The Savage Grace: A Dark Divine Novel(28)

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Slade seemed to flinch at the sound of my voice breaking the silence.

“They know,” Brent said, speaking for the first time since I’d gotten into the car. “Reports about the explosion have been on the radio all afternoon. I imagine the television, too. Someone must have leaked your dad’s name to the press. They all know what happened to him.”

Slade pulled into the driveway of my house. The long line of people following us suddenly felt like a funeral march. I sat there, unable to get out of the car yet. I wanted to shout at them through the rolled-down window to go away. I didn’t want them here. I didn’t want to see the concern on their faces. Didn’t want to answer their questions. They’d all want news. They’d want to know why my dad had been at that warehouse in the first place. They’d want someone to tell them what they could do for us. They’d want someone to care that they cared.

He’s your father. What right do they have to invade your space, acting like they’d almost lost him, too?

I opened the car door and bolted toward the house, careful not to run unnaturally fast, though. Not with so many people watching. I just wanted to get inside, away from all these people. But as I approached the porch, the front door opened and April stepped through the doorway. She shook like a nervous cocker spaniel, and her puffy face was splotched with red tearstains. So much for keeping this from April. Before I could react, she padded down the porch steps and threw her arms around me in a bear hug so tight it reminded me of my old friend Don Mooney.

“Oh, honey, are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, tearing up over the fact that her first question had been about me. “But I just want to go inside. I need to get away from them.”

The moonstone pulsed in my pocket between us as April rubbed her hand up and down my back. It felt so reassuring—the first real hug tonight—that for the first time this evening I didn’t feel quite so alone.

“They’re here because they need to be,” April said.

I turned my head and looked out at the yard. By now, most of the neighborhood had converged on my lawn, although a few people hung back in the street. It reminded me of when Baby James had gone missing, the way practically the whole parish had shown up to help search for one of their own.

I realized then that the wolf in my head had been wrong. My dad belonged to these people, too. He was their pastor—their father, too. They had every right to feel like he belonged to them. They had every right to be concerned. If this were a werewolf pack, Dad would be their alpha.

No, they were more like a flock without their shepherd.

I mustered up my strength and let go of April. I turned and faced my neighbors. I could see the same question forming on all their lips. “Thank you for your show of support,” I said in my best impersonation of Dad’s authoritative-yet-reassuring voice. “I am truly moved by your love for my father. His condition is still critical, but he has improved some in the last hour. I will make sure someone spreads the word whenever I hear something more.”

I was immediately bombarded by a string of questions about how it happened, and I told them the same lie I’d told the police who had questioned me in the ER: that Dad had been scouting out a new location for a rescue shelter in the city, but I had no idea what had caused the explosion.

More questions followed, and then at least three of my neighbors offered to bring over dinner.

“Thank you for your offers,” I said. “However, someone else in the parish needs your help more than I do. I was at the hospital just now when Pete Bradshaw unfortunately passed away.”

April gasped next to me, along with several others in the crowd.

“I am sure his mother could use your love and goodwill more than I can at this moment. Please, put your energy to use for her.” I knew that was what my father would want them to do. Pete had his problems, but his mother didn’t deserve to lose her only son.

I thanked everyone again and then turned to go inside. April followed me up the rest of the porch steps. We ducked into the house, and as I closed the door behind us, I watched a few of my neighbors slowly head down our street toward Rose Drive, where Ann Bradshaw lived.

“You almost sounded like a pastor,” April said. “Maybe you have a future in public leadership.”

“I doubt that,” I mumbled.

“I do not,” came Gabriel’s voice from the kitchen. I peered down the hallway and saw him rise from his seat at the table. “And that future may be sooner than you think.” He set what looked like a sketchbook on the table and looked at me. “We need to talk, Grace.”

FIVE MINUTES LATER

April made her excuses to leave, as if by a prearranged cue from Gabriel. I knew exactly where she was headed.

“Is someone with Jude now?” I asked.

“I sent Ryan and Zach.”

“Does he know?”

“He knows there was some sort of accident, but I told the others not to say anything yet.”

I sighed with relief, but then I knew what needed to be done next. “You should tell him. But keep Ryan and Zach there with you, in case.… I don’t know how he’ll react.”

I knew I should be the one to break the news to my brother, but I just couldn’t do it. What if he didn’t react at all? What if he didn’t care? I just couldn’t bear to see that happen.