giant church, and none of us knows why?” Lucy summed up. “Is that it?”
“One of us knows why,” Cecilia croaked, her voice getting hoarse from the dusty dampness.
“Knows what?” Sebastian said, emerging from the darkness.
“Eavesdropping?” Lucy asked.
“No need,” Sebastian said. “I’m surprised they didn’t hear that catfight outside.”
“So, what was it?” Agnes asked.
“A huge tree snapped in half, pushed through one of the windows. Glass everywhere. I did the best I could to board it up. You can’t keep it outside forever.”
“The storm?” Lucy asked.
Sebastian was once again silent.
“We were just asking each other how we all wound up here,” Agnes added calmly. “None of us has a clue.”
“How about you?” Lucy asked.
Sebastian sat down in their grouping.
“Me and this place go way back,” he began. “I was an altar boy here when I was a kid.”
“Overshare!” Lucy gulped.
“Nothing like that,” Sebastian pushed back. “I learned a lot about myself here.”
“Is that why you know your way around so well?” Cecilia asked.
“Sort of,” he said haltingly. “My grandmother raised me and used to bring me here on Sundays. When she died a few years ago, I stopped coming.”
“Did you lose your faith or something?” Agnes asked.
“No, I think maybe some other people lost theirs.”
“Have you been on your own since then?”
“I got bounced around to a few foster homes in the neighborhood, but that didn’t last long.”
Sebastian was clearly uncomfortable revealing details of his personal life.
“Well, we’re all here now,” CeCe observed.
Agnes was settling down but Sebastian could see she was still pale and shaky. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.
“No,” she said.
He walked over to her pew, helped her up, and moved her to the back of the church where he sat down next to her, leaving Lucy and Cecilia alone together.
“That was convenient,” Lucy whispered to CeCe as Sebastian led Agnes away. “She’s really working that whole little miss vulnerable thing, and he’s totally falling for it. Well, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“His life is really none of our business, and vice versa,” Cecilia whispered. “Once the storm passes, we’ll go back to our lives like none of this ever happened.”
“Yeah, but all I’m saying is the altar boy thing sounds a little shady,” Lucy pressed. “I think he lives here and he’s too embarrassed to say it.”
“So what if he does?”
“I hate wasted potential. He’s smart, cool, amazing-looking. The sky is the limit,” Lucy said.
“Not everybody wants what you want. Maybe he’s got other plans for himself. Better things than just getting his picture in the paper or on some blogger’s home page.”
“Like what? Playing dives and pretending to be happy?” Lucy railed snidely. “We live in a headline world and he’s a headline guy. In fact, he kind of reminds me of myself. The things I like, anyway.”
“Are you bipolar or something?” CeCe rasped.
“Tell me you don’t feel that way too?” Lucy asked. “He’s sensitive with Agnes, inspiring with you, reassuring with me. He doesn’t even know us but he knows what we want. What we need.”
“Your theories are making me tired.” Cecilia yawned, standing. “Besides, why do you care?”
“I don’t really. . . . But I do,” Lucy said. “Don’t you?”
Cecilia went silent as they walked toward a pew at the front of the church, sneaking peeks back at Sebastian comforting Agnes.
“Yeah, I guess I do,” she admitted.
“Whatever. It will be a good story someday,” Lucy said, putting her “promotional cap” on, as she was trained to do in difficult situations. “Maybe he’s just a religious fanatic or a Bible-banger or something.”
“I really hope not.”
“Why?”
CeCe flashed a smile.
“I don’t do Bible-bangers.”
“I bet you do.” Lucy laughed.
“We’re in a church for Christ’s sake,” Cecilia said, feigning indignance.
“Look who’s talking,” Lucy reminded her.
Cecilia felt her knees buckle slightly. “I don’t know what it is but my head is spinning. I need to chill for a while.”
“Okay, yeah,” Lucy agreed, her head still smarting. “I‘m not feeling like myself either.”
“I think you need some sleep,” Cecilia said. “We all do.”
CECILIA’s DREAM
Cecilia rose just before dawn.
She was alone.
Dressed in an elaborate garnetencrusted bodice and long, off-white, intricately ruffled gown, the entire ensemble sacked loosely in black chiffon. Her hair was teased a little, held in an updo by a supple, thorny vine. Her lips were white, like her skin, slightly powdered over. Her cheeks were etched in a deep rose color and her eyes were smoky and dark. She looked like a work of art, more palette than person.
The first wave of panic since she arrived surged through