The Dark Divine(49)

Except that Charity, Don, and James were the only ones sitting with me at the table when Mom brought the steaming pot from the stove. Don and Charity banged their forks and knives on the table in happy anticipation.

“Save some for the others,” Mom said as Don ladled a second scoop of creamy sauce into his already overflowing pastry cups.

“No way!” Charity grabbed the ladle from Don.

“Their loss,” I said, and passed the salad to my mom.

“Where’d Jude take off to anyway?” Mom asked with a hint of annoyance. “It’s not like him to miss this meal.”

“He has a date with April.” Mom frowned.

“Where’s Pastor D-vine?” Don asked.

“He’s not back yet,” Mom said. “He’ll be here soon … I hope.”

James smacked his hand into his a la king, sending a spray of peas and cream sauce across the table. He laughed and shouted his new favorite four-letter word.

“James!” Mom went a little red in the face. “Where would he possibly learn that?”

Charity chuckled.

“Haven’t a clue,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. Daniel would have laughed his head off had he been here. Really, it was a shame that he wasn’t. This was one of his favorite meals, too. I checked the contents of the pot, and then ladled up a smaller portion for myself than normal.

After everyone was finished and gone, I dished up a Tupperware of leftovers for Daniel. He deserved it—especially if the others weren’t going to show up to enjoy it. He’d put on weight since I’d first seen him last week—like a stray dog thriving under the care of a new owner. He was still thin, but his face was less hollow. My food donations must have done him good, but Meredith Divine’s turkey à la king would truly be appreciated.

I stuck the container behind the milk, deciding to save it as a surprise for after our run, and then I went to meet Daniel.





EVENING




I could see the walnut tree creaking and swaying in the wind, so I decided to wait for Daniel in the front room. I settled into the sofa with my history book—Daniel was always late, after all—and used the opportunity to do some homework. But once I’d finished the assigned reading for the whole next week, I couldn’t shake the creeping feeling that Daniel wasn’t going to show—like something was wrong.

The house was quiet. Mom and James had gone to bed hours ago, Dad had finally come home and gone straight to his study, and Charity had left for a sleep-over with her friend, Mimi Dutton, next door. But I couldn’t concentrate anymore, not with the noise in my head telling me that even Daniel would know that ten p.m. was way too late to be considered “after dinner.” I would have just called it a night and gone to bed if it hadn’t been for the eerie feeling that accompanied that thought.

I was standing in front of the window when I noticed something moving in the grass near the walnut tree. The movement happened again, and I wondered if the Duttons’ cat had gotten out. I hated the idea of something happening to Mimi’s cat—like what had happened to Daisy—so I decided to take action. I draped an afghan around my shoulders and went outside.

I slinked toward the side yard, so as not to scare the cat away. But as I approached, I realized that the huddled mass under the tree was much too large to be anything but human.

“Daniel?”

He was wearing the same outfit from earlier—dark indigo jeans and a red long-sleeved shirt I’d given him. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He stared, unblinking, at the front of his old home.

“Daniel, what are you doing? I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I’m just looking,” he said. “I like this house better in blue. Yellow always made me feel like it was rotting inside.”

“Where’s your coat?” I shivered, wishing I had mine. It was definitely almost December.

Daniel didn’t answer. His gaze never left the house that used to be his. I sat next to him in the crusty grass and draped part of my blanket over his legs.

Daniel sniffed. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“This. Any of this.” He took in a deep breath and rested his chin on his knees. His silhouette was white and soft in the moonlight. “I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am.” He clutched his necklace, almost like he wanted to rip it off. “I don’t want to be this anymore.”

“Why?” I resisted the urge to touch his face. “You’re amazing. The things you can do are out of this world. You’re a hero.”

“There’s nothing heroic about me, Grace. You should know that. Your brother does. It’s why he hates me.” His hands shook like they had when he was child and he knew he was in trouble. “What I am … It’s why no one can ever love me.”

My heart sank deep. I hated seeing him this way. I turned my gaze to his house. It did look better now. The new owners had added a porch, put up shutters, and painted it a nice robin’s-egg blue. “That’s not true. Your mother loves—”

“I don’t have a mother.”

“What?” I looked at him.

“That woman isn’t my mother,” he said through clenched teeth. His jaw tightened; the veins in his neck bulged. “Even she didn’t want me. She chose him over me.”