Father Hagen tapped his forehead lightly and grinned. “I wish I could’ve helped her. That’s all.”
Each man stood with arms crossed, hovering between the church and its basement. Apollo found himself choking down a surge of anger. He wished he could’ve helped her? All the people to sympathize with in Apollo’s family and he chose Emma? But okay, fine fine fine, no point in arguing with the man. Just get on with life.
Apollo took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “I’m going to need you to sign this,” he said. “For my parole.”
Father Hagen took the sheet and scanned it. “I’ll be happy to, but why don’t we do it after the meeting?”
Father Hagen moved to the bottom of the stairs. “We host the Survivors at least four or five times a year, so I’ve become friends with Alice. As we were planning when they’d come through again, she mentioned you’d been at the last meeting at the library. I begged her to come here this week, even though I think they had plans to meet downtown. I wanted to meet you face-to-face and say again how sorry I am that I couldn’t have been more help to your family.”
Now Father Hagen opened a heavy door and waved Apollo through.
They entered a large community room. Holyrood served coffee and snacks after mass down here. Birthday parties and communion parties were held, and voting machines were brought in for local and national elections. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings they ran a soup kitchen in the basement—the line ran out the door and partway down the block. But this afternoon it was reserved for the Survivors. More than a dozen chairs, more than a dozen Survivors this time. Fifteen. Sixteen now that Apollo had arrived.
As Father Hagen entered the room, a small older woman approached him, whispering.
“We’ll talk about that later,” he said softly. “I promise.”
Alice caught Apollo’s eye and waved him toward an empty chair. The old guy with the graying beard was there. His name was Julian, and he lived in the Bronx. Apollo recognized a few others, but not all of them. It didn’t matter. He’d been new last week, and now it was their turn.
“I want to welcome all the new arrivals,” Alice said when they finally began. “I’m happy you were able to find us today. I know I changed the location pretty last minute.”
A middle-aged woman—new arrival—sitting two places away from Apollo raised her hand slightly. “I found out from the Facebook page,” she said. “My therapist told me about the group.”
“Oh good,” Alice said. “Have you become a member? Or is it a fan? When I put together the page, I think I did it wrong. Who wants to be a fan of the Survivors?”
Julian raised one hand. “I’m a fan.”
Alice smiled. “Thanks, Julian. I’m a fan, too.” Then she looked around the room. “I’m Alice, by the way. I forgot to introduce myself. And…sir?”
Another new arrival, paunchy guy in his fifties, had slipped his phone out of his pants, his eyes glazed as he tapped the screen. He looked up at Alice.
“No phones during meeting,” she said coolly.
He showed her the screen. “Sorry! I figured I’d become a fan right now.” He looked around at the group. “If I don’t do it right away I’ll forget.” He tapped the screen once more, then slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Sorry.”
Alice leaned toward him. “Thanks for doing that. I appreciate it. Why don’t we go around the room now and introduce ourselves? You don’t have to speak, but we’d love to get to know you. If you’re here, then you’re a Survivor, too.”
The middle-aged woman spoke again, more of a mumble that wasn’t heard. “Since my daughter went off I’ve been having a hard time.”
—
“My father used to read to me when I was a baby,” Apollo said.
What was he talking about? What did this have to do with Emma’s crime? His recovery?
“?‘When Papa was away at sea,’?” Apollo recited. He went on from there, reciting the words up until Ida had her back to the baby and the goblins—small, faceless creatures wearing purple cloaks—sneak in through an open window.
He stopped here for a moment, because he’d lost his breath. In his pocket his phone vibrated twice. He didn’t bother checking it. He looked around the group. They’d been down here talking for fifty minutes.
“It’s a Maurice Sendak book,” Apollo said.
“Where the Wild Things Are?” Julian asked. “That guy?”
“That’s him. But this one isn’t as sweet. It’s called Outside Over There.”
“Why’d he read you that one?” Alice asked. “Even the little bit you recited sounds frightening. No one is watching the baby.”
The whole room took on a certain stillness then. Maybe they were all considering the implications of what Alice had just said. Apollo certainly did.
No one is watching the baby.
Each person in the room had his or her own sadness to inhabit. The group fell into a meditative state, silence and prayers.
Then Apollo’s phone rattled again in his pocket, and he shot up straight even though he had the sound off. He looked around, damn near stricken, but no one seemed to notice. The phone rumbled again. And again. Not a phone call but a series of texts. Apollo looked at Alice, whose eyes were shut, as she did some kind of breathing exercise in her chair.
While he watched her, Apollo slipped his phone from his pocket. He held it in the palm of his hand, down by his thigh. Four texts appeared on the screen, one after the next:
Already found buyer for book!
Wanted to talk price in person.
Told him you were at church.
Make the sale.
Apollo didn’t have time to wonder how the hell Patrice knew he’d be here. Now he scanned the room trying to figure out if one of these people was this buyer. He hoped not. Imagine talking so much personal history before trying to make a sale. He wished Patrice had just done the haggling himself. But if Dana called Lillian over to keep Apollo alive, then this must’ve been Patrice’s way of doing the same. The meeting had gone on for fifty-five minutes at this point. Five more and they’d be finished, and then he could call Patrice back.
“I saw my daughter in the computer.”
Talk about whiplash. The voice, and the sentence, caused everyone in the room to make a sharp turn. Apollo felt so surprised, he dropped his phone right there. It landed on its face with a clop. He quickly looked at Alice, who saw it, then glared at him, then looked to see who’d spoken, all within about five seconds.
“I turned on my laptop, and there she was. My baby girl. A picture of her, out in the park with her grandparents.”