Before I Wake (31 page)

“Is there someone who believes strongly enough to be a tool in the hand of the Lord?”

“I—”

“We're looking for a lion, Leo.” He was talking like he hadn't even heard me. “A lion of God, willing to kill or die in the Lord's name.”

My heart began to race.

“It has to be someone strong, someone powerful. Someone strong enough and pure of heart, to fight off the devils who will try to stop them.”

A lion. Leo.

“I could, I could be the lion of God.”

He shook his head. “I couldn't ask that of you. The dangers are too great, I couldn't—”

“You're not asking. I'm offering. I'm offering my life to the Lord.” I stood up taller. “I want to do this. Please? Let me be your lion. Let me do this.”

He nodded. “All right,” he said. He was so proud of me. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“You're willing to be the lion of God?”

“I think God wants me to be. I felt him take my hand when I was throwing that bottle. I think God wants me to be his lion.”

“I think so too.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “In a few hours, it will be Saint Stephen's Day, and we'll go forth. We'll finish this battle with the Barretts.”

KAREN

Simon picked up my plate from the coffee table and stacked it on his own. “Do you want anything else? Coffee?” he asked, standing up.

“Just a fortune cookie.”

He smiled. “Okay. I'll be right back.”

“And bring the wine,” I called after him.

I flushed Sherry's feeding tube while he was gone and tucked her under the covers before looking out the front blinds.

“Should I take them out some leftovers?” Simon asked, coming back into the room.

“There's no one there to eat,” I said, my words misting the glass.

“What?”

I turned to face him. “They're all gone.”

“Maybe they didn't want to miss their turkey dinners.”

He was joking, but there was something unsettling about the sudden absence of the protestors.

“It's kind of strange not having them out there.”

“I could get used to it.”

I didn't know whether I should hope that this might be the end, that maybe they would leave us alone now. I settled for temporary gratitude.

He set the wine on the coffee table and held his hands out toward me, a fortune cookie hidden in each. “Pick one,” he said.

I touched the back of his right hand, and it opened.

I suppressed a laugh as I read. “God, they're getting predictable with these. ‘Fortune favors the bold,'” I read.

“In bed,” Simon added, observing our traditional fortune-cookie game.

“In bed,” I echoed. “Fortune favors the bold in bed.”

“So let's see what I've got.” He broke the remaining cookie. “What the? ‘The only time people prefer crunchy to smooth is in peanut butter.'”

“There's no sensible way to make that dirty.”

“Actually, there's no way to make that sensible.”

He tossed the slip of paper onto the table and crouched beside the tree. “Should we do the presents now? There's actually quite a bit under here.”

“I saved the stuff from my family so we could open them together. Don't get your hopes up, though. I don't think anyone sent you anything.”

“I would imagine.” He sorted the presents into piles. “Did anything come here from my mom?”

I shook my head. “She called from Maui to wish us a merry Christmas, and to tell us that the gifts should be coming in the mail in the next few days.”

“Good old mom.”

“Yeah. I didn't hear from your dad.”

“I did.”

I was stunned. “What? When?”

“I called him.”

I couldn't get over the thought of Simon calling his father, on Christmas no less. “And how was he?”

“The same. Unhappy. Alone.” He sorted through the gifts. “It was good to talk to him, though.”

His voice had dropped as he mentioned his father. I knew how hard it must have been for him to call.

“Shall we open Sherry's first?”

“Sure.” I felt like I'd been opening presents for Sherry for weeks: letters from people too sick to visit the house, parcels from people who had read her story, gifts from people who had been to see her. Every day more packages came from people we had never met: stuffed animals and nighties, children's Bibles and baubles. Now I left the letters in a sack by the bed—I hadn't had time to open them—but I had donated the parcels to a gift drive sponsored by one of the radio stations. I didn't think anyone would mind making a different child happy.

Simon had brought her a CD of children's music by Fred Penner and a collection of picture books. Santa and I had brought her new pajamas and a book by Robert Munsch.

“You've got a lot of reading to do, hon,” I said.

Simon rubbed my back.

“These are nice,” he said, examining the slippers that my mother had sent me while I unwrapped the rest of the gifts from my family. “There's something oddly familiar about them, though.”

“That's because they're exactly the same as the pair she gave me last year.”

“And the year before that,” he added. “Ad infinitum.”

Simon and I kept our packages from each other until the end.

“A harmonica,” he said, turning it over in his hands.

“I thought if you were doing the whole folksinger thing, you might as well go all the way.”

“Thanks,” he said. “This'll irritate the hell out of 314 and 318.”

“So should I open these now?” I asked, looking at the pair of packages marked “from Simon.”

He shrugged. “It's no big deal.”

“Your wrapping's gotten better,” I joked. When we were together, wrapping had always been one of my responsibilities.

“I had them wrapped at the store. More wine?”

I nodded and extended my glass to him. “Is there a special order these should be opened in?”

He shook his head. “Doesn't really matter. But I guess—open the big one first.”

I picked up the package. “This feels suspiciously like a book.”

“Just open it,” he smiled. “No fair guessing.”

I peeled the paper off carefully, revealing a beautiful, soft plum leather binding, tooled with a Celtic design. “It's gorgeous,” I said, cradling it in my hands. It was a slipcover, with a plain sketchbook inside.

“I know how much you love notebooks, but you never use the fancy ones with the good paper. What are you doing, saving them for a rainy day?”

“They're too nice.”

“Exactly. This way you can have a nice notebook that you can actually use.”

“Thank you, Simon. I love it.”

He shrugged, but I could see how pleased he was. “You've got one more,” he pointed out.

I picked up the smaller package and opened it just as carefully, already suspecting its contents. Simon has always had a hard time resisting thematic gifts.

“It's German,” Simon explained as I took the fountain pen from the gift box. “It's got a good weight, doesn't it?”

I nodded, making small circles in the air with the nib.

“Try it,” Simon urged. “I had them fill it before they wrapped it up.”

I looked around for a piece of paper, then sat back as Simon opened the notebook on the table in front of me. “Here,” he said. “That's what it's for.”

The pen laid down a beautiful wet green line. “That's gorgeous, Simon. The ink…”

“I've got the bottle in my jacket pocket.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Just use it,” he said. “The pen and the notebook. I want you to use them. Really use them.”

“Thank you,” I said, leaning in and kissing him quickly on the mouth before I realized what I was doing.

“You've given up so much, lost so much. I was so happy when you told me that you had started writing again. I don't want you to lose that.” His eyes held mine until I nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Karen.”

He stood up.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought I'd clean up this mess,” he said, plucking handfuls of paper from the floor. I turned the notebook over in my hands, feeling the leather warm to my touch.

“This
is
beautiful,” I repeated as he crumpled the paper into the garbage next to Sherry's bed.

“I'm glad you like it,” he said, arranging the teddy bear my brother Steve's family had sent into the crook of Sherry's arm, touching her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I'd like you to stay,” I whispered. I wasn't sure if I had spoken loud enough for him to hear.

He straightened slightly.

I had wanted to say it for a while; the wine made the words a little easier.

He turned away from Sherry to face me.

“Tonight. I'd like you to stay tonight. With me. We can talk about tomorrow in the morning. But—”

He took two steps toward me.

“—I was alone last night. I don't want to be alone tonight.”

For a moment he looked like he was about to launch into a speech. Then our eyes met, and he nodded.

“Fortune favors the bold,” he said, picking up his glass.

LEO

I waited inside Mr. Perkins's van around the corner from the Barretts' house. It smelled like gas, but I liked it. It reminded me of what I was here to do.

I had Sherry's picture from the newspaper in my lap, and I held on to my rosary. I said the Hail Mary over and over again as I stared at the picture.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

I felt sorry for the people they had fooled. Thank God for Father Peter, who saw the truth that the sheep couldn't see. Someone brave enough to do something important. Something to save those too stupid to save themselves.

Blessed art thou among women.

I was so lucky I met him when I did, before I could have my head muddled and confused by meeting the Barretts. Before I had actually knelt by that child of the devil. I would have knelt.

And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

All my life I tried to do what is right. I go to Mass whenever I can. I go to confession. I say a blessing before every meal, and a prayer before I go to sleep. I take care of Mother now that she can't take care of herself.

But this. Tonight. Tonight I will be a lion of God, a warrior, bringing the battle home to those evil enough to try to destroy His children. Tricksters and crooks. Evil. Tonight I will be a lion for God.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

SIMON

In the past few weeks with my family, I had learned to savor the little things; to hold on to the moments of grace as they came. Like walking through the still house with Karen, turning off all the lights except for the Christmas tree in the living room, making sure all the doors and windows were locked.

Like the weight of my daughter in my arms as I carried her up the stairs, as I laid her down in her old bed, close to our room.

Like the warmth of my daughter's skin as I kissed her forehead and whispered, “Good night.”

Like following my wife down the hallway, my body tingling.

Like the momentary pause as we both looked around the bedroom as if seeing it for the first time.

“Do you want to…?” she gestured toward the bathroom.

I shook my head. “You go ahead.”

“I won't take long.” A moment later I heard the water in the sink, the rattling of the hook on the back of the door as she took down her robe. The sounds of our life together.

I let myself sink into the bedside chair and rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes. It was late, but I didn't feel tired. In fact, I felt electric.

The toilet flushed and the door opened and Karen stepped out, her housecoat loosely belted. “I opened a new toothbrush for you. It's on the counter. It's blue.”

I brushed my teeth and washed my face. When I opened the hamper to drop in my dirty shirt, I saw her panties at the top of the pile. They were warm, and soft to the touch.

LEO

No moon. No stars.

No sound.

The lights were off inside the house except for the blinking
Christmas tree. The other faithful had been told to leave. All was still.

Oh holy night.

The witching hour. That's what Mother called it: the witching hour. No good Christian had any business being out at this time of night.

What did she know? This was the holiest time of the night on the holiest night of the year, a time for all good Christians to stand up and be counted, if they were good enough, and true.

I leaned against the van for just a minute, feeling the lion of God inside me trying to get out. I had to remember to slow down, to do everything right, just the way Father Peter told me.

I opened the back door of the van as quietly as I could. I could barely breathe with the stink, but I knew what I had to do.

I zipped my coat up high around my mouth. That's better.

I picked up the gas can.

I didn't shut the van door. I didn't hide or skulk. I walked like a man through the gate, right up to the front door. The gas can was heavy, but not for me. Not for the lion.

The porch light wasn't on. There was no security light, nothing. It was just like Father Peter had said it would be. I felt a little scared as I walked up the ramp, but mostly I felt strong. I felt like I could do anything.

I splashed the door with gas from the can. I tried my best to stay dry, but some of it splashed on my coveralls and the stink filled my nose and made me feel like I might throw up. But I didn't stop. I splashed the walls with gas, up and down, all the way along the flowerbeds and around the corner down the side to the back of the house.

When the can was empty I threw it into the hedge. It didn't matter. It would all be over before anybody found it.