Into This River I Drown

the river crossing

I feel the sun on my face, warm and beautiful.

I hear the sounds of the birds in the trees, bright and sharp.

A breeze ruffles my hair, like a caress, carrying with it the perfume of summer. A river flows somewhere in the distance.

I open my eyes.

I stand on a two-lane road, the asphalt cracked, the double yellow line down the

center faded and chipped. A bee buzzes past my face. I follow it as it floats up and down until it lands on a green sign on the side of the road. The sign reads:

77

“No,” I mutter. “Not here. Not again.”

No one answers me.

I turn around to tell Michael to take me from this place, but I’m alone. “Michael!”

No response. All I hear are the sounds of a normal, sunny day in the middle of

nowhere.

This angers me.

“Why am I here?”

I spin.

“What do you want from me?”

“Take me home!”

“Why do I have to choose!”

“Michael!”

My voice echoes over the valley. I stop, throat dry and heart sore. My chest rises

and falls rapidly. I don’t understand why he’d take me to this place. I don’t understand why I have to come here. This place is sadness. This place is loneliness. This place is my grief.

I look down to the river.

It runs softly, beautifully. The water is a crystal clear blue. It laps gently at its banks. It does not feel threatening. It is not—

A man is crouched on the riverbank near a large cracked boulder. His massive back is to me, his face hidden. He lets a hand drift in the water. He’s a big man, bigger than any man I’ve ever seen. He must be the biggest man in the world. In his chest must beat a great heart that pumps furiously to keep such a man alive. His dark hair is cut short, almost shaved completely, like my own. He’s staring down at the river as if looking at his reflection. I…. He….

Oh, my heart. Oh, my soul.

I need him to turn around, but I can’t find my voice.

Impossible, I think. Improbable.

I take a step toward him and then stop.

“Dad?” I whisper.

As if he can hear me, the man turns to look up to me. His green eyes shine like fireworks across a dark sky. Edward Benjamin Green, Big Eddie, my father, smiles up at me.

“Dad!”

And then I’m running. I’m running as fast as I can toward him, and everything around me slows and bleeds together and I—

am five years old, and he laughs a big laugh because no one laughs like my father. None laugh like him, and it is such a joyous sound, a happy sound, an amazing sound that my heart swells until I am sure it will burst. I

—leave the road, my feet crunching in gravel and dirt, and I—

am ten years old, and my father shows up to pick me up at school unexpectedly. He walks in, having to lower his head so it doesn’t hit the doorjamb. I am worried at first, thinking something is wrong at home. But then he grins at me and winks, speaking quietly with Mrs. Norris. She laughs, and he beckons me with his hand. He steers me out of the classroom and out the door and we spend the rest of the day fishing off the old covered bridge. My

—feet hit the grass, and he starts to rise from his crouch and he—

asks me to hand him a wrench while he curses under his breath without looking up from underneath the hood of the Ford. I’m thirteen years old and scowl at his big hand engulfing my own when I hand him the wrench, wondering when I’m going to get my growth spurt so I can be big like Big Eddie. Somehow he knows what I’m thinking because he turns back to me, a grease smear on his nose, and says, “Only the size of your heart matters, Benj. The only thing that matters is”

—that I reach him as soon as possible. I feel like I could fly down the embankment. I feel like I’m—

dying. I feel like I’m dying as I stand under cloudy skies in a place called Lone Hill Memorial. I feel like I’m dying because I’m one of hundreds moving toward a waiting stone angel emblazed with fifteen words that mean nothing, that don’t even begin to show the measure of the man they are supposed to represent. People hover nearby. My mother, the Trio. Abe. Rosie stands to my left, next to Doc Heward. So many others. They’re all waiting for me to break. They’re all waiting for me to shatter into a billion pieces. How can I explain that I already have? How can I explain that there is nothing left to me but dust and shadows and memories that rise like ghosts? They can’t know. They couldn’t possibly.

But that is not this moment. All that matters at this moment is the weight on my shoulder as I help carry my father up the dirt path to where the stone angel stands, her arms outstretched. All that matters is I can feel the corner of the coffin digging into my skin, the pain bright and vivid. All that matters is that I carry my father so he can sleep.

We reach the hole in the ground, perfectly dug and fitted with the lowering device. A member of the funeral home rushes over and points out quietly how the coffin should fit against the device. This makes it more real, and I almost refuse, wanting to tell everyone to go home, that I’ve changed my mind and I will not leave him here. Abe must see the look on my face, because he steps to my side, putting his hand on my shoulder and whispering soothing words in my ear that I can’t quite make out. I nod and there’s a count to three and we set my father down.

Later, after we’re all seated, my mother clutching my hand, Pastor Thomas Landeros says, “Into the ground we lower a man who was a husband. A father. A friend, both to us and this community. God’s plan may not make sense to us right now, and it may even make us angry, but rest assured there is a reason for all things, even if that reason is hidden from our eyes. Isaiah forty-one verse ten reads: ‘Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee; Yea I will help thee. I will uphold you with the right hand of my righteousness.’”

F*ck you, God, I think. You f*cking bastard. F*ck you….

We stand, and people sing a hymn behind me. Their voices carry and wash over me, and I realize I am not broken completely because yet another part of me fragments. A tear falls down my cheek. The singing gets louder in my head, and I float along the river because I’m bound to its goddamn surface, and these stones fill my pockets, and it’s into this f*cking river I drown. I weep as I lay a single blue rose on top of the casket, my mother’s hand at my back. Tears drop onto the oak lid, and I feel my knees begin to buckle. They give way as the coffin starts to lower into the ground, and I let out such a scream, such a howl of heartbreak and loss that everyone in the crowd shudders and sighs, bowing their heads and I—

can’t get to him fast enough, I can’t get to him fast enough, I can’t get

—over the fact that I’m graduating high school. It’s an odd feeling, really, that I’ve survived to get to this point. But when they call my name and I hear the roar from my family, I grin and walk across the stage. I accept my diploma and flip the tassel. I take a deep breath and walk down the steps. Later, we all throw our caps in the air, relieved and scared that this part of our lives is over.

My father is the first to reach me, running almost full tilt, and I freeze. I freeze, because for a moment, I think he had died in a river when I was sixteen, drowned after his truck flipped into the Umpqua. I have the feeling of being split, a duality that threatens to tear me apart. But then it’s gone because he’s laughing that big laugh and hugging me tightly, spinning me around in circles like he used to do when I was a kid. “You did it,” he whispers in my ear. “Congrats, boy, you did it.”

In one world I reach the bottom of an embankment, running toward my father while trapped in the memories of another world that never happened.

I’m twenty-four when I come home to Big House for Christmas. I’m nervous because for the first time, I’m not coming alone. I knock on the door, dusting snow off Jeremy’s hat as he winks at me. My mother opens the door and smiles at me widely, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. She shakes Jeremy’s hand before laughing and pulling him into a hug. Big Eddie waits just off the doorway, looking imposing as all hell, big arms crossed, a stern look on his face. My boyfriend Jeremy (who I might just be starting to love) quakes a little in his designer boots but holds his head high and reaches out to shake my dad’s hand. My dad just stares at him until Jeremy drops his hand awkwardly. I roll my eyes and punch my dad in the arm, and it’s all he can take before the façade breaks and he welcomes Jeremy with open arms.

I’m twenty-eight when Jeremy asks me to marry him.

I’m twenty-nine when my father stands beside me as my best man, trying his best not to cry as Jeremy slides a ring on my finger.

I’m thirty-two when I tell Big Eddie he’s going to be a granddad. The look on his face is one of such wonder I can’t seem to catch my breath.

I’m thirty-three when Jamie is born, all pink and perfect. Big Eddie is the first to hold him in his arms, telling him he’s so happy to meet him, that the world is such a beautiful place.

I’m thirty-six when Hailey is born and we bring her home.

I’m thirty-nine when Big Eddie calls to tell me he has cancer. I hang up the phone, my world crashing down around me. I book a flight that very night. He’s the one who picks me up at the airport, in the old Ford. We stay in the parking lot for an hour as he lets me sob on his shoulder, telling him he can’t leave, he just can’t. Telling him that I can’t make it through this life without him. He holds me tight.

I’m forty when the cancer goes into remission and I remind him that he can’t get away from me that easy. He just gives me that slow smile of his and drops his heavy arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

In the world where the river runs and the sun is shining, I’m almost to him. His face, once adorned with a smile, is now scrunched up as he starts to break. He falls to his knees and opens his arms wide, his eyes bright.

There are so many memories. They rise like ghosts, and I remember stretches of days and weeks and months and years and he’s there. He’s always there. There are phone calls and visits and celebrations and sadness. There are bright days and dark days. Every emotion humanly possible is felt. But through it all, I realize the gift I’ve received. Whether or not this is real, I have been given the memories of what life could have been like had my father not drowned in the river.

And still I want more. I push for more.

He’s ninety-eight years old when I sit by his bed. Jeremy is with our kids, watching our grandchildren in the hall. I sit quietly with my father in the night. The doctors say it will be soon and that he will not wake up. The others have left me alone so I have my chance to say good-bye.

I try to find the words to say to him that could convey the depth of my love for him. I try to think of a single thing to say that would show him what he means to me. I rest my head on his arm, rubbing my forehead against his skin. I might have imagined it, but for a moment, there seems to be a hand on my shoulder and a breath on my neck and I think that everything is blue. But then it’s gone.

Finally, I say to my father words he’d said once to me. “There is no one such as you in this world, and you belong to me. I’ll believe in you, always.” I squeeze his hand and give him fifteen words that mean everything. “It’s okay to sleep now, Dad. I know that one day, we’ll be together again.”

As if waiting for my permission, he slips away only moments later.

There is a world where he sleeps under an angel made of stone.

There is a world where he passes quietly, watched by the one who loves him the most.

And these two worlds collide, pulling in toward each other, rushing and rolling, combining until I can see everything, until I can feel everything. I feel the life of my father. I feel the love of my father. I feel the loss of my father, and it happens over and over and over again. There is the world that actually happened. There is the world that could have happened. I think this might be what Michael spoke of, and I cherish every moment of it even as my heart shatters again and again.

Every memory flashes before my eyes. Every single moment we did and did not share. All of these memories are pulled down to a single point, the tiniest possible space. There’s an instant where it’s black and silent, and then it explodes outward, arcing through this world and every other. Wave after wave of my past and future washes over me, and I see all possibilities. Every path not taken. Every shape. Every pattern. Every design.

And this. Out of everything, I beg you to see this:

This is the world where the river runs wild. This is the world where I leap the last five feet, unable to take the distance between us any longer. I hear the beat of massive wings, I hear the earth singing, I hear all the planes of existence holding their breaths for just one sweet, freeing moment. It is in this moment that I break through the surface of the river and come out on the other side.

And for the first time since he died five years before, I crash into my father, and he wraps his arms around me, and oh my God, I am home. I am home. I am home.





We stay like this, for a time. My head on his shoulder as I tremble, arms tight

around his neck. He puts one arm around my back, the other pressing the back of my head with his big hand. I don’t even try to hide that I’ve broken down, sobbing into his shirt, clutching at him. He tries to whisper soothing things to me, but his voice keeps cracking, and I can feel my hair getting wet from where his cheek rests.

What strikes me first, aside from the fact that this is actually real, is the way he smells. If I’d tried to remember it even an hour ago, I wouldn’t have been able to. Not completely. But now? Now it’s everything I remember from my childhood. It’s wood smoke, it’s clean sweat, it’s grease, it’s wintergreen, it’s hard work. It’s all the things I remember about him all wrapped up into something that is distinctly Big Eddie. I shudder at the thought.

Finally, he speaks, and the sound of his voice is almost enough to set me off all over again. “Let me look at you,” he says roughly. “Just let me look at you.” He pushes me back, cupping my face, roaming his gaze over me as if to catalogue every little thing he can. His hands are shaking as he wipes my cheeks. He tries to smile, but it breaks and his face stutters again. He closes his eyes and takes in a sharp breath. He drops his hands to my shoulders, and his grip is biting. He opens his teary eyes again. “Benji,” he says, and I try to wrap my mind around the fact that I can hear my father say my name again. “Benji.”

I weep for my father.





Time passes, though I can’t say how much. I don’t know if it matters, or if I even

can find the heart to care. It’s deceptive, this place. The sun never seems to move from its position overhead, though I’m sure hours have gone by. The wind always blows sweetly, and the river babbles more like a brook than the Umpqua I know. The grass is the brightest green, the water the clearest blue. The trees seem to reach up to the sky, and the mountains are snowcapped, like they’re covered in clouds. It’s picturesque. It’s perfect. It’s not real.

What is real, though, is the weight of my father’s arm on my shoulders. We sit side by side, our pant legs rolled up, feet in the water. The water’s cold, but not so much it’s unbearable. The sun is warm, chasing away any chill. We haven’t really spoken yet, so overwhelmed the words aren’t taking shape. It’s like all my synapses have fired at once, and I can’t form a single coherent thought. Everything is sensory—the warmth of his arm across the back of my neck, the smell of pine and oak, the sound of birds and bugs, the light refracting off the scales of a salmon when it jumps out of the water, the taste of the drying tears that have tracked to my lips.

I have so much to say, so of course I say nothing. It’s not as if I’m scared, or as if I’m unsure of what I want to say. I want to tell him everything. I want to go through it all, day by day since I last saw him, leaving nothing out, so he can know the minutes and the hours he has missed. I want to tell him about Mom and how strong she really is. I want to tell him about Nina and how she might be the only one who understands why I missed him as much as I did. I want to tell him about Mary and how she kept us all together. I want to tell him about Christie and her betrayal. About our best friend Abe, who asked me to look away. About anyone and everyone he’s ever known.

But most of all, I want to tell him about Cal. I want to tell him about the man I love and the man I hate. I want to feel rage, I want to clench my fists and hurt something. I want my father to see just how much I hate the angel Calliel for taking from me what was rightfully mine, the consequences be damned. F*ck Michael and his beliefs about faith and sacrifice. F*ck Cal and his decisions. F*ck God and his games.

So much to say. I say nothing.

“How are you, Benji?” my father finally asks, his voice light and happy. It’s such a ridiculous question I can’t help but laugh out loud. And even though he may not understand, my father starts to laugh just the same. Such a big f*cking sound. “Okay,” he says, chuckling. “That might not have been the best way to start.”

I grin at him, my anger temporarily forgotten. “It was the only way to start. I’m okay, Dad. You?”

He smiles faintly before looking back out at the river almost longingly. I don’t quite get the look, but I ignore it for now. “I’m better now,” he says softly. “Better than I have been in a long while. It’s been quiet here, since the others left.”

I feel a chill at his words. “What others?” I ask, looking around. There’s no one else in sight, and it doesn’t seem like anyone else is watching us.

He shrugs. “Just some people came and went,” he says. “I only talked to one of them. He was a… an odd man and he wanted me to go with him, but I couldn’t. I don’t think he understood, but I had to stay here. So he left.”

“Why here? Why didn’t you just leave?”

“I tried,” Big Eddie says, squeezing my shoulder. “I tried to walk home, but….”

Tears well in my eyes yet again, and I brush them away. “You couldn’t make it?”

He nods. “Every time I started walking down the road, I would get tired. I would need to sit down to rest, and before I knew it, I’d be asleep. And every time I woke up, I’d be right here again. I tried everything. I tried running. I tried sleeping before I left so I wouldn’t be tired. I tried cutting through the forest. I tried going the other way. It didn’t matter. I’d make it maybe half a mile, right before mile marker seventy-seven changed to seventy-six or seventy-eight, and then I’d have to stop.”

“What about the river?” I ask. “Did you try crossing the river?”

He tenses immediately, and I want to take the words back, though I don’t know why. “No,” he whispers, unable to look at me. “I never crossed the river. That’s what he wanted me to do, and I just couldn’t.”

“Who?”

“He called himself the River Crosser. He took the others across the river in this little boat, but I couldn’t go. I just couldn’t.”

Through the fog and haze, I hear the Strange Men, both light and dark, whispering in my head about crossing. I can’t quite remember what they said. It’s lost, at least for now, as the haze swallows it again. But that’s okay. It doesn’t matter.

“I’m glad you stayed,” I say, leaning my head on his shoulder. I try to ignore the unease that starts to prickle my skin.

“Me too,” he says quietly.

We’re silent for a time. Then, “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

I don’t think I’ll be able to get the words out, but I have to try. “Why did you have to go?”

And when he speaks, I already know the words he’s going to say. I already know because I’ve said the same things to Michael. I’ve said the same things to Michael, and he told me things in return. About my father, about Cal. About the design of the world. About Seven and the child’s shadow on the wall. But I can’t seem to get his final words out of my head, about receiving a gift and my duty as a son. I am supposed to stand, but I don’t know for what. I am supposed to make a choice, but I don’t know what that choice is.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” my father says, looking down at the water. I follow his gaze and see his reflection in the water staring back up at us. “That was the last thing on my mind. I just… I couldn’t just sit by and let these things happen. I couldn’t let Roseland be taken over like I knew it would be.” He frowns. “I overheard Griggs and Walken talking one day, and I just couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t right.”

“You made a sacrifice,” I say, understanding my own words for the first time. Hearing them from him is different than hearing them from Michael or myself. It actually means something; it has truth behind it.

“Although I wish I hadn’t, now.”

I’m surprised at this. “Why?”

“Because it took me away from your mom. It took me away from Abe. It took me away from my life and everything I had in it. But most of all, it took me away from you.”

“I was angry,” I admit hoarsely. “For a long time.”

“I know. I could feel it. I could feel it here, like a storm was brewing somewhere far away.”

“I’m sorry.”

He snorts. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing, Benji. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. I know these last few months have been hard on you.”

I’m cold again, and it has nothing to do with the water. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“How long do you think you’ve been here?”

He frowns again, lines forming on his forehead. I can tell he’s thinking, because his tongue appears between his lips, a thing he’s done since I can remember. He twitches his fingers on my shoulder and moves his lips, like he’s counting, or at least trying to. It’s taking longer than I think it should, and the unease gets stronger. “Four months?” he finally says, sounding dubious. “Maybe a little bit longer?”

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak until I have some sense of control. I swallow past the lump in my throat. “It’s been five years,” I say.

“No,” he whispers. “That’s impossible.”

It’s improbable, a voice whispers in my head.

“Trust me, it’s not,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “You… died five years ago.”

“It’s… you’re twenty-one now?” He sounds shocked.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve missed… I….” He slowly drops his hand from my shoulder as he looks back to his reflection in the water.

“You didn’t know?”

He shakes his head. “The River Crosser, he told me time could be a bit… funny here. I didn’t listen to him because there were other things on my mind. He warned me about a lot, I guess. I just didn’t listen. I had to….”

“Had to what?”

“Protect you,” he whispers. “I had to make sure you were okay. I was so scared for you, Benj. I was angry with myself because I couldn’t be there to protect you like I wanted to. I tried to do the right thing, and it got me….” He stops himself before he can say the word we’re both thinking. “I didn’t do my job as a father. My priority since you were born has always been you, and I let myself get distracted. I’m sorry, Benji. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him. “You did what you thought was right.”

“But you said you were mad.”

I shrug, looking away. “I was. Maybe I still am. But… I don’t know if it’s at you anymore. I don’t know if I can be mad at you when you’re sitting right here next to me.” I take a deep breath, steeling myself. Even though I know his answer, I still have to ask. “Did you miss me? Because I sure missed you.”

“Every day, boy,” he rumbles as he wraps his arm my shoulder again, pulling me tight. “Every damn day, which is apparently longer than I thought. A second hasn’t gone by when I haven’t thought of you.”

“That’s why you stayed? When the others left?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “Are you really twenty-one now?”

“Yeah.”

“My God, you’re a full-grown man.”

“I guess so.”

Silence.

“Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“I heard your promise. To Cal.”

“I know. I tried very hard to show you.”

“The dreams? That was you?”

He sighs. “Sort of. I tried to show you as much as I could.”

I scowl, anger rising again. “And he tried to keep me away from you. Cal always pulled me out of the river. He didn’t want me to see what you were trying to show me.”

My father looks stern. “As well he should have. It wasn’t all me, Benji. Those dreams. It was the river too. Cal was only doing what I had asked of him. To protect you as much as possible. I couldn’t control it as well as I thought I could. He saved you from drowning. He saved you again and again and again.”

I don’t reply.

But this is my father. He knows me better than anyone. “So that’s what I was feeling,” he says in awe.

“What?” I say, my face flushing.

“You love him.” It’s not said as a question.

“Dad….”

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s… a nice guy.”

I can’t help the laugh that comes out. “A nice guy?”

“Does he love you back?”

I nod. “I think so.”

“He better.”

“I don’t know if I can do right by him.”

“I raised you, didn’t I?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then you’ll do the right thing, Benji. You always will.”

My eyes start to burn again. “I’m losing him,” I say through the tears. “When I thought he was gone, it felt like I’d lost everything all over again. He’s… Dad, he’s made me feel alive for the first time in a long time. He’s sweet, and kind. And smart. And everyone loves him. He had such reverence for the Ford you would have thought he helped to build it too.”

“Maybe he did,” Big Eddie says slowly. “I gathered he’d been around for some time.”

“But he can’t stay,” I say, my breath hitching in my chest. “He can’t stay.”

My father pulls me closer. “Why?”

“Because he’ll die. Angels can’t stay where we are. He has to go back.”

“Says who?”

“I do!” I say angrily, trying to pull away from him. He doesn’t let me go. “I couldn’t take it if he died too. My heart couldn’t take it.”

“It will,” he tells me. “It will because I’ve raised you to be strong and brave. I’ve raised you to always think of others before yourself.”

I’m incredulous. “I am! I don’t want him to die!”

“What does he want?”

“I don’t….”

“You’ve never asked him, have you?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll bet if you did, he’d tell you exactly what he wants. It seems to me if he wanted to go back, he would have already. If he wanted to avoid any risk at all, he could have. But he didn’t. He took a chance.”

“Because he promised you,” I remind him sadly. “He wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t promised you.”

Big Eddie sighs. “You don’t know that. He could have chosen just the same. We all have a choice, Benji, with everything we do. And if you ask him, I’d bet anything he’ll tell you he wants to stay. And even if it means he dies, don’t you want to say you had what you could with the time you have left? It’s better, Benji, to have something burn brightly for a short time than to never have it at all. But that may not even happen. You just have to have faith.”

“In what?”

He smiles. “That everything will be okay. If he believes in you, then you need to believe in him. Nothing’s written in stone.”

“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” I say, starting to break again.

“Hush,” he says, resting his chin on my head. “There’s still time.”

We say nothing for a while after that, just sit there, content with each other’s reassurance that somehow it’ll all be okay. He never removes his arm from my shoulder. Our feet kick the water. He ruffles my hair. I breathe him in, and he does the same to me. After a time I hear him humming, and I can’t help but go along with it. He finds his words and we sing together: “Sometimes I float along the river, for to its surface I am bound. And there are times stones done fill my pockets, oh Lord, and it's into this river I drown.”

There’s that sense of duality again, like I’m being pulled in two different directions, like the road ahead splits into two different paths. One is safe and certain, the other scary and unknown. But it helps to see.

I understand now, I think. I understand Michael’s gift and what I must do, the choice I have to make. This was never about helping me. This was never about my grief or pain. This was never about the anger, the loss, the love, the betrayal. It’s about nothing that I thought it was. It’s not even about me.

This is about my father. It’s about this man, this big man who sits beside me, who I will compare everyone to for the rest of my life, should I choose to go that direction. It’s about this man who would not cross the final river so he could go home because he loved his family above all else, and he couldn’t see them hurt, no matter the cost to himself.

That’s because it’s all about sacrifice, Michael whispers. The world will blaze in the glory of fathers and sons because they know it’s about sacrifice. What a person does for the greater good defines who they are. A man should never be measured by how full his life is, but what he is willing to give up in order to protect those he loves. He must do so without regard for his own self. That is a measure of a man. That is worth more than any combination of fifteen words that mean nothing.

“I saw things,” I tell him quietly. “Beautiful things. Memories of things that could have happened. They rose like ghosts and I saw it all. I thought it was a gift….”

“But?” Big Eddie prods gently.

I think before I speak. “But it’s not. That wasn’t the gift. It wasn’t, because it wasn’t real. It never happened. It was part of the design never used.”

“Then what were you gifted?”

“You,” I tell him, and he smiles at me with watery eyes. “Here, this moment. This chance. I was given you because in my heart, that is what I wished for the most. Not even for you to be alive, not for things to not have happened the way they did, not really. All I ever wanted was to just have a few moments where I could sit right next to you and feel you here, so I could tell you how much you mean to me. How much I love you for being my dad.”

“Benji, don’t you think I know?”

“I know. I know you know. But please, just listen, okay?”

He nods, looking pained.

“I have this moment. I have this great moment, something most people will never get. Not while they still have a chance to live. Not when there is still hope to return. So I have to say thank you.” My voice breaks on the last word, but I push through. “Thank you for being my dad and thank you for making me who I am. Thank you for loving me and accepting me. Thank you for protecting me and making sure I could stand on my own two feet. And if anyone ever thinks me brave and strong, if I ever stand again for what’s true, it’ll be because of you. It’ll be because you are my father, and I will always be my father’s son.”

He looks off to the river, his eyes brimming. “There has never been a father prouder than I am. I hope you know that, Benji.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You’re not going with me, are you?”

I shake my head even as my heart breaks further. “No. I think I’m here to tell you it’s okay now. It’s okay to let go. It’s time for you to move on.” I shudder. “There are others who need me. There are other people I have to help.” I hate the words. I hate everything about them. Even as they spill from my mouth, I want to take them back. But I can’t, because that’s not what he taught me. That’s not what it means to be his son. It’s about sacrifice.

He nods. “It’s the river, isn’t it? I have to cross the river.”

“I think so.”

“I’m scared,” Big Eddie Green says, holding me close. “I shouldn’t be, but I am.”

“I know,” I choke out. “I’m scared too.”

“Benji?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you help me?”

And this is it, here, this moment: this is my last chance. This is where I could say I’m going with him. This is where I could say I’m tired, I’m so very tired, and I don’t want to go back. This is where I could say we’ll cross all the way together. That we’ll be side by side for the rest of time, and that will be all that matters.

But I don’t. I say none of that. I say none of what is tearing my head and heart to shreds, because there is a part of me that wants to cross with him. There’s a subtle whisper that I think has been here since I arrived, and it causes me to ache because it’s singing me home. It’s nothing like the voices in the black. It’s kind and soothing, telling me all will be well, that the world can be a wonderful place, but sometimes it’s okay to just leave it behind and come back home. I don’t know how my father has been able to ignore it for so long.

So instead of saying what part of me wants, I say the only thing that matters, because I am not here for me. I am here for him. “Always,” I tell my father, who sighs in relief.

We sit then, just for a bit longer, with what time we have left. As if our words were what it was waiting for, the sun begins to move slowly across the sky, the day pushing toward night. It’s subtle at first, but the river begins to move more rapidly, the waves growing bigger, the water level rising. I feel my father start to shake again, and instead of allowing him to comfort me, I shrug his arm off my shoulders and wrap my arms around him. He sighs and leans his head down against mine as we watch the river rise.

“I’m tired, Benji,” he says. “Don’t know how I got so tired.”

“I know,” I reply, kissing his forehead. “It’s okay, though. Just a little longer. You only have to go a little longer.”

“The water is moving so fast,” he murmurs.

“You’re stronger than it is,” I say, gathering my courage for a final time. We have to go.

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers, and it’s like I’m six. It’s like I’m six years old and trying to run away but knowing I will always come home because he is my home. “Every day we’re apart, I’ll miss you until we’re together again.”

“Because you’re my daddy?”

“Because I’m your daddy,” he says faintly, smiling at the memory.

“You must love me, huh?”

“Oh yes. Very much.”

“Why?”

The river rises and begins to roar.

“Because you’re everything. Benji, I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

“I know. But I’ll be with you. I promise.”

“Even here at the end?”

“Even here at the end.”

And because if I don’t do it now I never will, I stand, pulling my father up with me, his arm around my shoulder, lifting and holding his weight against me. He moans quietly, and I choke back the sob that threatens to rise. He leans against me as the sun disappears behind the mountains and twilight begins to fall.

The first step’s the hardest, as it always is. The first step is filled with doubt and trepidation. The first step makes you want to stop and reassess, to make sure you’re going about this the right way, doing the right thing. The first step is where choices are met with determination, because every step after will be easier.

And so I take it. I take that first step for my father. For myself. That first foot forward is followed by the other, and my father has no choice but to follow me or be left behind. For a moment, I think he won’t follow, but he does. Of course he does. Big Eddie is strong and brave. He’s the biggest man in all the world. He is the smartest, the funniest, the greatest man alive. He’s the reason the sun shines in the sky, the reason the stars come out at night. He is the greatest man in the world because he is my father, and I can see him no other way. So of course he steps forward. Of course he moves along with me, beside me for that first step and the ones that follow.

We reach the riverbank and I’m sure we’ll hesitate. I’m sure we’ll pause to make sure we’re doing the right thing. But even as the thought forms in my head, my father steps down and into the river, the swift water rising to his knees.

I follow him in.

“Benji,” he gasps. “You can’t….”

“Until the end,” I say.

He nods, and his head comes back to my shoulder. We step together.

What follows is hard. The current is stronger than I’ve ever felt before. The river mud sucks us down with every step we take. The water splashes up into our faces, blinding us, choking us. And still we push on. My father’s breath is ragged in my ear, and my chest feels like it is burning. But still I push on, for him. For him, I would do anything.

The river reaches my shoulders by the time we’re halfway. And it’s at this halfway mark that the whispers from the other side get louder, more inviting, more calming. They are calling me home, telling me all it takes are just a few more steps and I’ll be home, my father will be home, and we’ll be home together. Isn’t that what I want? Isn’t that what my heart desires?

It is. It is. It is.

“No,” my father croaks. “No. Not now. Not yet. It’s not your time.”

River water splashes up into my face, urging me on, and I try to pull him toward the whispering voices.

“No,” he says, sounding more sure. He grunts as he pushes himself upright, the water to his chest. He pulls his arm from around me and turns me to face him. When I look up at my dad, his eyes are shining such bright green. He looks stronger than before, and I know that look. He’s made up his mind, and there will be no other way.

“You’re going back now,” he says as the river batters us both. “It’s time for you to turn around and go back.”

I begin to panic. “No. No! It’s not. It’s not time! There will never be enough time. I’m going with you! I’m going with you, and I won’t look back! Please don’t make me. Please don’t leave me here. I can’t do this without you!”

He shakes his head. “You can’t go with me,” he says. “You know you can’t. It’s not your time. It’s not meant for you.”

“Just don’t leave me alone again,” I moan. “Please.”

He cups my face in his hands. “You listen to me, boy, and you listen good. Are you listening?”

I nod, and even the river fades because all I can see is him.

“You are my son,” he says fiercely. “You will never be alone because I will always be with you.”

“You promise?” I cry.

“I promise with all that I have. Now go back.”

“Dad.” I don’t know what else to say.

But he understands anyway. “I know. I’ll see you again. I swear, one day, I’ll see you again.”

And he pushes me away. Not knowing what else to do, I take a step back. And then another. And then another. He watches me and waits, the river slamming into his massive frame. It’s a struggle, but I make it back and haul myself out of the river and onto the cool grass.

And as the stars come out above, and as the moon glows brightly in the sky, my father turns and faces the other side. He takes a deep breath… and pushes on. Every step he takes is one closer to the other side. It gets harder for him as he gets closer. The waves wash up and over him, the river trying to sweep him away. There’s one moment where he stumbles and I think he’s going to go under, but he manages to keep his balance and takes another step.

And another.

And another.

Away, away, away from me.

And then he reaches the other side and pulls himself up and onto the bank. We both collapse on our sides of the river, lying on our backs, catching our breath. The stars are so bright. So blue. Everything here seems to be blue, and I know it’s almost time for me to go home. I’ve been given a gift. I’ve made my choice. I’ve done my duty as a son. For him.

I sit up and look across the river.

My father stands, watching me.

I don’t know how much time passes then. But we watch each other, a river separating us, taking one last look while we can. I don’t know when we will see each other again, but I cling to the promise that we will. I pray. I have faith. I have hope.

Then suddenly he smiles and looks over his shoulder. I know someone is calling to him, someone I can’t see or hear. I wonder who it is. He turns back to me, and the smile fades, a conflicted look coming over his face. He takes a step toward the river. I do the only thing I can do, to ensure he goes.

I say good-bye.

I raise my right hand in his direction. A small wave. I ache.

Big Eddie nods slowly and raises his hand in return.

His smile returns and he lowers his hand, and with one last look, he turns away. Above the river, I hear him shout in joy. It sounds like he cries, “Abe!”

And then he’s gone.





I sit for a time, in the dark, watching the other side of the river. He doesn’t come

back.

Finally, I rise to my feet. “One day,” I say with a small smile. “One day.” One more time, I must stand.

I turn away from the river, and everything explodes in white.





the fallout

I open my eyes and I’m back in the White Room.

For a moment, I panic, sure I will be trapped here forever, that I was meant to cross with my father and since I didn’t, I am now in limbo. I’m sure, in that split second of rising terror, that I’ll be nothing but a burnt shadow on the wall, a vague mystery for all those who will follow my footsteps into this place.

“It’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Benji, it’s okay.”

Is it? Is it really?

The confusion on my face must be clear, because the voice says, “Oh, baby. Oh,

sweetheart. You’re okay now, you’re fine. And I love you. Everything will be okay.” Then, quietly, “Go get the doctor. Hurry. Now.”

The room comes into sharper focus. Not the White Room, but a white room. Soft fluorescent lighting overhead. Eggshell ceiling tiles. The subtle tang of ammonia. The hiss and beep of machines. A blurred face, hovering over my own. A cool hand brushes against my brow.

My mother. Lola Green. The most beautiful woman in the world. I have so many things I need to tell her. So many, many things.

I try to smile at her, but there’s something in my throat. My eyes widen. I start to panic. I start to breathe heavily. The machines beep loudly in warning. I’m gagging. My body starts to shake, and I can’t stop it. Pain rolls over me in crushing waves. I hurt everywhere. My body. My heart.

Cal. Cal. Cal.

I try to make her see with my eyes, try to tell her what my soul is screaming for. She looks scared and she’s yelling at someone over her shoulder, and then she looks back down at me, telling me it’s okay, to calm down, that everything will be fine.

Cal, I try and tell her. Cal.

But then I’m in the dark again.





I’m cognizant on what I’m told is my fourth day in the hospital. Apparently,

my right lung collapsed after being shot, hence the need for intubation to clear all the rising fluid in my chest. I was Life-Flighted through the storm and taken to Eugene, where surgery was performed on my lung and to remove the bullet from my chest. I woke up on the third day and had some sort of panic attack then collapsed back into unconsciousness for another eighteen hours.

My right wrist was shredded from the pocketknife. I am told I will have heavy scarring on my wrist unless I would like to consider plastic surgery. I wave the offer off tiredly. I don’t care what my wrist looks like. It’s now heavily bandaged. The stitches itch horribly. No one will help me scratch it.

My ankle is severely strained. I have contusions in varying shades of greens and yellows, blues and purples, covering my entire body. Cuts on my legs and arms. My nose is running, and I have a wet cough I can’t seem to shake.

And that’s the biggest concern, I’m told. The potential for pneumonia. It’s no wonder, the doctors say, seeing as how I was found in the river in the middle of a storm by a passing motorist who then drove me back into Roseland. They’d seen a flash of my clothing and had almost continued on but stopped. I say nothing to this, casting only a casual glance toward my mother, who looks away. We both know that’s not what happened. The risk for infection is quite high, though, the doctors say, and I’m not exactly out of the woods yet.

The path of the bullet was, I am told, miraculous. Aside from nicking my lung, it bounced off a rib, breaking it in the process, and embedded itself in muscle. It didn’t strike any other organs or any other bone. The doctors can’t figure out how a shot from a rifle didn’t cause much more severe damage at such close range. I’m told I must have a guardian angel on my shoulder.

The doctors leave, telling me I’ll need plenty of rest, though I have quite a few people waiting to speak to me.

The room is covered in balloons and flowers, stuffed animals and cards. My mother tells me it seems like everyone in Roseland has sent me something, and that there’s been quite the stream of visitors to the hospital here, though they’ve all had to stay out in the waiting room. There were always at least five or six of them, and they seemed to take turns. It’s a funny thing, she says, how close our town really seems to be. She grips my hand tightly as she says this.

“Mom?” I ask her tiredly. “What’s going on? Where’s Cal?”

A tear rolls down her cheek.

Dread fills me. “Where is he?”

A shuddering sigh. Then, “He’s dying, Benji.”

The storm hit faster than they thought it would, back in Roseland. One minute it was just cloudy and overcast and they were all enjoying the festival, and the next it was like Heaven itself had opened up and poured down. The rain, my mother says, was a frightening thing, cast almost sideways by the roaring wind. The gusting wind itself blew down Poplar Street, knocking over signs and breaking windows. The booths and displays for the festival were toppled almost immediately. Most of the town was at the festival, and the majority took refuge in the church, the rest in the Grange. It was strange, some whispered, how the wind had seemed to blow them directly into these places. Some tried to leave but turned back when it became impossible.

There were concerns that the river would rise too high and flood the streets. Sandbags were placed out along the church and the Grange as a precaution, just in case floodwaters began to chase after them.

My mother was in the church, with Mary and Nina.

The power flickered on and off before finally just staying off. Candles were lit as people huddled together, listening to the storm rising outside. My mother was panicking, not knowing where I was. She tried calling me many times, but eventually the signal cut out and her phone was useless. Mary and Nina tried to calm her, to let her know I was obviously with Cal and Abe and that we’d be okay. Christie, they said, would also be okay because she was at Big House.

There had been nothing to do but wait.

And pray.

My mother says she prayed that day. She prayed for the first time in a very long time. Pastor Landeros was leading a quiet service for those who wanted it, but my mother wasn’t listening. She was sitting toward the back, looking at the beautiful stained glass window set high on the other side of the church. It was a circle of so many whites and greens and reds and yellows, with St. Jude Novena in the center, a red beard, long flowing robes of green and brown. And blue. So much blue.

Her grandmother had taken her to this very church on many occasions when my mother was a child. She remembered a prayer she’d been taught when she asked who that man in the glass was. That’s St. Jude Novena, her grandmother had told her. And he has a special prayer, one made for your darkest hour. But prayers are not like wishes, my child. They won’t always come true. But if you pray hard enough, surely someone will listen, and that, my darling, is what prayer is all about.

So my mother prayed, and recited the prayer of St. Jude Novena.

Most holy apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the church honors and invokes you universally, as the patron of hopeless cases, of things almost despaired of. Pray for me, I am so helpless and alone. Make use, I implore you, of that particular privilege given to you, to bring visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired of. Come to my assistance in this great need that I may receive the consolation and help of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and sufferings, particularly that my son is safe from harm so that I may praise God with you and all the elect forever.

I promise, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, to always honor you as my special and powerful patron, and to gratefully encourage devotion to you.

Amen.

Seven minutes later, the doors to the church blew open with a great crash. Wind and rain flew into the church. People shouted and screamed. And then all fell silent when the impossible happened.

An angel entered the church, deep blue wings spread wide, water dripping onto the floor. He had a panicked look on his face as he looked from side to side. “Help,” he croaked out. “I need help. Someone, please. Help me. He’s hurt and I can’t fix him. Please.” He looked down at the body he carried in his arms. “He won’t wake up. Please just wake up. Please, Benji. Just wake up.”

My mother gives me a fragile smile now, from her place next to my hospital bed. “You’d have thought,” she says, “people had seen angels all the time with the way things happened next. Doc Heward ran forward and made him lie you down. I was holding your hand and crying so hard I couldn’t see straight. Others came forward and offered to help. Rosie got blankets. Mary got the first-aid kits. Jimmy brought fresh water, and the Clarks went back to try and radio for help.

“But it was Nina who went to him first. Our little Nina. He stood, off to the side, watching the doc work on you. His eyes never left your face, not until she came over to him. She walked right up to him and reached up to touch his face. He closed his eyes and sobbed, just once, his whole body shaking.”

Everyone fell silent then, watching the tiny woman touch the gigantic angel. The doc continued to work on me, but even he glanced out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, Blue,” Nina said finally, her voice quiet. “You are in so much pain.”

“My heart hurts, little one,” Cal choked out. “I cannot lose him. Not now. Not ever. I would be lost.”

“What does your Father say?” she asked.

“Nothing. He has forsaken me.” His voice was bitter.

Nina smiled up at the angel. “He would never forsake you. You just aren’t listening.”

The angel trembled… and then he collapsed.

“Where is he?” I demand now, horrified. “You didn’t bring him here, did you?” I can only think of him being locked in a room while having experiments performed on him by people who need explanations, who need everything broken down to exact science rather than being able to believe in the impossible. “Please tell me he’s not here!”

My mother shakes her head. “No, baby. We didn’t. He’s still in the church. The doc has been watching over him. Hell, the whole town has been watching over him. But there’s not much more the doc can do. He’s fading, Benji. Cal’s fading. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She has tears in her eyes when she finishes.

I’m still so very angry, though I don’t know if the anger is directed toward him anymore. I don’t know how it could be, but part of me still feels the need to place blame. Part of me feels none of this needed to happen, that Cal shouldn’t have been put in the impossible situation of deciding between the lives of two men. My father didn’t need to die. So many things didn’t need to happen but did because of God. Because of his games. Because of his design.

I love you, Cal had said.

“I need to see him,” I mutter. “He needs me.” I make to get up from the bed, but my body is one gigantic ball of pain and I can barely move. I groan as I force my way through it, but my mother leaps up from the chair and pushes me back down.

“You need your rest,” she says sternly. “I swear to God, if you try to leave here and something happens to you because of it, I will never forgive you.”

“If he dies while I’m here,” I say to her coldly, “I will never forgive you.” And in my secret heart, I know this to be true, no matter how dark it makes me feel.

She flinches and looks away.

See me, I pray to him. Cal, see my thread. Please hold on. Please don’t leave me. I need you.

But anger continues to rise. At her. At my father. At God and Michael. And at Cal. Mostly, at him.

Sleep takes me only moments later.





Many people want to speak to me the next day. Doctors, therapists. Nurses and

radiologists. They all have questions as they poke and prod me, as they take my blood or wheel me down to yet another test. I’m lucky, I’m told repeatedly. Only a few more inches to the left, and the bullet would have pierced my heart. So lucky, they sigh. I could have died, they say in hushed voices. It’s a miracle.

Many people want to speak with me the next day, but none more than the FBI. Turns out a man named Teddy Earle was found wandering near Old Forest Highway with some surface burns on his skin. He was dazed and slightly confused. He said that his friend had been burned to a crisp, that his boss was gone when he awoke. He was taken to a clinic in Jackson County, and when they found crystal meth in his pocket, they called the police. Police came (thankfully, I was told, not the Douglas County Sheriff’s office) and Mr. Earle was interviewed. Turns out he had quite the tale to tell, dropping names most could not believe. A psychopath named Jack Traynor. A dead arrestee named Arthur Davis. An FBI agent named Joshua Corwin. A sheriff named George Griggs. A mayor of a small town named Judd Walken. The woman in charge named Christie Fisette.

And, of course, a man named Edward Benjamin Green. Big Eddie, to his friends.

The storm cleared and four different law enforcement agencies ascended the mountain to the caves Earle had pointed them to. They found remnants of a large methamphetamine operation up there. They found the body of Mr. Earle’s associate, a man named Horatio Macias. They found the body of one Abraham Dufree, pulled away into the forest. Eventually, they found the body of George Griggs, who had drowned in the river, pinned up against a rock by a tree.

Mayor Walken fled the day of the storm. He made it as far as Glendale, forty miles down the road. His car was found overturned in the river. They thought he survived the impact, but might have drowned when the water rose too high. He must have lost control, they said.

Jack Traynor was found a day later, washed up on the banks down river five miles away.

My Aunt Christie was found the day before I woke up. Her body was deep in the woods, huddled up against a large rock. It was unclear exactly how she died, but most likely it was from exposure. It appeared she’d gotten turned around while trying to escape into the woods. Water, I was told, had filled her lungs. Like she had drowned. They didn’t know how that had happened.

I told those who asked what had happened, leaving Cal out of every part of it. I told them about Traynor trying to run us off the road. I told them how Abe had saved us by shooting Traynor in the head. I told them about how Griggs and my aunt had shown up only moments later. I told them about my meeting with Corwin, and how Griggs and Christie tried to use Abe to find out if I’d told anyone else. I’d told them, my voice breaking, how they’d shot Abe right in front of me.

I told them about my escape, the explosion, my run through the woods. I told them how Griggs had followed me, and that he shot me, only to slip and fall into the river. Did I remember who found me? No. Did I remember getting taken back into town? No. Did anyone in town remember who had brought me in?

Apparently no one did. Just some stranger, the agents were told. Some stranger who passed right on through and didn’t leave any information.

Small towns take care of their own.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” an agent named Nathan Rosado told me once the interview was done. “Most wouldn’t have gotten away like you did. You did a very brave thing, even if you had no business trying to go up there in the first place.” But his admonishment was soft, and I saw he was impressed. I knew I’d corroborated almost everything Mr. Earle had told them, and Agent Rosado told me that most likely I wouldn’t have to testify, seeing as how almost everyone involved appeared to be dead. “There will be more questions, though,” he said. “But those can wait for now.”

They left me alone after that, for a time. No one from town had been in my room to see me, though I knew some of them were nearby. I didn’t want to see them, not yet. I wasn’t ready to face the questions they would have, about the angel that slept in the church. I wasn’t ready for those questions, because I didn’t know what answers to give. I needed to see him first. I needed to get the f*ck out of this damned hospital. I needed to see the man I loved.

And my anger grew.

These thoughts were interrupted when my mother came back into the room shortly after the FBI agent had left. It was only then that it hit me how hard this had to be on her as well. Not only had she lost her husband, she’d found out her sister had ordered it done. Whatever I was going through, she was experiencing almost the same. She looked tired, dark smudges circling her eyes. Her hair was frazzled and pulled back into a loose ponytail. Her clothes looked wrinkled and slept in.

I knew we were survivors, she and I. I knew we’d have to pick ourselves up from the dirt yet again. If we didn’t, then we’d be nothing and blow away. So much of life demanded sacrifice, I knew, and the only way to make it through was to take one step at a time, one day at a time. She needed me to help her back up, and I was the only person left who could.

So for the moment, I stopped planning my escape when she wasn’t looking. I stopped trying to figure out a way to get to Cal before the day was over. I started thinking about more than just myself and what I needed. She came back into my room and I opened my arms, and there was a stutter in her step, a frown on her face that turned into something more. She cracked and rushed over to me, and as she shattered, I ran my fingers through her hair and told her it’d be okay, that it’d be all right. I told her that even though it may not seem like it, one day, we’d be okay again.

There was a brief moment when I almost told her about seeing Big Eddie again. I opened my mouth to spill the words, wondering what, if any, comfort it might bring her. But a second later, I closed my mouth again. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel fair to her. I didn’t want her to know that he’d been trapped by the river for five years while trying to protect me. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something more. I don’t know. Maybe I will tell her. One day.

“How do you know?” she sobbed into me, clutching at my arms. “How do you know we’ll be okay? The world has gone to shit and everything is broken! How do you know? How do you know!”

“Because I have faith it will,” I whispered back. “And because I have faith in you. There’s no one I know who is stronger than you. It might be rough, and it might seem unfair, but we’ll be okay. I promise you we’ll be okay.”

My thoughts strayed to Cal, and I felt like a liar. If something happened to him, I wouldn’t be okay. If he left me, I knew I would find the river and once again be adrift.

With those thoughts came the seed of doubt that sprouted quickly.

A final test.





I’m awoken from a nightmare by a touch to my face, a finger dragging along

my cheek. I open my eyes. It’s dark in the room, the only light coming from the door that’s cracked open. My heart thuds painfully against my chest. I’m convinced it’s Griggs here with me in the dark and that he’s going to take me into the White Room forever.

But then my eyes adjust and my nightmare flees. Nina is standing over me, touching my face, poking my cheek. This is the first time I’ve seen her since I’ve been in the hospital.

“Are you awake now?” she asks, her eyes shining in the dark.

“What time is it?” I ask her.

“Not too late,” she says. “Not too late for a lot of things.”

My mind is still fuzzy. “What are you doing here?”

“Big House and Little House are empty,” she says quietly. “So many things are

gone. Even Mary feels it. We came here to see Lola. I came here to see you.” She looks down at my arm and touches the needle for the IV at my wrist. Her eye follows the tubing until it reaches the machine pumping me full of God knows what.

I smile up at her. “It’s good to see you.” It’s not as hard to breathe as I thought it would be.

She nods and then pulls the needle out of my hand with a quick jerk, the tape catching on my skin.

“Nina! That f*cking hurt!”

She frowns. “Language,” she scolds. “We don’t have much time.”

“For what?”

“You. We need to leave.”

She pulls me up to a sitting position, ignoring my groans. “And go where?”

My aunt stares at me as if I’m stupid. “Blue needs you,” she says. “Can’t you feel it, Benji? He’s almost gone. He needs you.”

I feel cold. And what’s worse is, I hesitate. Removed from the situation by a few days, I’ve allowed my anger to rise unchecked. And this time, it is all directed toward him. He had a choice to make, yes, and he was tested by his Father, oh yes, but he could have done something. He could have done something more. He could have stood up to his Father and said no. He could have done everything in his power to stop it from happening. He could have saved my father.

Or, Michael whispers, he could have promised him to watch out for his only son for the rest of his days. Or he could have fallen to earth to protect this son. Or he could have cared for this boy. Or he could have fallen in love with him and treasured him above all else, even though it was so close to blasphemy it endangered his mortal soul.

“Nina,” I say, hedging.

She stops and stares at me hard.

I look away.

“Oh, no,” she says. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to say no. Not now. Not after all he’s done for you.”

My mind is beginning to clear, and it hurts to think.

“That man loves you,” she growls at me, squeezing my hands tightly. “And he needs you, Benji. Just like you need him. You can’t stay here. You can’t keep hiding. This is just another white room and you know it. If you wait too long, the choice will be made for you.”

I snap my eyes to hers. “How did you….”

“It doesn’t matter. You must hurry.”

“I’m tired,” I say. “I’m tired of everyone telling me about choices. I’m tired of having to make choices. I’m tired. The choices I make don’t matter. Nothing I do matters. How can it? God can just take everything away whenever he wants, so how the f*ck does anything I do matter? It’s just a game, Nina! It’s all just a f*cking game!”

She flinches away from me as I finish, but it doesn’t last long. Her gaze filling with steely resolve, she leans over and brushes her lips against my cheek. “Then you fight,” she whispers harshly in my ear. “You fight for what you believe in. You fight for what’s yours. He would do it for you—he already has. The only real person in the world who can know what a father can mean is dying, Benji. He’s dying, and he needs you.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, the fight draining out of me. “I can’t watch that happen. Not after everything I’ve seen. ”

She stands back, the lines around her mouth pronounced in anger. “It’s not always about you,” she says coldly. “You may think it is, and maybe since Big Eddie died it has been, but not now. Not anymore. You’ve allowed yourself to drown in your grief, thinking only about yourself. You’ve been selfish long enough, Benjamin Edward Green. Big Eddie raised you better than this.”

Her words might as well have been a slap across the face. “You don’t have any idea what I’ve been through,” I say with a scowl.

“No? So I didn’t feel pain when Big Eddie died? I don’t feel heartache knowing my Christie was the cause of it? I don’t know grief now that my own sister is dead?” Her voice breaks, and her eyes fill with tears.

“It’s not….” But it is. It is the same. It’s all the same. Every single piece. Every single part. She’s right. This isn’t what my father taught me. These aren’t the lessons I was supposed to learn. Seeing him on the other side of the river as we said goodbye should have been enough. Michael was right. I was given a gift, one that most will never get to have. And I’ve thrown it back in so many faces. I hang my head. If this was another test, then I don’t know if I’ve failed yet or not.

“You haven’t,” Nina says, and not for the first time, I wonder if she can read my mind. I wonder at my little aunt and how she came to know so much, how she can see what others can’t. I wonder just what exactly she is. “There’s still time. Not a lot, but enough. You must hurry.”

“People are going to see how I’m dressed,” I remind her.

She nods. “Thought of that. Couldn’t grab your clothes because Mary would know what I was doing, so I just took this.” Only when she starts to shrug out of it do I see she’s wearing a big coat that almost engulfs her completely. She helps me put it on, and for a moment I smell the heartbreaking scent of earth.

“I thought this went down in the Ford,” I say softly, touching the fabric of Big Eddie’s jacket. There’s a sharp pang in my head and heart because I smell earth again and think I see a flash of blue.

“It was in Little House,” she says quietly, putting my other arm through the sleeve. “Hanging near the door.”

I don’t know how that’s possible, because I’m certain it was in the Ford. As a matter of fact, I know it was. It was sitting on top of the bench seat, behind my neck, when the truck flipped. I don’t remember seeing what happened to it after. Nina says nothing as she waits.

Do you believe in the impossible? Big Eddie whispers.

I do. I do believe in the impossible.

“How am I going to get there?” I ask, easing myself off the side of the bed with a groan. I feel dizzy as I stand, whatever drugs they’ve given me for the pain causing my head to swim.

She stands next to me, puts her arms around my waist, and allows me to lean on her. “Took Mary’s keys from her purse when we got here,” she said, grunting. “I felt bad, but then I whispered I’m sorry and so I think that makes it okay. She and Lola are drinking coffee in the cafeteria, and I told them I had to use the bathroom. We have to hurry.”

“You can’t drive,” I remind her as we move toward the door.

“It’s a good thing you can,” she says.

“Uh, I’m slightly high from the pain meds.”

“I’ll be there to keep you okay,” she says. “And I think God will too.”

I don’t know how to respond to that.

“Plus, there’s coffee in a thermos in the car.”

Great. I’m sure the judge I’ll have to stand before when I get arrested for DUI will be okay with me having drunk coffee while high after breaking out of the hospital to go save my guardian angel boyfriend, all precipitated by my aunt, who has Down syndrome and may or may not be some kind of psychic. Or something.

It hits me again that my life might just be a little strange.





It takes us almost ten minutes to get out of the hospital. Nina is taking her

covert mission seriously and stashes me in empty rooms or supply closets every time someone walks by. She smiles widely at them and hums to herself, waiting for them to pass. As soon as they do, she drops the act and grabs me again, pulling me toward the elevator.

It’s empty when we get in, and the time is displayed electronically above the buttons for the floors: 8:17 p.m. She hits the button for the first floor, and I rest up against the wall, buttoning the big coat up the front so it covers the hospital gown I’m wearing. The coat hangs down to my upper thighs. It should be okay as long as no one feels the need to scope out my bare legs and feet.

The elevator moves down and then stops suddenly on the third floor. We hold our breath as the doors open. There are voices right outside the door, but it sounds like they’re distracted. I move away from the wall and hit the close button repeatedly when I hear someone say “Hey, hold the door!” I don’t, and it slides shut before anyone can see us.

“This is ridiculous,” I say to no one in particular.

The elevator reaches the bottom floor and Nina helps me out. Instead of walking out the front, she pulls me toward the side doors, leading me to the parking garage. There’s no place to hide me anytime someone passes, so I stand as tall as I can, clutching the coat around me, smiling and saying hello to everyone who passes. We get a few strange looks, but no one tries to stop us.

Finally we’re out into the garage, and the rain-scented air hits me in the face. It’s cold outside, and my feet are numb against the pavement. Nina pulls the keys out of a pocket and starts clicking the fob. Eventually, there’s an answering beep of a vehicle.

Christie’s SUV sits a few spaces down, lights flashing.

I stop. Nina was right. I’ve been selfish. I’ve thought too much of my own grief and not what anyone else might have gone through. Seeing my aunt’s SUV sitting in front of me hits me like I didn’t think it would. She betrayed not just me and my father. She betrayed my mother. She betrayed Mary. And she betrayed the little woman standing so fiercely next to me, who is determined to hold me up, determined to help me get home to the man I love before there’s nothing left but memories that rise like ghosts.

I sigh and put my hands into the pocket of the coat. My bad hand touches something small and cold. I pull the object out as Nina fumbles with the door. A small pocketknife. The handle is red. A small inscription on the side: I love you, my husband. Forever, Este. Estelle’s gift to her husband Abe. It was in my hand when I was shot. It fell into the river as I fell. It was lost to the rushing waters. As was the coat I wear.

“Nina?” I ask as she helps me into the driver’s seat. “Where did you say you got the coat?” I sound hoarse.

“I told you,” she huffs, pushing my legs in. “It was hanging on the coat rack just inside Little House.” She hands me the keys and shuts the door in my face.

She hurries around the back of the SUV and is climbing into the passenger side when something else hits me. “How?”

“Hmm?”

“The SUV.”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t the police have it? Wouldn’t they have impounded it?”

“You would think so,” she says with a smile. “Strange how these things work out.”

I stare at her.

“Coffee?” she asks me sweetly. “We’ve got an hour drive ahead of us.”





It’s as we ride through the dark that I confess. “I saw him.”

“Oh?” Nina says. She waits.

“Big Eddie. I saw him again. At the river.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, Nina.”

She seems startled. “For what?”

“You know. Christie.”

“Yes,” she says quietly, looking out the window into the night. “Those who live

have always lost. What was three goes to two. But that’s okay. There’s always two.”

Her voice gets a little funny at the end.

“Nina? Are you okay?”

“Felix,” she whispers. “Oh, Felix. Turn away. Turn away, please. It is not a god.

It never was a god.” Then she shudders as she shakes her head.

I glance at her, concerned. “Who’s Felix?”

“Did he cross?” she asks, ignoring my question. Her voice sounds clear again.

“Did you help Big Eddie cross?”

Oh, my heart. Oh, my soul. “Yes,” I whisper. “He crossed.”

“I wonder,” she says, “if Christie will too. If God has enough forgiveness in his

heart.”

I take her hand in mine.





For the first time in a very long time, I pass mile marker seventy-seven and I do

not slow.

I do not stop.





And here, at the end of things, I show you this:

Five days have passed since the storm hit, but Poplar Street is still littered with debris. Large tree branches pile up on sidewalks. Broken windows are boarded up, waiting to be replaced. Puddles of water still remain in the shadows of buildings.

I drive slowly down the road that is my home.

Rosie’s Diner survived and is still standing, though it’s closed up tight. Big Eddie’s Gas and Convenience looks none the worse for wear. There’s a pile

of debris off to the side, and the whole front of the store has been swept clean. Someone has taken care of it for me. Maybe my mother. Maybe Mary or Nina. Maybe someone else entirely. I don’t know.

All the other businesses are still standing. They’re all dark, but they’re all still there. Roseland might have been struck by what is now being called the worst storm of this century, but it has survived. It has rolled with the punches. It has known sacrifice, but what is love without sacrifice? It has taken all of this on and it has survived. Its foundations might be shaky, and it might not be in the same shape it once was, but it has survived.

And it has also kept a great secret.

Our Lady of Sorrows blazes ahead, bright, like a beacon in the dark. It calls to me. It sings to me. Voices whisper to me out in the night, like I’m still trapped in the White Room, now gone black. Here, they say. Here he is. Here he is, coming to change the shape of things. This is a pattern of impossible endings. This is a design of improbable beginnings. O, joy. O, wonder. O, behold, for it is miraculous.

I see people standing off in the shadows, almost hidden because the streetlights are all burned out. They watch as I drive by. I know they can’t see inside the vehicle, but I feel they know who it is just the same. As I pass them, they step out onto the road and begin to follow us on foot, step by step, until I see hundreds of people behind me, their heads bowed low, hands folded in front of them. I see people I’ve known all my life, people I’ve laughed with, people I’ve cried with. I see people who helped to pick up the pieces after I shattered away into the wind. It seems all of Roseland is here, watching, waiting.

“What is this?” I whisper, unable to process what I’m seeing.

“It’s been like this since he came,” Nina says softly. “They’ve all waited for you. They’ve all prayed for you. And for him. For Blue.”

“This is going to get out,” I say, sure of my words. “This won’t stay secret for long. Someone will talk, and they’ll descend on Roseland. They’ll come here with their questions and their cameras. Their scalpels and their knives. They won’t understand. They won’t understand who he is. It won’t matter what he is to me. They’ll try and take him away.”

She watches me curiously. “Not here,” she says. “Not this place. Roseland is… different. The people here are… different. We protect our own. Now that everything is out in the open, we protect our own.” She sighs and looks back out the window. “The eyes of everyone were here for a few days. The news people with their cameras and their reports of this poor little town. Such tragic things happened to them, they said. Drugs and deceit. Betrayal and heartbreak. They told the story, and then they left. There are always stories to be told, I think. Elsewhere. Every day. It was just our day, and now it’s over. He was protected.”

“Why?” I ask, as we approach the front of the church, the crowd behind me bigger than I would have ever thought. “Why are they doing this?” I pull into a parking space in front of the church and turn off the SUV.

She puts her hand on top of mine. “Because they know love. They know sacrifice. They know miracles do exist, and they must be protected. They must be cherished.” She removes her hand. “We protect our own,” she repeats.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I say, the doubt in my voice evident. “Why me? Out of all the people in the world, the worlds, why me? Why this moment? Why now? I’m no one. I’m nothing.”

“You’re the one Calliel chose to love,” my aunt says, her sweet face breaking into a sad smile. “If that’s not enough for you, I don’t know what else could be.”

“I love you,” I tell her. “I love you so very, very much.”

Her eyes fill with tears and her lip quivers. “Oh, I know,” she says. “And I love you more than the moon and the stars. Secret?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Cross your heart?”

“Hope to die.”

“Stick a thousand needles in your eye.” She looks away and takes a deep breath. “I think everything was leading to this,” she says quietly. “I think this is the real test. For you. For Blue.”

“I’m scared.”

“But loved.”

“Yes.”

She opens the door.

I stare after her for a moment, trying to catch my breath. I hear people shuffling outside the SUV, waiting for me to exit. The church is so bright.

I open the door.

The crowd sighs. All of their eyes are on me. No one speaks. They watch. I’m unsure of what to do. I don’t know what’s expected of me. I don’t know what they want me to say.

Then, a familiar face pushes her way through the crowd.

“Welcome home, Benji,” Rosie says, pulling me gently into her arms. “Oh, honey. I am so happy to see your face.”

“Rosie,” I breathe, trying not to wince at the pain in my chest.

“Your mother called,” she says in my ear softly, so no one else can hear. “She called in a fright, said you’d gone missing from the hospital along with Nina. I told her there’s no other place you’d be going. She asked me to stop you from entering the church before she got here. Can I do that? Can I stop you?”

“No. You can’t. I can’t wait. Not now. Not when I’m this close.”

She nods, pulling away, brushing at the tears in her eyes. “The doc’s in there,” she says. “With him. Pastor Landeros is in there too.”

“How is he?” I ask, searching her face. “Cal. Is he? Is he….”

She shakes her head, crumbling as she’s pulled away by Suzie Goodman. I hear her gentle sobs as she falls back into the crowd.

Dad, I need you. I need you so bad right now. Please, hear my prayer.

“I am going to ask something,” I say, my voice stronger than I think it would be. “I am going to ask something of you. Of all of you. Please. Let me have this moment. If this is supposed to be… good-bye, then I ask that you let me have this moment. Please.”

The mob sighs again, and my words are carried in hushed whispers throughout the crowd. No one says anything against me. I knew they wouldn’t.

I turn and face the church and take the first step toward the light. I do not become lost in thought. Memories do not rise like ghosts, stabbing me like knives. All that matters, and all I focus on, is the angel who awaits me in the church. All my thoughts are with him.

I reach the steps, and they creak under me as I mount them. I count them. There are seven, though I am not surprised. It seems fitting.

The whispers from inside the church grow louder, until they sound like a rushing river. I press my hands against the massive doors, and they vibrate against my fingers. The vibration rolls up my arms until my whole body shakes, and I hang my head. In these vibrations and whispers are songs of grief and loss, of heartache and people forgotten. In these songs are words of sorrow and pain, of regrets never gone, of aches that hurt as if they are new.

But.

There is hope. There is faith. There is belief that maybe, just maybe, everything will be as it was and as it should be. It’s a thread that wraps itself around my heart and soul and tugs on them gently. It calls for one who can be strong. And brave. It calls for one who can stand true.

And there is no one it wants more than me.

I push open the doors. They groan mightily as they part. A warm light washes over me, and the whispers cease. The songs fade. Silence falls.

I step into the church, and the doors close behind me.





o lord, hear our prayer

I stand in the narthex of the church, the entryway lit by hundreds of candles

stretched along the wall. This is the light, I realize, the light I’d seen upon approach. The power must still be out all over the town, and the brightness, the beacon, was the candles that had been lit. Hundreds of them. Thousands.

I cross the narthex and enter the nave. The pews have been removed. It looks like there were halfhearted attempts to set up booths for the festival inside the nave, but the project was abandoned, possibly when the storm became too great. Candles line these walls as well, giving off heat but not overwhelmingly so. They reflect the stained glass lining the nave, the colors flickering so much it appears the saints are alive. As if they’re walking with me, blinking their eyes, opening their mouths. No sound comes out. But still they walk with me, or so it seems.

I take another step.

Past the end of the nave is the aptly named crossing, the middle of the north and south transepts. Past the crossing is the chancel, elevated from the crossing. The chancel leads to the altar. High above the altar, St. Jude Novena stares down at me from his stained-glass window. He looks as if he’s holding me in judgment with his frank gaze. Shadows dance along his face from the candles below. I swear I see him move.

There are three people on the altar. Doc Heward stands facing me, his hands at his sides, his face pale and drawn. He looks older than I’ve ever seen him. His thinning hair sticks out every which way. His clothes are wrinkled. He has dark circles under his eyes. His hands tremble at his sides.

Pastor Thomas Landeros stands on the other side of the altar, head bowed, wearing a black Roman cassock. Thirty-three buttons fall down the center of the cassock. I asked him once, after the Christmas service when I was young, why there were thirty-three buttons. It seemed like such an odd number to me. He told me it symbolized the thirty-three earthly years of Christ. I asked him how anyone could know this. He said it was what was written. I asked him how he could trust something passed down. He said it was a matter of faith.

He moves his lips as if in prayer, his hands folded near his chin. I can’t hear what he’s saying aloud, if anything, but for some reason it chills me. I wonder how long he’s been at this, wonder what this has done to his belief, his faith. Does he think this is a reward for his service? Does he see this as proof of his faith? Or has this shattered every notion he’s ever had about the way the world works? To say you have faith is one thing; to see evidence of it with your own eyes is something else entirely.

But it’s the third figure that captures my attention. It’s him I see the most.

Lying on a white cot with a blanket pulled up to his chest is the guardian angel Calliel. Blue lights flicker around him weakly. His wings disappear then reappear, the long feathers draping across the floor. The smell of earth is heavy and sweet. His skin has a sickly pallor to it, almost yellow in the candlelight, in his own lights. His eyes are closed, and his breathing seems labored. One breath in, held, then released. It takes a second, two seconds, three seconds before he breathes in again.

I’m moving even before I know I am. I run across the nave. I reach the crossing, the name not lost on me. For a moment, I think it will turn into a raging river that I will be forced to cross. It doesn’t matter. I would. I will do anything to get to him.

But it doesn’t. The stone crossing remains as it always has. My footsteps echo through the church, my bare feet slapping against the cold ground. I reach the steps that lead to the chancel. The red carpet feels rough against my soles. I’m at the altar before the doc can speak, though I feel his eyes on me, a subtle intake of breath that heralds the beginning of speech. The breath releases without any words as I fall to my knees beside Cal. Closer now, I can hear Pastor Landeros mumbling under his breath. His words sound Latin.

But above his prayer, I hear the slight rattle in Calliel’s chest with every breath he takes. It’s a subtle clicking that seems to sound like a shotgun blast in my ears. I take his hand in mine and lift it, brushing my lips against the cool, dry skin. It might just be my imagination, but I swear the blue lights become brighter, just for a moment. I choose to believe they do. I choose to believe he knows it’s me, even with how far under he seems to be.

His eyes are moving rapidly under his eyelids, as if he’s searching for something there, in the dark. I place my hand against his brow, and he takes in a deep breath, his chest rising, pressing against the blanket, against the white bandage on his shoulder. He lets it out with a sigh and his eyes become still. I brush my thumb over the groove in the side of his head. Feathers flutter around me. My heart hurts.

“Can you fix him?” I ask, my voice echoing in the empty church. “Can you do anything for him?”

Doc Heward looks down at his hands. “Benji, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says, his voice scratchy. “I don’t know anything about this. I’ve… removed the bullets. I’ve closed the wounds. He has… organs. Just like us. They were damaged, and I tried to fix them as best I could. But… they’re the same? As us? How is that possible? I don’t….” He rubs his hands over his face. “I’ve given him antibiotics. There’s no infection. There’s nothing there. Everything is fine.”

“Then why won’t he wake up?” I rub my hand over the stubble on his head, just as he likes. I ignore the tears on my face.

“I don’t know,” Doc Heward says, sounding like he’s losing control. “I don’t know. He should be getting better. His eyes should be open, and he should be talking and… Benji. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. He’s dying, and I don’t know why. This is out of my league.” He gives a bitter laugh. “I don’t know why,” he says again. He takes a step back.

I do. I know why. I know why his eyes aren’t open, why he’s not talking. I know why his wings can’t seem to stay and why his blue lights are getting weaker and weaker. It’s close.

“Leave us,” I say quietly, never taking my eyes from Cal. “Please.”

The doc makes a sound of protest. I shake my head just once, and I hear his footsteps as he walks away slowly.

Pastor Landeros stops his mumbling. He looks at me like he’s just now aware of my presence. “Benji?” he whispers. “When did you….” He glances down at Calliel then back at me. “Do you know what this is?”

“This is my friend,” I tell him.

“It’s a miracle,” he breathes. “I’ve never….”

“Not now, Pastor,” I say, shaking my head. “Not now. I know this is your church. I know this is your home. I know this is an affirmation of your faith. I know this is everything you’ve ever hoped for. Everything you’ve ever dreamed about. But this is my friend. I need you to leave us alone. Please.”

He takes a step toward me and gently touches the top of my head. “It’s more than that,” he says. “It’s so much more than that. It means we are never alone.”

And then he leaves. I wait until I hear the doors of the church shut behind them.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”

I don’t know what else to say. Actually, I do know what else to say, but I can’t seem to find the power to say it. I can’t seem to form the words to say what I really want, how I really feel. It seems like everything depends on what I’ll say next, that this final test is the most important one.

How do you say what’s in your heart if your heart is something you haven’t known for years? How do you give yourself completely when all you’ve done is bury yourself in grief? How do you come back from the dark when it’s all you can remember?

“I don’t know,” I say, my voice cracking. I hang my head and grip Cal’s hand tightly. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go from here. I thought I was the strong one. I thought I could be brave. I thought I could stand and be true, just like what was asked of me, but I don’t know if I can. I’m scared. I’m scared I won’t be good enough. I’m scared I can’t be courageous enough. I’m scared I can’t do what’s expected of me. I don’t know what’s expected of me. I just know I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to go away. I don’t want you to cross the river, because I’m not done with you yet. I haven’t had enough of you, not even close. I don’t think I ever will, even if we could go on forever. I need you to come back. I need you to come home. I need you.” The sound of my voice dies in the church.

I wait.

Nothing happens. Of course nothing happens.

My anger rises. I drop Cal’s hand. I look up at St. Jude Novena. He is not God, nor did he ever claim to be. But aside from the unconscious angel in front of me, he’s the closest thing I’ve got. “What do you want from me?” I growl up at the stained glass. “What do you expect me to do? Do you want me to fall to my knees and beg you? Well, here I am!” I raise my voice until it’s a shout. “Here I am! Right here! Right here in the middle of your f*cking design, your goddamned pattern! I’m begging you. I’m begging you with all that I have. I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me, so you f*cking give me something back. You give me something in return!”

The saint does not respond. God does not respond.

My ire grows. “I’m sick of your f*cking games! None of us have deserved what you’ve done! You take and you take and you take, and you give nothing back! You dangle any chance at happiness right in front of our f*cking faces and then you snatch it back right when we think we can have it for our own. I don’t care if love is sacrifice. I don’t care if that’s the only way we can recognize it. I know what it is, I know what it can do, and I won’t let you take love from me. Not again. Not anymore. He’s mine, you bastard. He doesn’t belong to you—he belongs to me.”

My voice echoes throughout the church: me, me, me, me.

St. Jude flickers in the candlelight. Me, he seems to say. Me, me, me, he seems to mock.

Then the doors fly open behind me. I turn, expecting God himself to walk through the doors, eyes blazing, preparing to strike me down for speaking to him like I have in his house. It’s what I deserve. It’s what I’m owed.

But it’s not him. It’s not God.

It’s my mother.

“Benji,” she cries, rushing toward me. I can’t find the strength to take a step toward her, but it doesn’t matter. Soon she puts her arms around me, pulling me close. She sobs quietly in my ear, scolding me, telling me I can’t scare her like that again, that she was so scared because for a moment, she thought I was gone. Really gone. Gone so she would never see me again, gone just like Big Eddie was gone, and didn’t I know her heart couldn’t take that? Didn’t I know I was all she had left?

“I had to come,” I tell her. “I have to be with him.”

She pulls back, kissing my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks. “You don’t get to leave me too!” she shouts in my face.

“Okay. Okay.”

I let her hold me for a bit longer, and it’s only then that I realize my anger has waned, and I am just hurt. Every part of me hurts inside and out. She rocks me back and forth gently, humming something lightly in the back of her throat, and I focus on the sound. I pick up each and every note in her voice, following the thread of the music until it becomes my father’s song. She’s singing my father’s song to me. I wrap my arms around her.

“I saw him,” I say for the second time tonight. It comes out unbidden. She stops humming. She grips me tightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “Where?” “The river. Michael took me to the river. After I was shot.”

“And he… he was there?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. He was there. He was so big. He was so much bigger than I remembered. Do you remember how big he was? Bigger than mountains. Bigger than the sky. He….” My throat closes.

She quakes against me. “Did you get to speak with him?”

I smile into her hair. “I got to say everything to him.”

“Was he happy? Is he happy now? Please, Benji. Please tell me he’s happy now!”

I remember the grin on his face. His happy shout. Abe, he’d said. “I think so,” I say. “I think he’s okay now. He crossed the river. I made sure of it.”

“Oh, Benji. I miss him so much.”

“I know. But we’ll be together again. One day.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“He… told me….”

She pulls back and cups my face. She’s so beautiful, my mother is. So goddamned beautiful. “What?” she asks. “What did he tell you?”

You just have to have faith.

In what?

That everything will be okay. If he believes in you, then you need to believe in him. Nothing’s written in stone.

I pull away from her hands and turn back to Cal. I fall to my knees again beside him and lean down, brushing my lips against his. The blue lights flash brightly again, and his wings are solid beneath me for seconds before they start to flicker again. I pull away only just, our lips still pressed together. “Do you believe in me?” I ask him quietly.

There’s no answer. Just the lights. Just his wings.

But it’s enough.

I reach back and hold out my hand to my mother. There’s no hesitation on her part as she steps forward. I tug her down gently until she settles beside me. There’s no fear on her face, being this close to him. There’s no trepidation. If anything, she smiles sadly as she reaches up and fixes the blanket on his chest. She lifts it up and pulls it higher, but not before I see the larger bandage covering his stomach. I remember the look on his face, then, right before he fell. Anger. Pain. Love.

So much love. And it was for me. It was mine.

My father was right. Nothing is written in stone.

I do the only thing that’s left to do. I take my mother’s hand in my own. “Will you pray with me?” I whisper.

She looks unsure as she glances from me up at St. Jude Novena and back again. Something shadows her eyes, and I wonder who she’s thinking about. Is it her grandmother? Big Eddie? Cal? Me? I don’t know. I don’t know if it matters. If she says no, that will be okay. I’ll do it on my own. I’m not leaving this place until I’ve had my say.

I wait.

She doesn’t make me wait long. She sighs and leans over, kissing my forehead. “What should we pray for?” she asks.

I can’t help but feel this is the most important question of all. I know what I think I want. I know what I should want. I know what’s right for me. I know I could pray for all different things. But I also know what my heart wants, and my heart pulls all those others together until they take their own shape. Until they make their own pattern. Their own design.

“The power of choice,” I say, looking down at Cal’s sleeping form. “We need to pray for the power to choose what we want, and the strength to make that choice. That even though the world might be dark, and we might be crawling on our hands and knees, we can always choose to come home and find it light again.”

My mother brushes her eyes as she nods. “Benji?”

“Yeah?”

“How… how did he look? Big Eddie?”

“Like the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, smiling through tears.

She gives a watery bark of laughter. “He was pretty great, wasn’t he?”

“The best there was. He loved you, you know. With his whole heart.”

She weeps quietly. “I know. I know. The both of us. Benji?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to be okay, right? After this? After all of this? You and I?”

I understand now that she needs me. She needs me as much as I need her. We’ve been knocked down, beaten and battered, had brushes with insanity and death. I’ve pushed her away for so long, but she and I are the same. I am my mother’s son.

“One way or another,” I tell her, “we’ll be okay. After all of this, we’ll be okay. We’ll sit and watch the sunrise, and I’ll tell you everything I’ve heard. All of the things I’ve seen.”

She nods. “I’d like that.”

I take her hand again, and she squeezes my fingers tightly. I don’t let go of her as I lower my head. I close my eyes.

And pray.

I’m not going to be very good at this. I haven’t been very good at a lot of things. I’ve lied. I’ve cheated. I’ve disrespected my parents. I put my own needs before those of others. When Big Eddie left, I only worried about how it affected me. I didn’t worry about the others. I was selfish. Self-centered. I took to the river and let myself float on its waters. I didn’t care if I drowned. I didn’t care what became of me. I was hurt, I was angry, and I didn’t care what that meant for the future. I just wanted everything to stop. I was too much of a coward to commit the ultimate selfish act… but I thought about it.

A hand drops on my shoulder, squeezing once and drifting away. I keep my eyes closed.

There were times I wondered just how easy it would be to fill up my pockets with stones, oh Lord, and walk into the river and let myself drown. I wondered how hard it would be when the river closed over my head and the light became murky and I opened my mouth to inhale the water. It would have been easy, I think. It would have been hard, I know. But it would have stopped the pain. It would have taken me away from my head and heart. It would have only taken moments for it to be over, and that seemed easier than a lifetime of agony.

More touches, to my shoulders. My face. My hair. My back.

But he came, when I was at my darkest. I prayed him down from the sky, and he came in a flash of blue fire that lit up the heavens. I know he came by his own choice, but he came because I called him. He came when I could no longer take the weight of the world on my own. He came when I needed him the most. He came and saved me from myself, saved me from the waters that rose up to my chest and over my head.

The shuffle of feet. The whisper of voices. So many whispers.

He made me believe I was stronger than I ever thought I could be. He showed me how to chase away the dark. The sun rose every morning because he made it so. He broke me down into tiny pieces and then picked them back up and shaped me into something… different. I understand now, I think. We’re tested. We’ve always been tested, and we always will be. It’s not meant to be cruel. It’s not meant to be some dark malevolent thing, even though it might seem like it. We might not always understand why things happen the way they do. We might not always agree. We might hate it. But they happen regardless. We could allow ourselves to become buried by it. Or… or we can rise above it, learn from it, and allow ourselves to see something more. I want to see more. I want to see more so badly I can taste it.

More and more footsteps. Tears. Sighs of relief. Of reverence. Beauty. Truth. I am touched over and over again, until my skin vibrates from it. I don’t think I can take much more without breaking.

My father told me it’s better to have something burn bright for a short amount of time than to never see it burn at all. If that is true, then so be it. I will have loved with my whole heart. With my whole soul. I gave as much as I was able, though it might not have been all of me. I can see that now. I can see the burden he was to carry. I can see the fear and loneliness in his own heart. It weighed on him. It held him down. But still he pushed on. Still he cared for more than just me. He cared for all of us. He cared for us because we are his. You gave him to us, and even if you take him back, you can never take that away from us. We will remember the time, however short it was, when we came alive. When we felt the fire in our chests, the wind in our heads. The earth beneath our feet and the water against our fingertips. We will remember him always.

But what if….

What have I been taught? What have I learned? I don’t believe this is a game. Not anymore. Michael said he didn’t understand why me, why God had picked me to do what he’s done. He didn’t understand why this tiny little part of the world, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. His focus is on the destruction of a world I don’t know, of a mankind that can manipulate the elements. A world of a child flash-burned into a wall of a room so white, of a man named Seven who might be the one to save us all. He didn’t understand what importance we might have. And maybe, in the long run, it won’t matter. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe the point of all of this is not what will happen in the future, but what will happen now.

And what happens now? Maybe Michael knew more than he realized. Maybe he knew all along when he said love is nothing without sacrifice. The act of sacrifice is by its very nature a selfless act, he’d said. One cannot sacrifice unless one is doing not for himself, but for the greater good. Your father knew this, Benji. He knew it more than most people.

My father knew. He knew about the greater good. He knew about what the cost could be.

And so do I.

I open my eyes.

St Jude Novena stares down at me, alight with such beauty that I tremble.

I caress my mother’s hand before I gently let it go. I stand. And turn.

Hundreds of people have filed into the church, filling the nave until they are shoulder to shoulder. The church is completely full, and I can see the doors at the narthex are open, and even more people fill the streets. I see them all—my friends, my family. Neighbors. People I’ve seen almost every day since I can remember. I see my town. I see Roseland. Some of them have their heads bowed, hands tucked under their chins. Others have their arms spread like wings, palms and faces toward the ceiling, mouths moving. Some look fearful. Others are crying. Still others are watching me closely, as if waiting for my next move, waiting for me to speak. But I can feel it. Even if they’re not all the same, I can feel them. They’re praying. Almost all of Roseland is praying. If one prayer is but a whisper, then this must be a roar to the heavens. These are my people. This is my home.

And if it can’t be his, I won’t let him disappear into the dark.

I turn back to St. Jude Novena.

“Michael,” I say, my voice strong. I hear people raising their heads, a rustle that reminds me of wings. “I know you can hear me, hear all of us. I know you’re listening. I know now what you meant. In the White Room. I know what you meant when you spoke of what love really means. You gave me a gift, or your Father did. You gave me what my heart wanted. You allowed me the moment to say good-bye. And I will remember what you did for the rest of my life.”

I take a deep breath. “But I also know that gifts come with a price. I know that all things demand sacrifice. We have a choice. We have free will. The design is not fixed. The future is not set in stone. You have made your decision, and you have helped me make mine.” I look down at the angel. My angel, my guardian. The blue lights are flashing brighter now, and his wings have returned, solid and sure. I reach down and rub my fingers over the feathers. They feel like home. They feel like hope. He deserves this. More than me. I lean over and kiss him gently. “I love you,” I whisper.

And then I stand, my shoulders squared, my head held tall. I am bigger than I ever felt before. I am stronger. I am braver. I am true. I will give up my heart to save his soul. “Take him home.”

The crowd behind me gasps as my mother struggles to her feet, grabbing onto me, asking me why, crying why. But I don’t back down. I don’t turn away. I don’t allow myself to be pulled into the throngs of people behind me and carried away. I ignore their cries, their tears, their anger and fear at what seems like my betrayal. The angel Calliel deserves his chance to be free of this place. Where he can hear his Father’s voice, even if it’s just a whisper. Where his soul will thrive.

I raise my voice. “You hear me, Michael? Gabriel? David? Raphael? He can’t stay here. He can’t. I won’t allow it. Not for me. Not with all that he’ll suffer. You take him back. Love is nothing without sacrifice, and I am willing to sacrifice everything for him, even if it means I’ll never see him again. Take him back to his Father. You take him home!”

Nothing.

“Michael!”

The cries of the town silence behind me as a white light explodes in through St. Jude Novena, illuminating the church in a fierce glow. It’s a warm thing, a curious thing, and all of Roseland holds its breath. They can feel it too, just as I can. It’s coming because it heard me. Heard all of us.

The light is blinding as it lowers to the ground at the back of the altar. It touches down, and the light begins to fade. Standing in its place is the archangel Michael.

He offers me a sad smile. “Benji,” he says with slight a nod of his head. “It’s good to see you again, child.”

“Michael,” I say in return. My mouth feels dry.

Michael does not look at Cal; instead, he seems interested in the townspeople who have gathered in the church. “What an odd little place,” he says. He cocks his head at the crowd, and as one they take a step back. “Hello.”

No one replies.

This doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

Cal stirs fitfully, and I think he’s about to wake. I put my hand to his forehead. He’s burning up. His skin is slick with sweat. He jerks beneath my hand, his face contorting in pain.

“Hush, brother,” Michael says. “Not yet.”

As if that’s all it takes, Cal stills. He sighs deeply but doesn’t wake.

I hear my mother moving until she’s standing in front of us, as if she can block Michael from Cal and me. If I know anything about her, she’ll try. I can’t allow that to happen.

“What an odd place this is,” Michael says again to the town. “On the outside, it looks like everywhere else. You go through your lives, day by day. Some of you pray. Some of you don’t. Some of you have damaged faith. Some of you have too much. Some of you have lied and stolen. All of you have hurt someone unintentionally. Some of you have done so with malicious intent. There is deceit and heartache and anger and selfishness. There is rampant sin. There are actions that go against my Father. I know, because I have looked. Since I have become aware of this place, I have looked. This place is no different than anywhere else in the world as far as I can see. There are secrets here that would destroy others if they got out. But you still all live here. In this town. This… Roseland. What is it about this place? And about this boy?”

His gaze rolls over the crowd. “One day, all of you will stand before your Creator and you will be judged for how you lived your life. On whether or not you showed kindness and compassion. On the purpose of your being and how you fit into my Father’s design. I wonder, though… here, now, if this will be your defining moment? Prayers are always heard, whether they are answered or not. Every day. Every person. Every single one. They aren’t all answered, not even the majority of them. But there’s a fundamental difference between saying a prayer and praying. One is recitation, the other comes from your soul. And in this church… I heard nothing but souls. Every single person here, and on the street outside, did not pray for themselves. You did not make personal requests. You thought about those of yours who you have loved and lost, and you bowed your heads. You prayed for an angel and a boy. For them to never be parted. Why is that?”

“Because they’re ours,” a voice says, sure and strong. I pull away from Cal and look out onto the nave. The crowd sighs as it shifts, the whispers picking up again.

Nina steps forward until she reaches the small steps to the altar. Michael looks down at her, a curious expression on his face, his white wings twitching as he stares down at the small woman before him.

“Are they?” he asks her kindly. “And why is that, child?”

“Because we’ve been the ones who have tried to hold them together when they started to break,” Nina says.

Rosie steps forward. “We’ve been the ones who held on when they shattered anyway, trying to hold the pieces together as best we could.”

Doc Heward raises his voice. “We’ve been the ones who swept up the pieces and put them back together.”

My Aunt Mary moves to stand by her sister. “And they did the same for us. Every day. They did the same for us. You asked why. The answer is because we could. We chose to do it.”

“Not all of you,” the archangel says. “Not all of you chose this. Some of you chose a dark path instead. Some of you chose pain and anger. Some of you chose yourselves over the good of your people.”

“And they’re all gone now,” Nina says, hanging her head. “Even Christie.”

“Even Christie,” Michael echoes. He steps off the altar, toward Nina. The crowd takes a few steps back, pressing into one another as they try to move away from Michael. They’re in awe, yes, but they’re also scared of him. I can’t blame them. He’s accused them all of sin while also telling them they’ve done something he’s never seen before. It’s intimidating.

He stands before Nina and brushes the knuckles of his right hand over her cheek. “You know,” he tells her, “none of what happened was your fault, child.”

“Then whose fault was it?” she asks, her voice cracking. “If your Father is who you say he is, then why does he let such things happen? Why does he let us hurt? Why would he take people away from us? Away from each other?”

Michael doesn’t answer her. He’s waiting for something. He’s waiting.

For me.

“Sacrifice,” I say. The crowd turns its attention back to me. “It all comes down to sacrifice.” I step toward Michael. My mother immediately goes to Cal’s side. She holds onto his arm as he starts to jerk again.

“Yes,” Michael says, still watching my aunt. “Always.”

“Well, then, there is only one explanation,” Nina says.

“And what is that?”

She pulls her shoulders back and narrows her eyes defiantly. “Your Father is a bastard,” she says. “He takes what he wants, and he’s a bastard for it.”

The crowd moans. Mary tries to pull her sister away, but Nina shakes loose. She crosses her arms over her chest and refuses to move.

Michael looks amused. “Is that so?” he asks.

“Yes,” she spits out. “We give and we give and we give. We give all that we have, and it never seems to be enough. For every moment of happiness we have, there are always two things more that threaten to take it away. For every good, there is evil. For every love, there is hate.”

“Everything needs its opposite,” Michael tells her gently. “It creates order. Balance in the chaos.”

“F*ck your balance!” she cries at him. Startled, he takes a step back. “F*ck every part of it! We’ve had those we love taken from us so unfairly. We’ve survived everything that has been thrown at us. It’s time we got something back in return. No more sacrifice. Not today.”

He gapes at her. “Child, do you know who you speak to?”

“Do you?” she retorts.

“Nina,” I say quietly. “It’s okay. I can’t let him stay here. I can’t let him die.”

Her eyes fill with tears. She rushes past Michael and up the steps to the altar, throwing herself at me. I catch her in my arms and bring her close. I don’t know how much time I have left. “You listen to me,” I whisper harshly in her ear. “This will hurt. This will break us, but we’ve been broken before. We can put ourselves together again.” I try to say more, but my words feel like lies.

“Okay,” she cries softly. “Okay.”

“My Father is not a cruel being,” Michael says to the town. “I don’t pretend to know why he does everything he does. But I choose to believe there is a purpose to all things.” He turns to face me and takes the short steps back to the altar… and moves past me.

“Calliel,” he says, standing before the guardian. “Are you ready?”

As if waiting for this, Cal opens his eyes. I want to go to him, but I can’t move. I can’t even take a breath. I’ve made the only choice I could. I am sending him home.

“It’s time to go,” the archangel says.

“No,” Cal croaks. “I won’t. I won’t leave. I won’t leave them. Roseland. All of them. And him. I will never leave him. Go now, brother. Leave.”

Michael glares at him, his patience seeming to wear thin. “You realize,” he says, “that I could wipe out this town and its people with a single thought? I could send wave after wave of those things Benji calls the Strange Men here to burn this place to the ground.” His eyes turn black. “I am an archangel, one of the Firsts. I am the leader of On High, and you do not get to make demands of me, guardian.” Even though no real physical change overcomes him, his aura is something palpable and dark. It’s like he’s grown ten feet taller without even moving.

The people of Roseland shrink back.

“No,” Cal says, trying to sit up. A grimace of pain shadows his eyes. My mother tries to hold him down, but he’s too strong for her. I find myself moving before I can even think about it. I’m at his side only for a second before he shoves me away roughly. His eyes are only for his brother. “I won’t leave. Not now. Not ever.”

“Cal,” I choke out. “You can’t. You can’t do this for me.”

He ignores me. “Michael—”

Michael’s wings flash brightly as they snap open. A blazing halo appears above his head as he roars at me. People in the crowd scream, but they do not try to leave. If anything, they surge forward, pushing their way in between Michael and me. They form a circle around Cal and me, and while their eyes are alight with fear, and while their chests heave with ragged breaths, they don’t back down. They don’t move.

“This is our town,” Rosie growls at him. “And Benji and Cal belong to us. Cal is not yours. Not anymore.”

And as quickly as it came, the white lights around Michael fade away. His wings settle. His halo disappears. His eyes lighten. “This town,” he says as he chuckles ruefully.

And then it all comes charging back. His wings snap out to their full length. They flash a blinding light. The halo spins furiously. He rocks his head back and his mouth falls open, the cords in his neck straining against his skin. A great wind begins to rush over us all. The crowd around me tightens its circle, and Cal presses his head against my stomach. I wrap my arms around his head and hold him tight. My fingers brush over the groove caused by the bullet, and I know how close it was. I know how close this is now. “Until the very end,” I whisper.

The lights fade.

The winds die.

The crowd breathes around me.

Michael sighs.

“What did he say?” I ask him. “I know you just spoke to him. What did he say?”

The crowd parts as Michael walks toward us. I grip Cal tighter. He digs his fingers into my skin as Michael approaches, dragging his wings along the floor. He stops in front of me, glancing between Cal and myself. “I was tested,” he says roughly. He looks pale.

“Did you pass?”

“I don’t know.” He looks down at his hands. “We don’t always know the answers right away. Sometimes we never know. Things… things are changing. He….” Michael trails off, looking unsure.

“He what?”

“He has a message for you.”

Goose bumps break out over my arms, and I swallow past the lump in my throat. “What did he say?”

I have faith. I have faith. I have faith.

“He said… he said he wants you to know that those we love are never really gone.” Michael closes his eyes. “We may not get to see them like we used to, and we may not even remember what they sound like, but they will always be with us. Do you understand?”

My mother and some others around me begin to weep openly. Mary puts her arm around my mother’s shoulders and whispers quietly in her ear. “I understand,” I tell him. “Do you?” I don’t believe the message was meant for just me.

Michael’s eyes are bright when he opens them. “I think I do,” he says.

I nod. “Is that it?”

He looks down at Cal. “No,” he says softly. “Everything is changing.”

“Then we face it,” I tell him. “We face it head-on and we don’t look back.”

“I think I can see it now,” he says, raising his gaze to mine. “Why he chose you.”

I shake my head. “I’m nothing. I’m no one. I’m just one person.”

“No, Benji. You are so much more. You have changed the course of Heaven.” He takes a step back and closes his eyes, tilting his head back and taking a deep breath. “Brothers! I call to thee!”

There’s nothing at first, and it gives me time to panic, knowing, just knowing that Michael has called for reinforcements, that he’s going to take Cal away while others descend upon Roseland, destroying everyone and everything in their path

Then there are bright flashes of gold and purple and black. The people of Roseland cry out as they raise their hands to cover their eyes. I hold Cal against me, refusing to let go. If this is to be our last moment, then I want it to be with him.

The lights fade. I open my eyes.

Three more angels stand before me, next to Michael. The first is a fierce-looking man with black wings and black hair. He’s bigger than Cal, even, almost as big as my father was. He has a scowl on his face as he looks around the church, his dark eyes flashing in what looks like anger. He appears to be dressed for battle, his chest heavily plated in armor, gauntlets on his wrists. A sheathed sword hangs at his side. “Raphael,” Michael greets him.

He turns to the next man, who is slender and gorgeous. His hair is a cascade of blond curls, his eyes bright blue. His golden wings appear smaller than those of his counterparts, but he makes up for it with a wicked twist of a grin. My heart thumps lightly in my chest, an observance of true beauty and nothing more. “David,” Michael says.

The last man is staring interestedly at me and Cal. When he catches me staring at him, he gives a little wave, a big smile adorning his face, revealing even teeth. He brushes a lock of his long white hair out of his face and flutters his bright purple wings. Earrings that look like they’re made of stone hang from his ears. “Gabriel,” Michael says.

Oh f*ck. More archangels.

My eyes get wider at each name mentioned, and Cal gets more tense. He starts to pull himself up. I try to stop him, but he ignores me. He leans on me, putting one arm over my shoulders, wrapping the other around his middle, holding his stomach as he grimaces. It’s obvious he’s trying to push himself between me and the other angels.

“Well, this is certainly new,” Raphael grumbles, looking pissed off.

“It’s better than appearing in a vision surrounded by fire,” David says, looking at all the people who are watching him. He preens a bit for the crowd. “That usually scares everyone off.”

“I think it’s just you,” Gabriel says. “People like seeing me.” He starts shaking hands with everyone around him. Rosie looks dumbfounded as purple feathers brush over her face. Nina laughs in unfettered delight.

“What have you done?” Raphael accuses Michael.

Michael snorts. “It wasn’t me. You can trust me on that. Benji did it.”

All their eyes turn to me. “Uh. What did I do?” I ask them nervously.

“Changed the shape of things,” Michael says, though he doesn’t sound upset, just resigned. “Calliel will be the first, but surely others will follow. You are more, Benji, than the sum of your parts.”

“The first what?” Cal asks.

“The first to be given a choice,” Michael says.

“The big guy upstairs must be getting old,” David says, sounding bored. “He’s lost his marbles.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Maybe he just knows something we don’t.”

David rolls his eyes. “I think that’s a given.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Raphael says. “A war is coming. The longer we’re gone, the further behind we get.”

“Patience,” Michael says. “We don’t even know if it will be our war yet to fight.”

“You may have forgotten Metatron,” Raphael snarls at him, “but I haven’t. I know what our brother is capable of. He’s a ruthless bastard who thinks he’s a god. His corruption will soon overflow and spill into the rest of the worlds. You have missed news from the front lines, Michael. The Split One has crossed into Metatron’s field. Even Father himself cannot say what will happen. The timetable has shifted. This is different from all the times that it has happened before. You know it is. Its own Firsts won’t be able to stop It again. The seventh time will be the last.”

“We wait,” Michael says firmly, even as he pales further. “We agreed to wait. To give them all time. But you are right. We must return.”

They all turn to look at Cal and me. The people of Roseland try to crowd in front of us again.

“Calliel,” Michaels says. “You are to be given a choice. You may return to On High and continue to be the guardian angel of Roseland. The people and everyone in the town will be yours as your duty dictates. It is the reason you were made, and these people are your responsibility. Father will be there, as he’s always been.”

“Or?” he asks.

“Or,” Michael says slowly, “you may choose to stay. You will no longer be an angel. You will be human. Your halo and wings will be stripped. You will no longer be able to return to On High. You will age. You will bleed. You will get sick. Eventually, you will die. How you live your life from here on out will determine what happens then. Another angel will be assigned to Roseland, though it won’t be given priority. Our resources are stretched thin as it is. There may be times Roseland will not be guarded, though I know not of Father’s plans for this place during those times.”

“What’s the catch?” I ask even as my heart begins to race. There has to be one. It can’t be that easy.

Michael watches me with shrewd eyes. “Calliel will not be able to speak to our Father for as long as he lives. Even in prayer, even in the quietest moments, our Father will not be there.”

“You bastards,” I whisper. “Oh, you f*cking bastards. I’ve already made the choice!”

None of the archangels flinch. “We are tested,” Michael says. “Always. That was yours, to show you could know the true meaning of sacrifice. My Father has seen your heart, Benjamin Green. He has seen it well. Your time is done. This is meant for Calliel.”

I turn to Cal. His eyes are closed, his lips drawn in a thin line. His jaw is tense. My nose rubs his cheek, the red stubble prickling wonderfully against my skin. I know what his Father means to him. I know the way he ached at being cut off from him after he fell from On High. I know the pain he carries with him at the loss of the one who made him. I know better than anyone else. I know because of the choice I almost made sitting next to the river with my own father. I know the feeling of separation. Of loss.

I could beg him to stay. I could whisper in his ear how much I love him. I could plead with my eyes that I am nothing without him. But I can’t. It’s not my choice. I can’t tell him what I want, because it’s not about me. It’s about him. It’s all up to him. I won’t blame him, no matter what decision he makes. His Father means more to him than I ever could. I know because of what Big Eddie is to me. It’s impossible, this choice. It’s improbable.

Part of me wants him to go, just like I said.

There’s another part, though, one that rises within me. Another part that whispers, Oh, my heart. Oh, my soul. Please stay. Please stay with me. Don’t let me go.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he turns and brushes his lips against mine. An arc of electricity shoots down my spine at the subtle scrape of his mouth. He leans his forehead to mine and opens his dark eyes. They are endless. I try to smile. It doesn’t work.

“If my Father is what I must sacrifice,” the angel Calliel says, “if that is what he asks of me, then so be it. I choose humanity. I choose Roseland. I choose these people.” He kisses me again as a tear slides down my cheek. “I choose you, Benjamin Edward Green. I will always choose you.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Is this what you want? Your Father… you can’t just give that up. It’s not fair. He’s your home. You can’t do this. Just for me. You can’t. I’m not—”

“No,” he breathes. “This is my home. These people are my home. This place. And you. Benji, I do it for you, but I do it more for myself. I do it because I can finally make my own choice.” He pulls away from me, and I almost whimper at the loss. He turns to face his brothers. “I choose to stay,” he says, his voice clear and strong. “I choose to stay, for I am home. Father, I am home.”

Michael nods tightly. “Brothers,” he commands, “it’s time.”

Cal takes a step away from me, and the crowd around us clears. The archangels surround him, like the corners to a square. Cal bows his head and brings his folded hands to his chest. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

The angels hold out their arms toward each other, completing the square. Their wings snap open wide. Halos appear over each of their heads, Cal’s the brightest of all. It glows with such a fierce blue light it takes my breath away. I almost want to stop them, to end this. He’s giving up everything he is. And for what? Me?

You are everything, my father whispers. Impossibly, improbably, you are everything. To me. To your mother. To him. I’ve taught you, boy. I’ve taught you true. Now it’s time to stand and accept what is yours. He has made his choice. And you both will be loved for as long as you live and beyond.

Big Eddie is right. He always is. Cal is my responsibility.

And I will cherish him.

I hold myself tall, ignoring the aches and pains, the sweat on my brow. I don’t turn away from the lights growing brighter here in the church. The crowd around me begins to back up again, trying to get some distance from the air that starts to swirl around the five angels. Cal still has his head bowed, and he’s moving his lips. The archangels upturn their heads and close their eyes. “O, Lord,” the archangels say as one, “hear our prayer.”

Everything explodes in vibrant color, as if the church is in a kaleidoscope. Many fall to their knees in veneration. There are tears on almost everyone’s faces, but they’re ones of joy, of rapture. They are witnessing a miracle, here, in our little town, and they cannot look away.

And here, at the end, I show you the humanizing of the guardian angel Calliel.

The roaring wind gets louder, the lights almost impossible to look at given their brightness. Cal drops his hands to his sides and his head falls back. When his eyes open, they’re glowing white, as if he’s alight from within. His wings extend completely and he rises from the ground, his toes dragging against the carpet and then lifting off completely. He continues to rise until he’s level with the stained-glass image of St. Jude Novena. His halo spins impossibly fast. His body is arched so far back it looks painful. His hands and feet fan out, each digit straining.

And then a soft light comes from St. Jude Novena, as if the window itself is emitting the glow. The colors of the stained glass refract and pour out onto Cal as he starts to spasm. The wind whips through my hair as I take a step forward toward the archangels, my eyes never leaving Calliel above me. Someone tries to stop me, tries to pull me back by my hand, but I shake loose and continue forward.

It starts with his wings.

The tips of his wings begin to fall away, like they’re crumbling and turning to a bright azure dust, pulled into the storm that rages inside the church. Cal’s mouth falls open in a silent scream as his wings dissolve further. His halo begins to expand, growing larger and larger until it’s wider around than he is. For a moment, I think the center of the halo will go black, and he’ll be sucked into the black for choosing this world over his Father. I think this whole thing has been God’s great joke upon us, one last punch in the gut before he sends my whole world crashing down.

But it doesn’t happen. Cal’s wings have dissolved completely, and blue light fills the church as the crumbled feathers are sucked up with the wind, catching a downdraft and falling toward me. I close my eyes as the dust hits my face and rolls down my body. All the pain in my body is soothed, and I feel him there, in me, in my head and heart. I feel the connection with his mind. He’s scared now, scared of what’s happening, scared he won’t be able to keep me happy. He has doubts, and they’re such a human thing that my breath catches in my throat. But the one thing he does not doubt is me. The one thing he does not regret is becoming human.

Even as I heal and feel him within me completely, I press back toward him and the dust rises again, caught in an updraft, flying up toward him. It travels around his body, wrapping around him front and back, rising up until it passes over his head. He spasms again as it leaves him, clenching his hands to fists at his sides, snapping his head back and forth. I cry out, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. What remains of his feathers spins above his head and shoots through the halo. Nothing appears out the other side. Once the blue dust is gone, the halo shrinks back in on itself, collapsing until it falls into nothing. The light of St. Jude Novena fades away. Cal is lowered from the ceiling, the winds beginning to die as he descends. Weak blue light circles him, and all I can think of is how he first came to me, a flash of fire falling from the sky.

His body relaxes as he floats toward the ground, spinning until he’s facedown. He lands on the floor on his knees in the middle of the archangels, and they sigh as one and step back. The wind is gone. The lights are gone. His wings are gone. His eyes are closed, and he takes short, shallow breaths, the only sound in the quiet church. He collapses on his hands, his head bent toward the floor of the church. He twists over and lies down on his back.

I take a hesitant step forward. “Cal?” I whisper. I reach him and drop to my knees, my hands shaking as I reach out to touch him. I let my fingers trail over his face. “Cal?”

He opens his eyes. “Benji,” he says, his dark eyes filling with wonder. “I feel… different.”

I worry. “Different good or different bad?”

“Different different.”

“Do you hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“My heart,” he says, reaching up to touch my cheek. I nuzzle into the palm of his hand. “It’s never been like this. I never thought it could be like this. It aches, but it’s so good. It’s better than anything.”

I understand, I think. He’s not sick. He’s not in pain. He’s not wounded. His heart aches because he’s human. It aches because it’s full. “You’re home,” I tell him gently, leaning down to kiss him once. He wraps his arms around me and holds me down against him, my face in his neck.

“You still hurt?” he asks me hoarsely.

“No. Your feathers. They… helped me too.”

“I asked him for that.”

“Asked who?”

“My Father. Benji, I saw my Father. I spoke with him. I walked with him.”

Michael crouches down on his knees, staring down at us, a quizzical look on his face. “Father spoke to you?” he asks carefully. The other archangels look just as interested.

“Yes,” Cal said.

“What did he say?”

Cal sighs. “He told me there was no one such as me in the world and that I belong to him. He told me he’ll believe in me, always. He told me he’ll miss me every day we’re apart, but that one day, I would see him again.”

I close my eyes to keep from breaking.

Michael sighs. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to understand him.”

“Highly unlikely,” David snorts. “I doubt any of us will.”

“No matter,” Gabriel says. “What’s done is done and can’t be undone.” He blushes for a moment as Michael glares at him. I wonder at it, but don’t ask.

“This is just the beginning,” Raphael says, looking disgusted. “Wait until On High hears what Father did for Calliel. We’re going to be losing angels left and right! How the hell can we be expected to win this war if we have no one left to fight should we be called to do so?”

Michael stands as I help Cal to his feet. “It doesn’t matter,” Michael says, looking up at St. Jude. “Father has made his decision. The design has changed. If others choose to fall, then it will be done. We have to put faith in him that he knows what he’s doing. He would not have made this decision now if he didn’t think we could survive.” He looks back to us. “If the time calls for it, Calliel, I may ask you to stand with us. I pray it doesn’t come to that. But in case it does, I will come for you again.”

I feel cold as I grip his hand tightly. “Not without me, you won’t,” I snap at Michael. “He’s mine now. He goes, I go.”

“Benji—”

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

He nods, unable to meet my eyes.

“Will it be soon?” Nina asks suddenly. I’d forgotten that all of Roseland surrounds us. I look out over the crowd. They look dazed and tired, confused and elated. Exactly how I feel.

Michael looks at her. “What was that, child?”

“Your war,” she says. “Is it coming soon?”

The other three archangels share glances. Michael doesn’t look away from Nina. I wonder what he sees in her. I wonder if he knows she is different, in the best sense of the word. “I don’t know, little one,” he says finally, his wings drooping. “I think so.”

“Will you fight? All of you?”

“If we’re called to. If there’s no other hope.” The other archangels nod.

“There’s always hope,” she insists. “There is always hope, and you must remember that. You are not alone in this.”

Michael’s eyes widen as he takes a step back. “Where did you hear….” He shakes his head. “This town,” he mutters. “What is it about this town? Who are you people?”

No one answers.

“Michael,” Raphael growls. “It’s time to leave.”

“It’s been… interesting,” David says, tipping a salute at us.

Gabriel surprises me by rushing over and pulling me into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For allowing us to choose. Maybe one day when this is over, I can find my own redheaded daddy.” He kisses me on the cheek, and I gape at him as he prances away.

Then only Michael stands before me, and I can’t yet tell how I feel about him. “Good-bye,” I say finally, unable to think of anything else.

He nods. “Benji,” he says. He turns to Cal. “I hope you don’t live to regret this.”

Cal leans over and kisses my forehead as I help him to his feet, then rubs his nose against my scalp. “Even if I do,” he says, his lips against my skin, “I will remember this moment, because this moment will have made it all worth it.”

“I’m sure it will,” Michael says slowly. He turns and walks back to his brothers, and then he looks out at the crowd. “Keep him safe,” he calls out gruffly. “Or you’ll answer to me.”

And with that, the world explodes in color, and the angels are gone.

Silence falls over the church again as everyone seems to hold their breath at once.

It is Nina (always and forever Nina) who speaks first. “This has been the strangest start to a summer I’ve ever seen,” she says, looking around. “I wonder what will happen next year?”

And with that, the dam breaks and the crowd surges up to me and Cal, and there is love, and there are tears. There is laughter, handshakes, and hugs. There are moments of breathtaking joy. These are my people. This is my town. This is my home. And for the first time in a very long time, it feels complete once more.