The Dark Divine(27)

He shrugged. “I don’t think they have feathery wings or anything like that. I think they’re people who do good things even if they get nothing out of it. People like your father … and you.”

I looked up into his glinting eyes. Daniel reached out his hand like he wanted to brush my cheek—little tingles sparked under my skin—but he pulled his hand back and coughed.

“You’re all crazy, if you ask me,” he said.

“Crazy?” My cheeks flamed even hotter.

“I don’t know how you all do it,” he said. “Like Maryanne Duke. She had nothing and she still tried to help people like me. I think she was an angel.”

“Is that why you came to the funeral? For Maryanne?” And not for me?

“I used to stay with Maryanne when things got messy between my parents. If I wasn’t at your house, I was with her. She was always there for me when others weren’t.” Daniel wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. His fingernails were blackened with what looked like marker ink. “I just felt like I should pay my last respects….”

“I guess I forgot. Maryanne took care of a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not special or anything.”

“No. That’s not what I meant…. I’m just sorry I didn’t remember.” I put my hand on his shoulder. He shrank away, and I could barely feel the firmness of his body under the fabric of his coat. “Things were really hard for you. I’m sure Maryanne made you feel—”

“Loved?”

“I guess. Loved, or at least normal.”

Daniel shook his head. “I felt close to loved sometimes. Like when Maryanne read me stories at night, or when I’d sit around the table with your family. There’s nothing like a Divine family dinner to make you feel like someone might care about you. But I never felt normal. Somehow, I always knew I didn’t …”

“Belong?” For some reason I could understand.

“I never did belong, did I?” Daniel reached up and wrapped his long fingers around my wrist. He moved like he was going to cast my hand away, but then he hesitated and turned my hand over, cradling it in both of his. “But I can’t tell you how many times over the last few years I wished I could be eating at that table with your family. Like I could take back everything I did, change things so I could be a part of it again. But that’s impossible, isn’t it?” He traced his warm fingers up the heart line in my open palm, and slipped his fingers in between mine.

It may have been the glimmering from the spotlights or the swirling of the fog, but for a moment he looked like the old Daniel, the one with white-blond hair and mischievous but innocent eyes—like the years had melted away and the darkness had drained out of him. And in that moment, something—an energy—passed between us. Like the thread that had drawn me to him was now a live wire, a lifeline, that bound us together, and I needed to pull him to safety.

“We’re having a big Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow,” I blurted out. “You should come. I want you to.”

Daniel blinked. “You’re freezing,” he said. “We should go inside somewhere.”

Daniel stood up, still holding my hand, and led me down the gravel lane. I didn’t know when he was going to let go of my hand—and I didn’t want him to. And I held on because I knew he needed me.

He finally let go as he stepped off the path and into a patch of decaying plants. “The fence isn’t as high if we go this way,” he said.

I hesitated for a moment on the edge of the path, watching him slip away into the mist. I stepped off the gravel walkway and followed him through the depths of the garden. When we made it to the iron fence, I let him help me over, his hands skimming my waist and legs as I climbed. We walked side by side as we found our way back to the motorcycle. Our fingers brushed once, and I longed for him to take my hand in his again. I climbed on the back of the motorcycle and took in a deep breath of Daniel’s earthy scent as the bike shot into the city night.

A FEW MINUTES LATER

The motorcycle lurched to a stop in front of Daniel’s building. I slammed into his back and almost flew right off into the gutter.

Daniel gripped my thigh and steadied me. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled, and let his hand linger for a moment.

Daniel got off the bike, and I followed. He rested his arm on my shoulder and steered me up the sidewalk and through the doorless entry of the apartment building. My heart thumped so hard as we went up the stairs I feared that Daniel might hear it. The thumping grew louder and heavier as we climbed, and I realized there was music coming from behind a door on the third landing. Daniel put his key in his pocket and tentatively pushed open his door. Sound engulfed us. Gyrating dancers packed the front room, and Zed—looking much more lively than he had before—sang (i.e., screamed) into a microphone while a few other guys banged on musical instruments with reckless abandon.

Daniel led me into the throng. I choked on the sickly sweet smoke wafting in the air. I was coughing and sputtering when this person, who looked more woman than teenage girl, emerged from the crowd. She came toward us, moving and convulsing to the indiscernible beat of Zed’s song. Her short hair feathered out like she was some type of exotic bird, and her bleached white bangs made three perfect triangles on her forehead—the tips of them were dyed a garish shade of pink.