The Lost Saint(27)

“I will,” I said to April before she got out of the car. “Eventually.”





CHAPTER TEN


Barriers



SUNDAY MORNING




Church was cancelled for the second week in a row because Dad was still gone. He’d been gone for two and a half weeks straight now—his longest trip yet.

When Mom first started sending him out to look for Jude, he’d always made it a point to be back for Sunday services. I mean, it was bad enough when he missed teaching his Wednesday Bible study class. This was our livelihood, after all.

However, lately, his trips had gotten longer and longer, and today made the fifth Sunday he’d missed in the last twelve weeks, and the third time he’d forgotten—or hadn’t bothered—to make arrangements for someone else to cover for him and give the sermon.

Mom woke up in one of her overbearing manic states, and she made Charity and me call every single one of the parishioners to tell them church was cancelled, and to apologize on my dad’s behalf—even though she was the reason he’d left in the first place. But the thing was, the list of families to call kept getting shorter each time Dad missed a Sunday.

People used to come from all over Rose Crest and Oak Park, and even parts of Apple Valley, to hear the gospel from Pastor Divine. But more and more of Dad’s once loyal parishioners were defecting to Pastor Clark over at New Hope—and every time Dad missed a sermon there were rumblings about the parish needing a new pastor.

The more sympathetic folks I called suggested that Dad bring in a junior pastor who would always be on call to substitute when he was gone—and perhaps pick up teaching the religion classes at the school, since Mr. Shumway had quit. But a couple of the more frustrated and rude parishioners grumbled about needing to replace Dad altogether, even if the parish had been in the hands of the Divines for the last three decades. I wondered if they would still feel the same way if I came right out and told them Dad was gone because he was looking for Jude.

I hung up from the last call, expecting to feel drained, but all I felt was anxiety. That was because there was one number I’d dialed seven times without getting an answer—Daniel’s.

Why wouldn’t he pick up the phone?

He’s probably just sleeping, I tried to tell myself. If he’s still sick, then he needs rest and I shouldn’t bother him.

However, tension tingled in my muscles every time my mind drifted to the image of that motorcycle that looked like his parked only a few blocks from The Depot. But it couldn’t have been his bike, could it? What would he have been doing in the city?

No, it wasn’t Daniel’s bike. He was sick in bed—that’s what he said, anyway.

I mean, why would he lie?

I tried to read a book for English class for a while and then tackled the mountain of chores Mom forced on Charity and me even though it was Sunday. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t shake the restlessness in my body. I wanted out of my house. I wanted to go to Daniel.

I wanted to run.

That was one of the things I still hadn’t gotten used to in all of this being-infected stuff—the need to run. I’d never been a runner before. In fact, our tenth-grade gym teacher dubbed April and me the “turtle twins” because we always came in last during the daily mile: April because she didn’t care for sweating, and me because I didn’t care for running. But now I often craved a good run, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax all day if I didn’t pound out the aching in my muscles on the pavement—and check on Daniel in the process.

Mom was dressing James in his jacket for an evening trip out to the senior center to visit Mrs. Ludwig and a couple of the other widows from the parish (one of Dad’s Sunday tasks) when I came downstairs in my running clothes and shoes.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.

“I really need a run, Mom. I’ve finished all my homework and cleaned all the bathrooms and organized the laundry room, like you asked.” More like demanded, but whatever. “I won’t be gone too long, I promise.”

The pinched look on her face convinced me she wasn’t going to let me out of the house. But she snapped the last button on James’s jacket and hooked her purse on her shoulder. “Very well, then. But do not go too far from home,” she said. “It will be dark soon, and you never know who’s out there these days.”

“Okay.” I didn’t tell her I was planning on running all the way to Oak Park, and slipped out the door before she could change her mind.

I stopped at the walnut tree and rested my hand against it while I stretched my quads, then started out in a light jog. All day long, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what had happened the night before. I’d had my powers in my grasp, reined them in for once, and used them for a moment. I’d sparred with Daniel time and again, but actually using my powers to really fight that guy off and protect someone I cared about was absolutely exhilarating.

And I wanted more.

I was a mile from home when the familiar aching of my powers began to well inside my body, pooling in my muscles, making my shoulders shake and my legs throb. I increased my speed to a flat-out sprint.

The sun was sinking behind the hills of Rose Crest, and I knew Mom would want me to turn back toward home. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how frustrating it had been when my powers had dissipated last night and I’d had to rely on someone else to come to my aid. If I’d had better control, then I could have taken those guys on without any help. And even more frustrating was the realization that I really did need my powers if I was going to find Jude. Last night’s debacle had proven that to me.