A Season of Angels Page 0,53

came from the bottom of a tin drum. He raced back to the table, skidding to a stop. "When are we going to get our Christmas tree? I was talking to George, he's the kid who showed me how to beat Laser Man, and his family's already got theirs, and you know what? They went to this farm, but this isn't the kind with cows and pigs, this is a farm with Christmas trees. And guess what?" he asked, dragging in a deep breath. "They cut it down themselves. We could do that, couldn't we, Mom?"

"Ah . . ." Jody wasn't sure how she'd manage chopping down a tree, but she was up to the challenge. "I'll see if I can find out about the tree farm."

"I know where there's one," Glen volunteered. "It's a ways north, but if you wanted, the three of us could make a day of it. We'll leave early Saturday morning, get the tree, and then decorate it in the afternoon."

"That'd be great," Timmy said, so pleased he could barely stand still.

"How does that sound to you?" Glen asked, looking expectantly at her. What else could she say? Little by little Glen was easing his way into their lives. Jody was uneasy with that, and at the same time eager.

"It sounds like a lot of fun."

Glen's eyes met hers and a slow, satisfied smile started to form.

Monica's fingers bounced against the keyboard like clumps of hail hitting the sidewalk. Her hands kept pace with her thoughts, which sped at a record hundred words or more a minute.

She'd been stunned by what Chet had said to her. So shocked she hadn't had time to react. Not then. Reaction had set in later that evening as she rode the bus home. She'd tossed and turned most of the night, her indignation scaling previously unreached thresholds of fury.

Chet Costello was everything she'd originally assumed. He was much worse than she, in her innocence, had suspected. Egotistical, untrustworthy, why, the man was a blight on decency.

He'd planned to seduce her, to break down her defenses and use her body for his own selfish satisfaction. As if she'd have allowed such a thing! As soon as he realized she would have nothing more to do with him, he couldn't be rid of her fast enough. Without a qualm he'd cast her aside like so much dirty laundry.

The one glitch in his plan was that he hadn't expected her to be a virgin. As if she were the kind of woman who'd fall into bed with him! And to think she'd actually been - it pained her to admit this - attracted to that scoundrel.

Thank heaven her father was away for the morning. To think she'd actually toyed with the idea of introducing Chet to her father, of bringing him into their family home. That would have been a disaster. Her father had always been an excellent judge of character and he would have seen through Chet in an instant.

Monica drew in a deep, wobbly breath as her resentment flared bright and then slowly burned itself out. She covered her face with both hands and attempted to pull herself together, which was difficult when she was shaking so badly.

After several moments had passed, Monica straightened, grabbed the sheet from the printer, and crumpled it. Having vented her feelings, there was no need to mail the letter. Any further communication between them whatsoever was completely unnecessary. Her hand automatically reached for the mustard-seed necklace dangling from her neck, fingering it. She'd worn the piece every day since Chet had bought it for her, until it had become habit.

Chet had made his views on life plain. If anything she should be grateful that he'd put an end to this madness when he had. One small part of her, however, refused to conform. One small rebellious corner of her soul yearned for the discoveries he would have shown her.

The thought terrified Monica into accepting how far she'd slid toward sin.

Well, she was safe. He was out of her life now. Good riddance was all she could say.

A knock came softly from the outer door.

"Come in," she snapped, then realized she sounded like an old shrew, and said it again, softer this time. Church secretaries weren't supposed to be confrontational.

Michael opened the door and stepped inside. "Hello, Monica."

"Hello," she said, tossing the crumpled-up letter into the wastebasket.

"Your father said I'd find you here." He stepped into the office, his stance doubtful. His gaze hesitantly met