Jake disappears again, and when he emerges he has his keys in one hand and an envelope in the other. He hands me the latter.
I wonder what Dad got developed.
“Was he sober?” I ask, tucking the envelope into my purse.
“Looked sober.”
“You know that’s not the definitive litmus test.”
Jake snorts. “Well, I didn’t sniff him, but he seemed all right.”
I cock an eye. “I’m going to need you to sniff him next time.”
“You’re serious?”
“As an empty grave.”
By the time we get to my place, Dad neither looks nor smells sober.
Neither does the kitchen.
“Dinner at my place?” Jake asks.
Dad’s fallen asleep at the granite island. He’s sitting on a barstool, his hefty upper body sprawled across the countertop, which is littered with beer bottles.
What a waste.
“I don’t think I have an appetite.”
Jake grabs my hand. “Bet I can change your mind.”
And he’s right. Seven minutes later we’re sitting cross-legged on his living room floor with two spoons and a gallon of Tin Roof Sundae. A Portland band, Pink Martini, vibrates through the gigantic speakers next to us. It’s something Latin, something lively, and it’s easy to forget the strain that has me seeing rogue demons on the streets of Stratus.
We talk for hours. He tells me what he’s heard from Canaan: That Henry seems to be in better physical condition. That, as suspected, Olivia is overseeing the charity in his absence, and rumor has it she’ll continue to do so from here on out.
He tells me Canaan hasn’t seen any sign of demonic activity, and I grow more and more certain that the apparition I saw on Main was just that. A phantom of my imagination and nothing more.
The longer we talk, the more relaxed I feel. It’s not sleeping, but being with Jake is the next best thing. When all that remains in the ice cream bucket are the two spoons, I stand and take it to the kitchen. I’ve just dropped the spoons in the sink when the whole house flashes golden yellow. It’s fast, so fast, but I swear I see something in the brightness. Something scarring it. Blackening the corner of the image. I stand and stare, praying for another glimpse.
Nothing.
“Shane & Shane?”
“Huh?” I turn my eyes to Jake’s.
They’re a piercing white. The rest of the house has returned to the Terrestrial, but Jake’s eyes . . . Jake’s eyes retain their celestial glow. When people’s eyes glow white in the Celestial, it means they’ve decided, either consciously or subconsciously, that they’d give their life for the person they gaze upon. That’s the significance of the white eyes staring back at me. Jake would die for me if he had to.
It’s such a disturbing visual against the comparatively mundane, ordinary living room that I yank the halo off my wrist and drop it on the counter. It spins like a top—like Marco’s bottle top—finally settling.
Jake watches it from across the room.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I just . . .”
Is it too much to ask for a normal night? A night without crazy, supernatural stuff happening every time I turn around?
“Need a break from the halo is all.”
He looks at me. His eyes are hazel once again, and full of questions I really don’t want to answer.
“Shane & Shane, you said? ‘May the vision of You be the death of me.’ I love that song. Put it in,” I say.
I raise my eyebrows, nod my head, and do my best to appear normal.
He narrows his eyes, doubtful, but slides the disc in and cranks it up. The bass rattles the windows some, and I wonder if it’ll wake Dad across the way.
Not that I care.
Jake closes his eyes and leans against the entertainment center, soaking up the music. It didn’t take me long to understand the excessive stereo and the overlarge speakers. Jake loves music. Especially the kind that glorifies God. He loves everything about it. The instruments, the vocals. He told me once that he has a secret ambition to learn to play guitar but is terrified he’ll be awful at it.
I decide then and there what this year’s Christmas present will be.
We move to the study and settle in, Jake at his computer and me at Canaan’s. Jake’s been telling me about the Sabres. He says that whenever a cluster of miracles and healings occur, there’s usually a thinning of the Terrestrial veil. Like the other night. And a thinning