Page 51 of Deliver us from Evil

If Reuben is still looking this way, it would look mighty suspicious.

So I fall into a crouch and do my best to unhook my jeans without rustling as much as a single leaf.

“Everything all right, dearie?” a thin, wobbly voice wants to know.

I glance up into a pair of watery blue eyes, and give the old woman the most charming smile I have. “Got a little stuck on your roses,” I tell her through my teeth.

“They are magnificent, aren’t they?” she wheezes, clasping her hands at her breast as if she’s offering up a prayer to God for her killer botanicals.

Another subtle yank, and finally my jeans are free. But I don’t stand yet, because that would put my head and shoulders above the rose bush. I don’t want to reveal myself until I know what the hell they’re up to. And the last thing they need is a distraction.

I glance around. I could head back the way I came, but Mrs. Nosy’s yard is wide open but for this thorny hedge.

“Are you with the church?” Mrs. Nosy wants to know.

I stare up at her with a frown. Dressed in a hoody? In what world could I possibly—

But then her eyes move down my chest, fix on something there a second, and fly back to my eyes. Her smile brightens a little.

I look down too, to see what she finds so fascinating.

Trinity’s crucifix. Blood red against my gray hoody. Impossible to miss. It must have come out while I was jogging, or when I landed on my ass beside her roses.

Mrs. Nosy beckons me with a frail hand. “Why don’t you come inside, dear? I’ll fix you a glass of lemonade.”

I feel like I’ve stepped through a portal back to the eighties where old ladies go around offering cold beverages to any sweaty teen that happens to come within yelling distance of their whitewashed porches.

But my options are limited. If I break cover, my brothers could see me. If I go inside with the nice lady and let her pour me a drink, I could wait them out. Keep track of them on my phone. Fuck, I might even give them a call and see if they pick up.

Don’t know what I’d even say if they did, but I’d think of something.

* * *

The old woman’sname is Langley, and she’s a Mizzz because her husband died a long time ago.

I’m starting to think she had ulterior motives for the lemonade, especially when she puts down a plate of cookies too. I ignore them—I haven’t touched refined sugar for many years. I don’t plan on falling off that wagon any time soon, so I only take imaginary sips from the glass of lemonade.

“Are you one of the new missionary boys they told us about on Sunday?” Miss Langley asks.

I would have choked on my cold drink if I’d actually been drinking it. “Missionary boy?”

“For the mission to Ghana.” Langley beams, which happens anytime she mentions the church.

Now I’m convinced this is Trinity’s old haunt. It could just be this one biddy, but I have a feeling everyone around here is really serious about finding Jesus.

A priest like Gabriel really brings that out in a person.

I figure I don’t have much to lose except having the cookies withdrawn—God willing—so I say, “Ghana.” I look introspective. “God willing, Miss Langley, we’ll be changing hundreds of lives in that village.”

She clasps her hands again, her lips trembling. “Oh, you must be so excited.”

“I am.” I shift in my seat, nod my head a little. “But if it wasn’t for Father Gabriel, I wouldn’t even be here.”

“Father…” Langley sags in her chair. “I miss him so much. He was such a good influence on you young ones.”

Fuck, if she only knew. But I nod along, try and look as Catholic as possible, and even go as far as to toy with Trinity’s crucifix.

“Actually, I’ve never met him.”

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