The Lost Saint(5)

“Do you think he was messing with you?” Daniel asked. “Maybe this is just some kind of twisted game to him. He never wanted us to be together in the first place.”

“I don’t know.” I looked down at the phone in my hands. “I guess it’s possible. But it doesn’t make sense that he’d come back here just for a practical joke. I think he’s got some other motivation.”

Maybe it was my new wolf instincts taking over again, or maybe it was just some kind of sibling connection, but something deep down told me that Jude was right … we were all in danger. I just didn’t know if he was the one we were all in danger from.





CHAPTER TWO


Benefit of the Doubt



HOME, TWENTY MINUTES LATER




Daniel insisted on following me home on his new—to him, anyway—motorcycle. I drove slowly as I navigated the few miles between my house and Oak Park, scanning the streets as I went. I slowed every time I came upon a pedestrian, which wasn’t often, since it was after ten o’clock.

I dialed Dad’s cell phone over and over, but it kept going straight to voice mail. What was the point of his finally getting us all cell phones so we can stay connected if he always forgot to charge his? “Call me,” was the message I left each time. Considering how much energy he’d put into looking for Jude over the past few months, I didn’t want to just tell Dad on his voice mail about his being back. That was the kind of thing you sprang on someone in person, preferably when they were standing—okay, sitting—right in front of you.

Chaos was the only word that could describe the scene that met us when I opened the front door to my house. The ten o’clock news blared from the family room, like someone had turned it up to full volume to hear the anchorman speaking over the sounds of James’s wailing as he thrashed in Charity’s arms on the stairs. It looked like she was trying to haul him up to his bedroom, but the toddler flailed so hard they were both in danger of falling down the steps.

The vibration of the sound suddenly burst tenfold inside my head. I winced and clasped my hands over my ears. Great time for my superhearing to decide to pay me a visit. “What’s going on?” I called over the din. “I put James to bed two hours ago.” I’d made sure James was tucked in for the night and Charity was started on homework before I’d left for the evening. It was the least I could do with Dad being gone.

“I don’t know. He woke up screaming about an hour ago,” Charity said, narrowly missing getting smacked in the face by James. “I finally got him calmed down, but then he started freaking when I tried to take him back to his room. I think maybe he had a nightmare that there was something at his window.”


I exchanged a look with Daniel. He nodded. What James had seen at his window might not have been a nightmare.

“Arg, James! Stop!” Charity yelled as James arched his back in her arms and kicked his legs. She nearly lost her grip and almost dropped him down the stairs.

“I’ll take him.” Daniel slipped past me in the doorway and pulled James out of Charity’s arms. “Calm down, Baby J,” Daniel said, and bounced him on his hip. James quieted almost immediately and wrapped his trembling arms around Daniel’s neck. Daniel was still his mighty hero, and James, in his footie pajamas, looked so tiny wrapped in Daniel’s strong arms. I couldn’t help remembering the way Daniel had caught him when he fell off that forty-foot cliff in the woods behind our neighborhood.

“How about I read you a story?” Daniel asked, and nuzzled his nose against James’s cheek.

James nodded and wiped his puffy, red eyes.

“How about that Wild Things one? I like the kid with the wolf suit.” That was James’s favorite book—a present from Daniel when he turned two six months ago.

James shook his head. “Nah, too scawey.” His chin quivered. He must have really had a fright.

“Winnie-the-Pooh, then?” Daniel swung James onto his shoulders and looked at me. “I’ll put James to bed.”

“Thanks,” Charity and I said in unison.

I watched Daniel trot up the stairs, talking to James in his best Eeyore voice—which sounded more like Marlon Brando, if you ask me. How could anyone not love him? And why would Jude still think he couldn’t be trusted?

“Finally,” Charity grumbled. “I’ve got like three more pages of math homework to do.”

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have stayed out so late if I’d known.”

“It’s okay.” Charity traced the grain on the oak banister with her finger. “You’re not the one who should be dealing with James anyway.” She glanced down the entry hall toward the family room. “Do you think you can get Mom to turn it down? I really need to concentrate.”

“So it’s Zombie Queen mode again?”

Charity nodded.

I should have known better than to think a day with Aunt Carol would have made Mom feel any better. Carol liked to come out to “help” every once in a while when Dad was gone, but her snide remarks about how our Divine little family wasn’t so perfect after all got old really fast.

“Wonder how long it’ll last this time,” Charity said, and headed up the stairs.

I sucked in a deep breath and made my way to the family room. James had stopped crying, and I could even make out a trill of his laughter coming from his bedroom, but the TV volume was still up at full blast. My ears throbbed as I got closer to the set. I picked up the remote just as the newscast started in on a new story.