Lucia was angry with me, not him, and so wouldn’t hurt him, and that it was his responsibility because he should have seen her when he married Kelly and Becca’s dad. But I should have known something like this was going to happen. He’s so old, so far from the top of his game, and she’s so strong, I should have—”

“You should have what? Tied him to his chair? You know Father Dominic better than anyone, Susannah. Once he has an idea in his head, no one can stop him. He has to have things his way.”

“I know. But if he dies . . . if he dies . . .”

I couldn’t even form the words out loud. If Father Dominic died, I would have lost the best mentor I’d ever had, and, absurdly enough, one of the best friends I’d ever had, as well. If someone had told me that the first day I’d walked into his office so many years ago, I’d never have believed it. What could an agnostic girl from Brooklyn and an elderly Catholic priest from California possibly have in common?

The ability to help wayward spirits find their way home, it turned out . . . even if, as Father Dom had pointed out, we hadn’t always agreed on our methodology.

Without Father Dominic, I’d never have learned it was better to ask questions first, and save my punches for later. I’d never have found out who Jesse really was—the love of my life—or had the courage to bring him back into the land of the living. I certainly wouldn’t be spending the rest of my life with him . . . I hoped.

Even though I said none of these things out loud, Jesse, as usual, knew what I was thinking.

“If he dies, we’ll have lost the only person who ever believed in us,” he said. “And who’ll marry us? It won’t be the same to be married by anyone else, Susannah. I won’t have it.”

“Jesse.” I lifted my head from his chest. I felt his arms tense, and knew what he was about to say next. “Don’t—”

“Don’t tell me don’t, Susannah.” He dropped his arms. “You know why I came here.”

I did, but for some reason I felt like if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t be true. My boyfriend didn’t want to exorcise anyone. He couldn’t. “To see Father Dominic, of course.”

The darkness in his gaze had nothing to do with the color of his irises. I won’t lie. It frightened me. “No. There’s nothing I can do for him. He’s in good hands. The best. I came to see you, to find out what you’ve learned. I need to know where she’s buried, Susannah.”

I squared my jaw. “What good will that do?”

“You know what. So I can send her back to hell, where she belongs.”





quince


“Jesse, no.”

I dragged him beneath the atrium that covered the circular drive where families pulled up to drop off nonemergency patients. There was a little gazebo not far from the St. Francis statue. The shelter was probably intended, with seating inside and mounted ashtrays nearby, for smokers who needed to step outside the waiting room to take a break, but we were the only two occupying it at the moment.

The sound of the bubbling water in the fountain would hopefully keep our voices from being overheard, and the bright pink and purple flowers on the bougainvillea vines crawling up the gazebo’s walls would mask us from prying gazes.