CHAPTER 9
Late that afternoon, Andrew stood half-behind, half-beside Christina Daly as he peeked around her shoulder to see the recipe book she was flipping through. She rested her left elbow on the kitchen shelf, her recipe book lying open before her, her shadow forming a contrast to the sunlight flooding the kitchen through the open window.
Resisting an impulse to fidget, Andrew wondered why he’d offered to help Christina in the kitchen. Christina was Gloria's assignment...but at the same time he couldn't say much for Gloria’s cooking skills, and it was not as if Christina needed an angel to help her cook.
Face it, Andrew, he thought, almost against his will, when a woman says she needs help, you just can’t say no. Andrew tried not to chuckle. It was true, he’d never been able to say no when anyone--let alone a woman--asked for help. Not only that, but he welcomed the chance to do something he enjoyed, something that he hadn’t been able to do for weeks and probably wouldn’t get to do for the next seven years, at least.
“Hmmm,” Christina said, without turning around. “How about Mushroom Surprise?” She patted her hair as she spoke.
Rising to his toes, Andrew glanced over her shoulder and read the recipe. “Sounds more like a vegetarian casserole,” he commented. He knew he sounded irritable...and if the truth were known, he was. His life, and the lives of every angel and human being on this planet, had been thrown into turmoil over the past week, and now he knew that his assignment’s best friend was working for the Antichrist. Not good! Oh, sure, Ryan was part of God’s plan...but he had no idea where Ryan’s mind landed on the issue of God yet, and he didn’t like taking that risk. With effort, Andrew forced his mind back to the task at hand, choosing a recipe and cooking it.
“What’s wrong with that?” Christina asked.
Andrew shrugged. “Nothing. It just doesn’t sound like much of a surprise, much less a mushroom surprise.”
Christina looked at Andrew, mirth in her eyes. “What, you've had it before?” Andrew shook his head, and Christina's eyes twinkled. “Then the surprise for you will be the taste.”
Andrew couldn't argue that point. Instead, he walked over to the Dalys’ pantry and removed a unopened bag of noodles. “Well,” he said. “Let's get started.”
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Tess looked around the dinner table. Although, she was sure that, if any of the three humans were asked about it, they would describe the silence as “comfortable silence,” Tess could feel the tension so thickly in the room it could be cut with a knife. The fork clinked as she laid it down on her dinner plate, to pick up a glass of lemonade that stood to the left of her plate.
As she took a sip, Tess glanced from Richard, to Christina, and back again repeatedly, as a frown furrowed her eyebrows. She wanted to say something, to break the silence...but none of the humans in the room was her assignment, and she felt slightly out of place. Why she had been told to be here tonight was beyond her...but when the Father gives you an order, you don't argue.
Picking up her fork, Tess inserted it into the steaming serving of casserole and inserted a bite into her mouth. Christina had called it “Mushroom Surprise,” and now Tess understood the title. It certainly had lots of mushrooms...and to her surprise, it actually tasted good. At that point, she thought of a way to break the silence. “This is good.” Smiling, Tess wiped her lips.
Andrew and Christina spoke at exactly the same moment: “Thank you.” The unintentional use of the same words coming from two different places at the same time caused chuckles around the table. Andrew and Christina laughed with the others.
“Seriously, Brownie, this is good,” Ryan complemented his sister.
“Brownie?” Gloria gazed at Christina as a quizzical expression creased her face.
Christina and Ryan exchanged amused glances, and Christina explained. “The day I started kindergarten, I insisted on picking out my own clothes. I ended up wearing a chocolate-brown dress, and he called me Brownie in jest. It just kind of...stuck.”
The uneasy silence fell again. Across the table, Richard ignored his wife, who bit her lower lip as she glanced at him, then looked away. Instead, he divided his time between chatting with Ryan and Andrew, and reading a newspaper. Tess and Monica exchanged worried looks. Ryan shook his head, biting his lower lip. Richard, at one point, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hair, to smooth it.
Twenty minutes after the meal started, Christina served each person a slice of her apple pie. Tess smiled as the sweet-spicy scent reached her nostrils. Before she had a chance to take her first bite, Richard cleared his throat and shoved the newspaper away from him.
“It says here that Puccini’s meeting with the world leaders went well.” Richard wiped his mouth as he spoke. “Even our nation’s agreed to join the new world system. They’re going to have a series of meetings to finalize the details over the next few weeks.” He paused. “Not all the nations of the world have agreed to join it yet, but Puccini’s confident he can persuade them, eventually.” He paused. “And it seems Dayan’s meeting with the pope and the other religious leaders went well, too.”
Andrew nodded. “This will result in a world government and a world religion.” He paused. "And it will not take long to set up either."
Ryan nodded agreement. “We already have an International Criminal Court, which was ratified back in April and took effect in June. So it was bound to happen, sooner or later.” He shook his head. His eyebrows furrowed as he spoke. “I just wish Pope John Paul II was still alive--he never would have gone for this occultic hocus-pocus the new pope is talking about. I’ll be honest--I have a very bad feeling about this. All of it.”
“Why?” Christina inquired.
Ryan smiled wryly. “You remember the old axiom, Christina: ‘Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’” Christina nodded agreement. “Not only are we about to have a world government, one man--Puccini--is going to be in absolute charge of it. He's gone so far as to basically shove his own prime minister to the side. The results won’t be good, I’m afraid. And I--well, Christina, let’s just say I have a very bad feeling about this new religion the pope's trying to create with Dayan's help. Dayan’s a Jew, for Pete’s sake--you’d think he’d be more loyal to the God of his people! Anyway, how could a Jew and a Catholic ever work together on such a project?”
Christina winced, as she looked at Gloria. Gloria nodded agreement, deep sadness etched on her face. "Well, the current pope's not exactly a conservative Catholic," she ventured to say.
Smiling wryly, Ryan nodded agreement. "He's sure not."
Richard glared at them, then looked away. Pressing her fingers against the table’s smooth surface, Tess gazed at the ceiling. Silently, she counted to ten and prayed for patience.
“No, he not. And yes, it is happening,” Tess said, “and it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. So if there’s a time to seek God, now’s the time.”
Richard jumped to his feet. “Don’t you ever mention that again--not in my house!” Fury turned his face beet-red as he glowered at the gruff supervisor angel. Tess just sat quietly, staring at him until he looked away, fidgeting.
“Sorry,” Richard muttered. “By now, you all know how I feel about that kind of thing.” He looked at his wife bitterly as he spoke.
Andrew sighed. “Yes, Richard, we do.” An edge crept into his voice as he spoke. Pain filled Christina’s eyes, but she did not say anything. She just looked down at her plate.
Monica gazed beseechingly at Richard. “Please don’t be hard on your wife,” she said softly. “What she’s doing is going to be more beneficial to her mental health in the coming years than anything else she could have done.” Pressing his lips into a tight line, Richard did not respond.
Ryan gazed at his sister with a questioning expression. “I’ll tell you later,” Christina said in a low voice. Out loud, she asked, “Ryan, would you take me to the grocery store before you leave? Our kitchen’s running low.”
“I sure will.” Ryan kissed her temple, and she smiled her thanks.
“I’m afraid Richard won’t let me leave the house at present.” Christina bit her lip. “What with the outbreak in crime all over the place, he’s afraid I’ll be assaulted if I go anywhere alone.”
“He has a point,” Ryan said. “I know it’s hard to stay home, but trust me, it’ll be a whole lot safer.”
Christina nodded, while sorrow shadowed her face. “I miss my trips to Ground Zero.” She jabbed a fork into her slice of pie. “I haven’t paid a single visit there since all this started.”
“I know.” Gloria nodded as a look of sympathy creased her face. “Someone tried to break in last night, but the new burglar alarm Richard had installed scared him off. This is the second time in less in a week that’s happened. It’s not safe to go out just now, Christina.”
“I know.” Sighing, Christina took a bite.
Tess pursed her own lips. While she didn’t blame him for wanting to protect Christina, listening to Richard rant about his wife’s faith and watching him ignore her had grated on her nerves, to the point where she’d repeatedly had to ask God to give her patience with him. Now she glanced once more at the ceiling as she once more sent a silent prayer toward Heaven. Father, give me patience with that man! Gritting her teeth, she dug her fork into the slice of sweet-spicy apple pie that lay on her plate.
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A few days later, Kristen Crossman let out a long sigh as she stretched out on the carpeted floor. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the backs of her hands against the soft tufts of carpet, mashing them against the floor, then relaxed them. Her life had been a mess these past few weeks, her job being the only stability of recent days. Even that seemed slightly uncertain now, what with Puccini’s ideas that might thrust him into being the most powerful man in the world. For all she knew, she was only good enough for a president, not for a...well for a...a king of the world as Puccini might soon be.
Kristen's dark hair fell over her face. She kicked her leg up and down. Although Puccini hadn’t mentioned himself for the position of the first world leader, he certainly seemed to have described himself while describing the leader. A strong, visionary leader who truly cared about peace. He also seemed to be putting this into action as though he intended to take over when he was through setting it up. And it appeared that Elijah Dayan, although an Israeli Jew and a member of his government, was going to head this new world religion he was bent on creating. Or was it the pope who was going to be its head? "I think it's the pope," she muttered.
Do I really want to be part of it? she silently asked herself. The way Dayan and the pope describe it, it sounds like so much hocus-pocus! Do I really want to have my palm read, use crystal balls, read tarot cards, go for that stupid astrology stuff? I'm surprised that a pope would! She bit her lower lip. And how’s it going to feel to be part of a world government? To have one man making laws for the whole world! To have one worldwide currency--the Euro! I overheard Mr. Puccini talking about that the other day. To live in my country and know that it’s no longer--my country.
Suddenly, her doorbell jangled. Kristen’s stomach lurched into her throat. Who could that be? She glanced at her watch. Ryan should be back from New York by now, she thought. Where had that thought come from? She distantly worked with him, and he happened to have the apartment directly above hers. So what? Why did she suddenly think of him when her doorbell rang?
Kristen jumped up and walked quickly to her door. When she opened it, her heart leaped into her throat. Ryan Whittaker was standing there!
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Ryan looked at Kristen, and suddenly, everything he’d wanted to say flew out of his brain. He’d never seen her looking like this before. Her dark hair hung down around her face and past her shoulders. She was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a purple sweater with a butterfly on the front. And he’d thought she’d looked good at work!
It took Ryan a moment to bring his mind back to earth. "Uh..." he said. He felt insanely stupid. Why had he come here? To tell her he was back? She’d probably already heard about Puccini's return on the news. And why would she care he was back anyway? Funny, but saying, “Just wanted you to know I was back,” had sounded so good in his mind a moment ago...now it sounded like the stupidest sentence on earth. But he had to say something. It was either that or stand here like an idiot.
“Uh...hi,” he finally squeaked.
“Hi.” Kristen leaned against the doorframe, a questioning expression creasing her face.
Ryan had never felt like more of a lunkhead. He’d been lost in a dream world on his way down, and now he’d come crashing back to reality. Oh...why hadn’t he, in all his lunkheadedness, thought to bring her something? Flowers, candy, a leftover bowl of Mushroom Surprise, anything! Where was this conversation going to go from here?
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Kristen was confused. Why had he visited her? Suddenly, she realized that just standing there staring at this co-worker, appealing as that was, was totally unlike herself. Still, Kristen stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out how to follow up her initial greeting without sounding rude.
He had obviously just gotten back--he was still wearing his pilot’s uniform, minus the tie. Kristen tried to come up with something decent to say...but what could she say? Finally, something came to her. Pilot's uniform, duh! Ask how his flight was!
“How was your flight?” she asked.
“Fine, thanks.” Ryan thrust his hands into his pockets and smiled.
Great, he came to visit her, then killed all potential for a conversation by answering her first question with two words. She didn’t know whether to be mad at him for his lack of preparation, or flattered at his choosing to visit her first out of all the co-workers with whom he worked more closely than with her. Finally, she decided to do neither until she knew what was up. Finally, she got right to the point.
“What are you doing here?”
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Kristen's words hit Ryan like a bucket of cold water. She didn’t want him here!
Of course she didn’t want him here! What right did he have to be here? Why on earth would he even think he'd be welcome? He could be such a lunkhead at times!
“Uh...I...uh...I just wanted to say hi,” he finally responded, before starting to turn around to leave...then suddenly, he remembered how she’d said it.
“What are you doing here?” Her words had held more curiosity than anything. Maybe it wasn’t a demand to go away. Still, going away was a more comfortable option than standing here in the awkward silence. He thought about walking away anyway and seeing how she would react. Instead, he finally made his own attempt at conversation.
“Umm, do you like coffee?” He leaned his hand against the wall above his head, as he spoke. Instantly, he felt foolish.
Do you like coffee?! What kind of question was that? He’d been spending too much time around Monica!
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“Do you like coffee?” Kristen choked back an irresistible urge to laugh. That had to be the most ridiculous pick-up line she’d heard in her life! So that was what Ryan was doing here!
Kristen smiled at him. Her head was spinning. Those four words spoke volumes to Kristen. Ryan Whittaker, no doubt the best-looking man on Puccini’s staff, was interested in her! That thought alone made her legs turn to Jell-O. She did her best to make her voice sound calm.
“As a matter of fact, I do. And I have a pot of coffee in my kitchen. Care for a cup?”
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Ryan was surprised at her sudden change of attitude. She'd gone from completely confused to...to what? Flirtatious? That didn't make sense, he'd just asked if she liked coffee. Still, he couldn't keep from nodding.
“Well, then,” Kristen said. “Come on in and I'll make you a cup.” She backed away from the doorway.
Ryan followed her in. He glanced around. Her apartment was well-furnished and homey. Turning from the front door into the living room placed him directly between a bookshelf and a recliner. To the left stood a small white couch, and in front of the couch was a coffee table. A TV set stood at the other end of the room. Ryan chuckled at the mental image of himself walking into this living room at night in the dark and tripping over the coffee table.
Her slippers made soft thuds in the carpet as Kristen circled the edge of the living room and opened the door to the dining room. The dining room was small, and Ryan was grateful he wasn't claustrophobic. How could an apartment directly below his be so different from his? The answer came to him quickly. His apartment was designed the same...but the huge walnut-colored table surrounded by three matching chairs seemed to eat up the entire room.
Before he could even step halfway across, Kristen had already entered the kitchen. “How do you like your coffee?” she called.
Ryan thought about following her through the open doorway, but he suddenly remembered how small the two counters made the kitchen in his apartment and decided against it. Feeling a blush spread across his cheeks at the thought of being in that close proximity to her. Instead, he just said loudly, “Four and a half teaspoons of sugar and a teaspoon of cream!” He scratched his cheek, then leaned against the paneled wall to wait.
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A few minutes later, Kristen re-entered the living room with two steaming cups of coffee. She had heated them in the microwave oven before bringing them out. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll have our coffee right here.” She nodded toward the couch. “Have a seat.”
Ryan and Kristen reclined on the couch behind the coffee table. Kristen looked at Ryan as, leaning forward, he sipped his coffee. His eyes widened in surprise, and finished drinking his sip, then opened his mouth with a grimace.
“Umm,” he said. “Were the four spoonfuls heaping spoonfuls?”
Kristen bit her lip. Oh, no! There wasn't enough sugar in it for him! She couldn't believe she’d messed up so fast.
To her surprise, Ryan laughed at the look on her face. “It's OK,” he said. “I just like my coffee sweeter.” Nodding, Kristen took Ryan’s cup back to the kitchen to add some more sugar. A burning desire to please him had risen in her.
When Kristen returned with his coffee, he took another sip, then smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “This is good.” Relief flooded Kristen’s heart. The mattress sagged and creaked underneath her as she shifted position to face him.
With that, they settled into another silence, this one more comfortable. Kristen watched Ryan as he relaxed on the other side of the couch, crossing one leg over the other. The white couch was small, not much larger than a love seat. As Ryan took frequent sips of his coffee, Kristen silently admired his appearance...he was a good-looking man. He looked quite strong, as if he were accustomed to hard work. Kristen briefly had the mental image of her cuddling up against him watching a movie. She quickly shook the image and continued to look at him over her coffee cup. It wasn't just his appearance that attracted her to him. It was his obvious intelligence and his gentlemanly ways.
Kristen's mind started to wander again. Somehow, she needed to get their conversation going, fast!
“So...what did you think of Puccini’s speech?” she finally said. There, she’d thought of a topic for conversation, and it was a fairly safe one. What people all over the world were discussing right now.
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Ryan leaned back against the couch. Part of him wanted to share with her what he really thought, but another part of him advised caution. He still remember Puccini’s unspoken threat, a few days before, and he feared the consequences of admitting to anyone, let alone one of Puccini’s employees, that he had doubts about the man.
Guilt welled up in Ryan's heart. Why didn’t he trust Kristen enough to tell her how he really felt? And why is it important to me, all of a sudden, that I even trust Kristen? he wondered. I just met her a few days ago! I don’t even know her that well yet, so how can I trust her? He sat up straight as he tried to think of the best way to answer her question.
“He’s a good speechmaker,” he finally said. “I don't know about this scientific theory he described, but he certainly did a persuasive job of making a case for a global government and a new worldwide religion.” He took another sip. The coffee felt cooler, now, than it did when Kristen had first brought it to him.
“Yes, he did,” Kristen agreed.
Silence settled over the room, this one uncomfortable, but in a different way from the first. Their first lapses of silence were awkward, and--now that Ryan looked back on it--downright funny, then there was the comfortable silence that had prevailed for several moments as they just sat looking at each other. But now, the silence was of someone keeping a secret from someone. It irritated Ryan that he couldn’t share with her...but the question kept coming back to him. Why did he want to?
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Kristen suppressed a frown as irritation welled up in her. Ryan was keeping a secret from her. Kristen wasn’t sure how she knew it, she just knew. It bothered her. She didn’t know why, after all, it wasn’t as if they had any “no secrets” commitment or anything. It just bothered her for some, unknown reason. Whatever the secret was, it had to do with Puccini. But what?
Kristen knew if she let herself dwell on it, she’d just get angry and end up throwing him out of the apartment. She had no right to ask him what he was hiding, so she decided to change the subject. She thought for several minutes, looking into Ryan's deep blue eyes, eyes that seemed to hold a troubling secret somewhere deep inside. Kristen pushed all thoughts of Ryan's secret out of her head and asked a question.
“So...what do you want to talk about?”
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Ryan let himself relax now that the subject of Puccini had passed. Now it was his turn to come up with a conversation topic. Ryan searched the living room for a possible subject of discussion. "Well, I just finished unpacking my things," he finally said. "I had to go back to New York to empty out my apartment." He paused. "A chance to kill two birds with one stone--transport Puccini to his meeting with the reporters, and take care of personal business." Kristen nodded.
Ryan's eyes landed on a paperback book resting on her coffee table. He couldn't see the whole title but he saw the picture, and one word: “Zorro.” Ryan was familiar with the legend of Zorro... in fact he’d watched the New World Zorro series that had aired on the Family Channel back in the early 90’s. And to think that the sight of that book, resting on Kristen’s coffee table, would spark a new topic to discuss.
Coffee table. The two words echoed in Ryan's mind. Oh! How could he have forgotten? He had promised Monica to help her with her furniture! He felt like a complete idiot. Wincing, Ryan smacked himself on the forehead. The cup landed with a clink as he set it on the coffee table.
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“What?” Kristen asked. “What's wrong?” Apprehension welled up within her.
Kristen had seen Ryan look over the coffee table, then roll his eyes, then, with a wince, lean back and smack himself on the head. Now she was concerned as to why.
“I just remembered.” Ryan shook his head. “I promised Monica I’d help her arrange her furniture when we got back from New York.”
Kristen would later tell herself that she was simply curious...but in truth, she felt a stab of jealousy at the mention of “Monica.” She leaned forward, fixing her gaze on Ryan. “Who’s Monica?” She almost hadn’t wanted to ask, she was afraid of the answer.
“Monica Welleye,” Ryan said. “She's Puccini’s newest flight attendant, and her apartment’s right next to mine. The movers didn’t do the best of jobs on her apartment and I promised to help her out.”
Without thinking, Kristen suddenly found herself asking, “Need an extra pair of hands?”
Ryan grinned. “If that’s an offer to help, I’ll take it. As long as Monica doesn’t have a problem with it.”
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Richard gazed into the empty crib. The small blanket and the pillow were arranged as they always had been, and Jessica's sleeper still lay rumpled under the blanket. Her rattler lay next to it. Neither he or Christina had the heart to take it out. The lamp emitted a soft light throughout the bedroom.
Clutching the smooth bars of the crib, Richard let out a long, shaky breath. He was fighting to control his tears. He wouldn’t cry, he couldn’t cry! Men didn’t cry. Still, at that moment, he felt an irresistible urge to do so, unmanly as he thought it to be. His heart felt as empty as Jessica's crib.
“My Jessica,” he mumbled. “My beautiful little Jessica! Why’d you have to disappear?”
He glanced down at the picture he’d been carrying since supper. Nicole’s photo. With a sigh, he stuffed it into his jeans pocket for the umpteenth time. If he wasn’t careful, the old grief would overwhelm him again, and the combination of old grief and new would be more than he could endure.
Suddenly, he heard a voice from his and Christina's room. Christina was praying...again. Dropping his hands to his sides, Richard rolled his eyes. He was going to go bonkers if that woman didn’t come to her senses soon! He pursed his lips as he glared at the wall separating their room from Jessica’s.
He was prepared to ignore her as he had been doing for days. But something she said caught his ear. "Please, God, protect Ryan. He's in over his head this time, and he has no idea of the amount of danger he's in."
Richard felt a chill run up and down his spine. Danger? Ryan was in danger? No, correction, Christina thought Ryan was in danger. Christina had been a bit of a flake lately, and who knew what her impression of danger was? Still, he was curious as to why--maybe she'd go into more detail. He walked around the crib and leaned against the wall, pressing his ear against it.
“And Father,” Christina said, “one more thing. Open Richard’s eyes; he needs You so badly...and he isn't even aware of it.”
Rage surged in Richard’s heart. He didn’t need God! There was no God! Richard made no effort to control his temper, as he rushed out of the room and hurled open the door to his and Christina’s so hard, it banged against the wall. “Shut up!” he yelled.
A startled Christina whirled to gape at him from her position kneeling on the floor against the bed. Richard curled his hands into tight balls as he glared fiercely at her. “Shut up this instant, Christina! You are really stupid! Do you really think someone is listing? Don't you know by now that there is no God? Now knock off that useless, stupid praying, and get up and do something useful for once!” He banged his fist on the pine bureau and spat into an empty ashtray. Pain shot through his knuckles.
Christina’s face turned red, and she twitched her lower lip--a sure sign of anger, Richard knew from experience. Taking a deep breath, she slowly rose to her feet and approached to him. Her stride was calm, but her eyes flashed with irritation...and downright anger. One by one, she began to counter everything he had just said to her, her voice calm, but stretching with frustration. Her eyes flashed and her hands shook.
“I will not shut up, and I am not stupid.” She took a deep breath. “I really know there is Someone listening to me when I pray. I do not know there is no God and I will never believe that, and I am not going to stop praying because praying is useful, Richard!”
Richard was stunned for a moment. How had she done that? How exactly had she done that? How could she have countered everything he said without even really trying? He couldn’t let her do that!
Christina continued. “Now will you excuse me, so I can get back to it?” On those words, the anger flashing in her eyes through into her voice.
“No.” Richard clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I will not have my wife telling Someone Who doesn’t even exist that I need Him!”
“You won't have it?” Christina shot back. “You won't have it? Well, I'll tell you what I won't have. I won't have my husband getting in my face every time I try to talk to the Creator of the Universe.”
“People have been locked in insane asylums for less ridiculous statements than that, Christina! The ‘Creator of the Universe,’ indeed! Excuse me? One Person creating the entire Universe? Where is your mind?” He clutched his throbbing hand and glared at her fiercely.
“Not a Person, Richard! God!”
“God, God, God! With you, it’s always God! Will you ever shut up and get out of my face?” Richard’s voice rose to a shout. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. Christina took a step forward, pressing her lips into a tight line of rage.
“I wasn’t in your face, Richard. I’ve never been in your face with this! You tell me to back off of you, I back off. But you won’t stop me from praying, or reading my Bible!”
Richard wanted to slap her. How could she be so...so...irritating? How could she even believe in a God who would--! Richard started to raise his arm to hit her...then came crashing back to reality. What I am doing?!
Sure, he was angry...sure, Christina was on him 24 hours a day about God. But still, that was no reason to turn violent. Dropping his hands to his sides, Richard turned on his heel and stalked through the door, slamming it behind him for good measure. He needed to run some cold water over his throbbing hand. Serves me right for banging it so hard, he thought ruefully. I’d love to bang it against that stubborn head of hers! He paused to glare at the closed bedroom door as he opened the bathroom door. That’ll teach her to believe in a nonexistent God who lets young girls die! Like my sister Nicole!
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Kristen’s shoes made soft thuds on the carpeted stairs. As she followed Ryan, she began to wonder if she was stupid or something. Here she was, on her way to help some stranger with some insane and time-consuming project, and all because she was jealous that a guy who had only shown the slightest interest in her today was going to help another woman. What had happened to her common sense? Twisting her watch around her wrist, she shook her head.
I really have no reason to be jealous, she thought. If Ryan did have a relationship with this Monica lady, he was certainly within his rights. And if he really did want a relationship with her too...he’d be rather more nervous about the two women meeting. Besides, Ryan had never seemed the type to want two women at once.
Never seemed the type? Her own thoughts came back at her mind. You've known him for less than a week, and you already think you know what type of guy he is? Get real!
Kristen shook her head. It was time to put all thoughts of romance aside. She was here to help Monica, and she was going to do just that! As Ryan paused on the landing, she stepped up next to him.
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Ryan glanced at Kristen. Walking next to her made him want to reach over and hold her hand. Still, he was already being far too forward. Hand-holding was definitely out. He should ask Kristen out. Ryan shook his head to dismiss the thought. Dating? So soon after everyone on the face of the earth had lost someone? Where was his mind?!
As the two approached Monica’s apartment, Ryan briefly wondered why Kristen had offered to help Monica. He’d love to think it was because she wanted to spend more time with him...but somehow that just didn't seem right. Suddenly, he realized he needed to put all romantic thoughts aside for the time being. He was supposed to be helping Monica with her furniture, and he’d certainly need the use of all his mind to explain the extra help to Monica.
Despite his resolve, as he and Kristen passed Ryan’s door and walked over to Monica’s, some sensible, annoying part of his mind whispered, Lots of luck, very sarcastically. Ryan rang the doorbell, then paused again, to clear his throat. Next to him, Kristen bit her lip and glanced at her shoes.
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Monica jumped through the maze of furniture cluttering her living room, nearly knocking over the recliner that lay on its side. When she opened the door, there stood Ryan in his pilot’s uniform, and a young woman Monica wasn’t sure she recognized.
“Ryan,” she greeted. “I thought you were going to your place to change clothes.” Monica glanced at the young woman with Ryan, and suspected she might be the cause of Ryan's absence of mind...but she wasn’t sure.
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Ryan's face flushed a bright red. He couldn’t believe it! How could he have forgotten to change his clothes? Duh, he knew very well and good why he had forgotten. The idea of visiting Kristen had just been too good to resist, and he’d gone straight to Kristen’s instead of to his own place. His face turned red as he glanced down at his uniform.
“Uhh...” was all he could say for a moment, his face turning even redder. Then, finally, he said, “I’ll be right back. Excuse me.” With that, he darted toward his door. All the way, he mentally kicked himself for his massive error.
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Kristen watched as Ryan scurried through his front door. So he’d skipped out on a promise to Monica to visit her, had he? Kristen wasn’t sure whether to be angry because he could forget something important so easily, or flattered that she meant so much to him.
All confusion was replaced with instant awkwardness when she realized that she was still standing in Monica’s open doorway...and that Monica didn't know her from Adam! Er...didn't know her from Eve.
“Uh...hi,” Kristen greeted weakly.
“Hi,” Monica said. Her tone convinced Kristen that the next words would be, "Who are you, and what are you doing at my apartment?" Nervousness sent Kristen into full-babble, twisting her watch again as she spoke.
“I'm Kristen Crossman, a friend of Ryan’s, and he came and visited me today, then he remembered that he promised to help you with your furniture and had to leave in a hurry, but for some reason I decided to offer to help too, but now I know that was kind of stupid since you don't know me at all--well, you might’ve seen me before. I’m Antonio Puccini’s secretary and since you’re living in this complex, I can only assume you work for him too, but I just thought you and Ryan might need an extra hand and...”
“Kristen, Kristen, Kristen!” Monica laughed softly. Kristen quieted. “Drop a punctuation mark in somewhere, please.”
Monica’s amused smile relaxed Kristen. Apparently, Monica was not offended at Kristen’s appearance at her door. Relief flooded Kristen’s heart as she smiled back.
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Monica smiled at the completely nervous expression on Kristen's face. Few people were ever nervous around her. Kristen’s babble had explained a lot, but Monica had known that she would just keep going for several minutes if she wasn’t stopped.
“Sorry,” Kristen mumbled.
Monica's smile widened. From the few moments of conversation, she knew already that Kristen was a nice young woman. “It's all right.” Monica smiled warmly. “Would you like to come in?” She stepped back as she spoke.
Kristen nodded, and Monica turned around, motioning for Kristen to follow her. She knew what Kristen’s reaction to the state of her apartment would be. The same as hers had been--laughter. Oh, well, at least she had managed to set the refrigerator up in the kitchen. And she had set up the coffee pot, hoping to have a cup when she finished the job. She had purchased several versions of coffee when she moved in, from plain coffee to mocha-latté.
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As Kristen entered the apartment, she realized in an instant why the new flight attendant needed help. Chairs, couches, dining table and chairs, bookcases--even a TV set and a bed--were scattered all over the living room.
Kristen tried to stifle a laugh, but a humorous look from Monica made her completely lose it. She leaned against the wall and burst into laughter. Monica joined her.
As the two laughed together, Kristen suddenly remembered why she had been so nervous. Monica was a beautiful woman, and rather nice too. Furthermore, she lived right next to Ryan, and that gave her more ready access to him than Kristen had. For a moment, Kristen felt another peg of jealousy, but dismissed it. She herself had no real relationship with Ryan, so if Ryan and Monica had something going then it was Monica who had the right to be jealous of her, not the other way around.
Finally, Kristen’s laughter subsided enough to permit her to rest her elbow on the TV set. Monica, too, lapsed into silence, propping her fingers together in front of her waist. Neither spoke.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Kristen got to the point with her trademark bluntness. "Monica, are you and Ryan an item?”
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To say that Monica was surprised at the question would be putting it mildly. She’d been asked that question about herself and Andrew repeatedly. But the very idea...no way. She was an angel...Ryan was her assignment. Even if she were to think of him that way--which she didn’t--it would be impossible.
“No,” she said quickly--too quickly, she realized. “No,” she repeated. “We're just friends, nothing more.” Kristen seemed to visibly relax, and Monica's curiosity was piqued. “Why?”
Kristen took a deep breath, and began to answer. “Because...uh, well, because I was sort of hoping for a relationship with him...I know it sounds crazy but…” She bit her lower lip. Dare she go on?
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Ryan swung his door shut and slowly approached Monica’s still half-open door, wearing a sweater over an old pair of blue jeans and a cotton shirt. He still couldn’t believe his mistake. How could he have been so...so...idiotic?! Now Kristen was bound to discover how he felt about her. The question was, was that such a bad thing?
As he approached the door he heard Kristen say, “I know it sounds crazy but I really like him. Not only is he the cutest guy on Puccini's staff, but he's a real gentleman. He's got this--I don't know--deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. He has the weakest pick-up lines…”
Ryan's face flushed. She was talking about him, he knew it. Ryan’s entire world was spinning; he wanted to hear more, but he knew eavesdropping was wrong. Still...he could afford to listen for a couple more seconds. Leaning his arm on the wall above his head, he craned his head to listen carefully.
“And you like him,” Monica finished. Ryan couldn't see inside, but when he heard Monica say, “I thought so,” he knew that Kristen had nodded. His heart was pounding so hard he was convinced they could hear it. Hand shaking, Ryan knocked timidly on the half-open door.
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Kristen was already blushing, but hearing Ryan’s knock made her feel as if her cheeks were flaming a deeper red. She hoped that he hadn’t heard that. If he had heard what she’d just told Monica...she didn't know what she’d do. Probably die of embarrassment.
“Hi,” she squeaked.
Kristen looked Ryan over. He had changed into a cream-colored sweater over a gray cotton button-up shirt, as well as a pair of blue jeans and white sneakers. As he stood framing the doorway, resting his hands in his jeans pockets, Kristen could barely breathe, so she gave Monica a “see what I mean?” look.
Monica glanced back and forth between the two. “Well,” she said. “Let's get to work, shall we?”
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Monica stood on one side of the couch, Ryan on the other. “So, we're starting with this monster, are we?” Ryan made a face. Monica nodded, her eyes twinkling.
“Monster?” A quizzical expression creased Kristen’s face.
“There are weights in that thing,” Ryan said seriously. “I’d bet my li...uh, last penny on that.” He smiled wryly.
Monica looked at Ryan. Why had he corrected himself like that? What was he going to say? Monica figured she knew. The “li” he’d started out with could only mean he'd been about to say that he’d bet his life on it. His quick action to correct himself meant he probably understood the danger of the situation he was in, given the world situation and his proximity to Puccini.
“Well,” Kristen said, “good thing I'm here, huh?” Her eyes twinkled despite her apparent nervousness. Monica stifled a laugh. In her heart, she knew already what the outcome of this encounter was going to be for Ryan and Kristen.
Minutes passed as the three worked silently. Ryan and Monica set the couch against the wall, across the room from the front door. Ryan then pulled the coffee table in front of the couch while Kristen lugged a side table into the corner, next to the couch. Monica dragged the TV stand to the opposite corner from the side table, next to the door, and set the TV set and VCR on it. “I’ll have the cable installed later,” she said.
After the three of them set up the dining table and the chairs in the kitchen, Monica wiped her forehead with a cotton handkerchief. “I could use a break. Would anyone like some coffee?”
Ryan smiled and nodded. “I’d like some, thanks,” Kristen said, glancing at Ryan. Beads of sweat, Monica noticed, rolled down their foreheads. With a smile, she strolled toward the cabinet to get some cups.
For the next fifteen minutes, the three sat in the kitchen, taking sips of steaming mocha-latté and chatting about the recent events. Ryan talked about his sister and brother-in-law, then Kristen described her job as Puccini’s secretary. Monica rested the tips of her fingers around the edge of her cup as she listened.
“He’s never liked to be called ‘Mr. Puccini,’ or by his formal titles.” Kristen leaned her right elbow on the table as she spoke. “He prefers to be called ‘Antonio,’ as Ryan has found out.” She smiled, and Ryan chuckled.
“I don’t feel right about it,” Ryan admitted, “but since that’s what he wants, that’s what I’ll call him.” He looked at Monica. “You had just been hired, too.” He reached down to rub his left hand on his jeans.
Monica nodded. “Yes, I was.” She paused to take a sip of coffee. “Just a few days ago, in fact.”
When, some time later, Ryan and Kristen said good-bye to Monica, dusk had started to fall. A few minutes later, Ryan paused in front of Kristen’s door. “I don’t know what our schedules will be tomorrow, but I’ll find out in the morning,” he said. “In the meantime...well, uh, I saw a nice little café down the street when we returned from the airport. Would you like to go there with me, this evening?”
Kristen’s eyes brightened, and her mouth widened into a broad smile. “Yes, I would. What time would you like to go there?”
Ryan glanced at his watch. “I’ll come for you in a couple of hours. I still need to bathe and change my clothes.”
Kristen nodded. “I’ll see you then.” She entered her apartment; leaning against the wall, she patted her hair and beamed. Joy welled up in her. Ryan had asked her out!
Ryan whistled as he returned to his own apartment. Excitement raced through his heart as he thought of the coming evening. He was sure of one thing now--he and Kristen were attracted to each other! What it would lead to, he didn’t know. But he was willing to find out. At least, the crime wave that engulfed most cities at this time had been kept at bay in Rome, thanks to the excellent services of the Italian police. He knew why--so few of their police officers had disappeared.
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Sighing, Christina perched on the edge of her armchair and opened her Bible. As she glanced toward the front door, then toward the hall entrance, she silently prayed that Richard would not enter the living room until she had finished her devotions. He was getting more and more nasty about her quiet times with God, so she tried to schedule her devotions when he wasn't in earshot. Fortunately, he had gone upstairs two hours earlier, to take a nap. Gloria had left the house an hour before to run some errands, so Christina had the whole first floor to herself to herself.
For a few minutes, she read several passages in the Book of Romans. Then, leaning back, she closed the Bible and took a deep breath.
“God, help us, please,” she prayed softly, careful to keep her voice low. “I’m so worried about Richard. Please open his eyes, God, and help me, too. And please protect Ryan. I’m really worried about him, working for Puccini.”
“Christina! Are you at it again?”
Christina froze, as an irate Richard appeared in the doorway leading into the hall. “What did I say?” He glared fiercely at his wife.
Christina pressed her lips into a tight line as she silently prayed for patience. Slowly, she set her Bible on the coffee table, next to the TV Guide. “Yes, Richard, I was at it again.” She forced herself to speak in a low voice. Her stomach churned as she took another deep breath. “Tell me, why does it bother you so much that I pray, Richard?”
Richard stomped toward her, fury etched on his face. “You know good and well why. I’m not going to explain it again.” He clenched his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white, as he paused a second, then backed up. “This is it! I’ve had it, Christina!” He slammed his fist against the wall. “I mean it--I’ve had it! I can’t endure a stupid, kooky, religious wife anymore! I’ve a good mind to just pack my bags and leave for good!” Cursing, Richard stalked out the front door and slammed it.
Christina slid onto the couch, stunned. For a long moment, she stared at the TV set. Then, as rage and terror welled up in her, she picked up the TV Guide and flung it against the TV set. “I can’t stand you anymore, Richard! I’ve had it!” she screamed. “You’re the most horrible, rotten, pigheaded creep I’ve ever met!” She rushed toward the door, swung it open, and screeched at the departing car, “Go away, you creep!”
Slamming the door, she rushed upstairs and flung herself on the bed. For the next half-hour, she sobbed nonstop. More than once, she thrust her fists against the yielding bedspread.
At last, her sobs subsided, and she lay curled on her side, tears staining her face. The mattress sagged beneath her as she shifted position. “I’ve had it!” she muttered. “I can’t take anymore. Richard’s going to divorce me, and then I’ll be all alone!” She propped herself on her elbows to scowl at the ceiling. “Does God care that I’m about to lose my marriage?” She hollered, “Do You even care?!”
She buried her face into the bedcovers and took a deep, shuddering breath. God does not love me, she thought. He doesn’t care about me at all! First He took my baby girl, and now He’s about to destroy my marriage!
Unknown to her, Gloria and Tess leaned against the wall, gaping at her. “We’ve got to do something fast,” Gloria said.
Tess nodded agreement. “We will, baby. And soon. But we must wait for the Father’s orders.” Gloria bit her lip as she shifted her gaze from Tess to Christina. As she ran her index finger along the handle of her glasses, she silently prayed that God would act before it was too late.
END OF CHAPTER 9