Angel Fire - Lisa Unger [66]
“You don’t seem overly concerned.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we both just need to get some rest.”
So they had parted with much unsaid and unresolved between them. She had almost turned back to him as she walked up the stairs. They had been so close. If they hadn’t been interrupted by the police, there was little question as to what would have happened.
She was some combination of disappointed and relieved as she walked into the adjoining bathroom and felt the cool hard tile beneath her feet. The room was a study in the varied uses of white marble—the floor, countertop, and sink were all formed of the beautiful stone. With mirrored walls and bright marquis bulbs, no inch of the room escaped reflection except the steam-room and shower, which were enclosed behind frosted-glass doors that reached from floor to ceiling. The countertop was a pretty clutter of the finest cosmetics and toiletries, expensively packaged soaps and lotions, bath salts, powders, fragrances. Lydia loved the smell, the feel of these things. They were a tiny indulgence she afforded herself, in honor of her mother. Marion, too, had cherished the luxury of a beautiful bathroom, filled with products that pleased the senses and soothed the skin. But Marion had never allowed herself the pleasure of the costly items she saw in magazines. Lydia would have lavished her mother with such things, had Marion lived to share her wealth. So instead she bought them for herself.
The cold water of the shower braced her skin, shocking the last sleepy cobwebs from her head. She lathered herself with lavender soap, at first enduring and then enjoying the frigid water raising goose bumps on her flesh. She washed her hair twice and then conditioned, letting the cold water beat on her back while she let the conditioner sit, making her hair soft. When she emerged, her body glistening, she dried herself with one of the plush black towels that hung on the wall. Then she wrapped herself in it and brushed her teeth.
Jeffrey placed a mug of coffee on her bedside table. He heard the shower and shivered, knowing that it was ice cold. Cold showers for the morning; hot showers at night. He could hear her saying the morning was the beginning of the day, no time for luxury or relaxation—it was time to get moving. He smiled at the thought, but he held a sadness inside of him, mourning the moment that had passed between them last night. He knew that it could not be recaptured, and could already feel her laying distance between them. He let her do it, aware that she would have to come to him. Like a lunar eclipse, that moment could not be forced—only anticipated. He walked from the room and closed the door as Lydia emerged from the bathroom.
The sight of the steaming coffee at the bedside made her want to smile and cry at the same time.
Lydia and Jeffrey followed behind in the Kompressor as Morrow’s beat-up squad car led the way to the church. High winds whipped sand around the car and rushed loudly through Lydia’s partially opened window, making conversation between them difficult. Not that there was any conversation. The silence between them was like barbed wire. If he tried to get through it, it probably wouldn’t kill him. But it would hurt like hell. So Jeffrey kept quiet, watching the landscape pass and preparing for the interview ahead.
In Jeffrey’s imagination, the Church of the Holy Name had taken on cathedral-like proportions. Maybe because of the significance it seemed to hold for Lydia. So, he was a bit surprised when they pulled up beside the tiny adobe church, with its simple wood doors, unassuming bell tower, and cross-shaped windows.
“This is it?” he asked.
“This is it,” Lydia answered. She walked up the three small steps and pushed the heavy doors in, followed by Jeffrey and Morrow.
A frail, dark-haired man wearing faded but well-washed and pressed jeans and a white oxford shirt approached them, and Jeffrey was again surprised when Lydia introduced him as Juno. From Lydia’s description he had expected to see Gabriel in flowing robes,