The Revelation (37 page)

Rita smiled. "Supervisor Jones is going to have your ass for this, you know. She's already mad at you."

"Fuck her," Jim said. He waved good-bye and stepped outside into the warm, fresh open air.

He got in his car and drove home.

Gordon and Marina sat next to each other on the couch, watching an old Fred Astaire movie on the new television Gordon had charged while they were in Phoenix. The old TV had been smashed. A commercial came on, and they turned to look at each other. They kissed.

She was getting prettier, Gordon thought. Maybe that old line about expectant mothers having a special glow was true. He reached for her hand and held it. He could feel the stitches in her palm.

They had not talked about what had happened. The subject was taboo, although Gordon was not sure why. They had not even decided not to discuss it, they simply did not mention it, although they had gone down to Phoenix for more tests.

All the tests had been normal.

Gordon looked down at Marina's slightly swelling abdomen. He wondered what their daughter would grow up to be.

The movie came back on, and Gordon turned toward the TV. They could afford the TV now. They could afford the baby. After Brad's death, ownership of the Pepsi franchise had reverted to Connie.

But Connie knew nothing about distribution or delivery, and she had hired Gordon on as manager or foreman--they weren't quite sure of the official title yet--at twice the salary. Marina would teach for a few months, but her students would have a permanent substitute for most of the year.

Gordon was still not entirely comfortable with what had happened. He still had a lot of questions, but no one seemed to have any answers. He and the sheriff had talked quite a bit, but the sheriff was just as much in the dark as he was.

God knew where Brother Elias had gone.

Perhaps that was why he had started the novel. Loose ends were tied up in novels, everything

had an easy explanation, pieces

fit together

logically. There were reasons for why things happened.

Actually, he was fairly proud of himself. He had started the novel less than a week ago, and already he had forty pages done. Forty good pages. He had never written so fast or so well before, and he had hopes that the book might find a publisher.

It was a horror novel.

Fred Astaire was dancing in front of a long line of turret guns on a navy ship. Gordon put his head in Marina's lap. He felt good.

Marina, he knew, was still having a lot of problems. She was depressed much of the time, and she was very worried about the baby, but that was understandable. Both of them were going to counseling now, and he had faith that they could work through their troubles. He pressed his ear to Marina's abdomen, and imagined he could hear, within her, the soft beating of another heart. He looked up at her. "How do you feel?" he asked.

She smiled. "I feel all right."

"All right? Just all right?"

Her smile grew wider. "Okay, then. Pretty good."

He kissed her stomach, and she ran her fingers through his hair. He kissed her again, his arm moving around her midsection. He grinned up at her. "Want me to kiss you somewhere else?"

She looked down on him, feigning innocence. "On my forehead?"

"Lower."

"On my lips?"

"One pair of lips."

She laughed and hit him on the head.

"Ow." He sat up, looked at her for a moment, then glanced at the TV.

"It's a boring movie anyway."

"I like it. I want to find out what happens."

"Fred gets the girl and they all live happily ever after."

"The girl?"

"Okay, the woman."

Marina pretended to think for a moment, then stood up. She switched off the TV. "Come on," she said. She grabbed his hand.

They walked toward the bedroom.

The preacher stood next to the on-ramp of Black Canyon Highway, holding out his thumb, smiling. His suitcase, photo album, and a bundle of pamphlets lay at his feet. His black-bound Bible was clutched under his arm. Although it was fairly warm out, he was wearing a gray business suit, complete with jacket and tie.

He continued smiling, infinitely patient, his black eyes watching the road for approaching traffic.

Several cars and trucks passed him by before a tan BuickLeSabre , heading west toward Los Angeles, stopped to offer him a ride.