Hope's Angel (16 page)

“Aha!
That’s why you ordered an anchovy pizza the Friday we stopped at DeLuca’s. Too
bad you have to go to church, or we could do it again.” He glanced at her. “Or
is this a Paul night?”

Connie
turned her face to the blackness outside the passenger side window. Paul was
working that night, helping his boss finish an overdue job in Barre, but that
was none of Greg’s business.

“Wow,
this is all black ice,” Greg said as he squinted at the windshield.

Connie
looked out at the snowflakes blowing directly into the headlights like a
million swirling dots of light. Beyond them, on the side of the road ahead,
were the rotating red and blue lights of a police cruiser slowing down
southbound traffic.

“What
happens if you don’t get there because of extenuating circumstances?” Greg
asked as their progress slowed to a crawl.

“I’m
not going to worry about it.” Connie watched the flashing red tail lights of
the cars ahead of them, thankful that Greg was driving instead of her. This was
exactly the scenario that had given her frights in past winters, but this time
she felt safe. When she glanced at his profile, a surge of affection welled
inside her, appreciation for him being there to take care of her.

“Tell
me about Confession,” he said. “I’ve seen it in the movies, but is it really
like that? It seems like the priest can always see the person on the other
side, so why do they bother to do it with the little screen?”

“To
make you think it’s anonymous, I guess. Of course, if you know the priest, he’s
probably going to know your voice, even if he can’t see you.”

“Doesn’t
that make it hard to tell him you’ve done bad stuff?” Greg glanced at her. “Not
that I’m saying you do bad stuff. But if eating meat can send you to hell…”

“If
you do bad stuff, you go to a different church, where the priest doesn’t know
you.” Connie kept her eyes forward. Her past two Confessions had been at St.
Florian’s church on the south side. She had no intentions of telling Father
Ianelli what she had been doing with Paul for the past two weeks, even though
she was sure he had heard much worse. For her, petting under her clothes was a
major departure from her usual misdemeanors.

“And
you go so that if you get hit by a bus, you won’t go to hell?” Greg asked.

“Yes.
And because you can’t go to Communion on Sunday if you’re not in a state of
grace—if you’ve got mortal sins on your soul.”

“And
what happens if you don’t go to Communion?”

Connie
grimaced. “Your family knows you have mortal sins on your soul, and you might
as well just come out and tell them what you did, because they’ll either figure
it out or come up with something worse.”

Greg
let out a chuckle. “I’m glad I’m not Catholic.”

A vision
of Greg touching someone the way Paul touched her sent a surprising pang of
jealousy through Connie. She was pondering what that meant when he said, “So…
if you don’t commit mortal sins, then you don’t have to go to Confession every
Saturday?”

“That’s
right.”

“Then,
if you
do
go on a Saturday, wouldn’t your family still figure it out?”

Connie
laughed at his persistence. “Well, I happen to be in luck. My family believes
in going
every
Saturday. So, we’re always safe from suspicion.”

Greg
glanced at his watch in the light from the dashboard. “We’re not going to get there
by six. Sorry. Is there a church along the way where you want to stop?”

The
question took her by surprise. “You would do that?”

“I
don’t have any plans.”

She
thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know where there are other churches,
plus they might not even have an evening Mass.” She gave him an appreciative
smile. “But it’s really nice that you would think of that.”

“I’m
a nice guy.”

“I
know you are,” she said.

Greg
kept his eyes on the road ahead, but a small smile played around his mouth. “In
fact, you once said I’m the nicest guy you’ve ever known. Of course, that was a
while ago.”

The
glow of the dashboard bathed his handsome features in soft light, and Connie
studied his profile. She had enjoyed riding with him for the past two weeks,
and she had to admit that much of her early interest in him had resurfaced as
they resumed laughing and talking together. Still, she was happy with Paul, who
had turned out to be thoughtful and caring and interesting, and whose
attentions brought her incredible pleasure in ways she had imagined but never
experienced before.

“I’m
sure you still are,” she said for lack of anything better to say.

Greg’s
laugh held a tinge of bitterness. “Which means Paul’s not as nice as me. But
then, that would make sense. Nice guys always finish last, from what I hear.”

The
conversation had become one she had no intentions of continuing..

They
rode in silence for several minutes until Greg said, “Can I ask you something?”

She
would rather he didn’t, but they were still trapped in the car together. “You
can ask. I may not answer.”

“Did
you ever learn more about that angel at the cemetery?”

That
wasn’t a question she had anticipated, and a welcome sense of relief reversed
the tension building inside her. She had forgotten all about the angel.“No, I
never did. It sort of left my mind, I guess, after all the stuff with you and
David. I mean, at first, I thought about asking you to take me there during the
day, but that was the week you and I didn’t ride together and, since then, I
haven’t thought about it again.”

“I’m
surprised. You were so freaked out that night.”

Connie
relaxed against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. “It was the pot.”

“You
said it wasn’t.”

“I
know, but after I thought about it for a while, I figured that must be what it
was.”

Greg’s
voice was noncommittal. “I’d be glad to take you there during the day sometime.
If you still want to go.”

Connie
thought about that for a moment. It would be a harmless thing to do, and she
was curious about the place.“Sure. I don’t think I’d ever find it myself.”

“Tell
me when, and if I have to skip a class, I will.” She could hear the grin in his
voice as he said, “Especially if it’s Russian.”

Connie
opened her eyes and looked at her wristwatch. Five fifty. They were just
outside Barre, and she was getting hungry.“DeLuca’s sounds good. I’m not going
to make it to Mass on time.”

“You
sure? What about your family?”

“I’ll
call them when we get to the pizza place. They all went to church this morning,
so they’ll eat without me anyway.”

Traffic
had resumed its normal pace; the highway was snowy but no longer icy. They
arrived at DeLuca’s shortly after six and were seated immediately thanks to a
light crowd. Connie used the public phone to call home and say she would be
delayed by road conditions and not to hold dinner for her. On the chance that
Paul might call, she didn’t mention she was in Barre eating with Greg.

She
returned to their booth beside a window. They ordered a medium pizza covered
half with sausage and half with anchovies. When the waitress laid it on the
table between them, Connie was captivated by the symbolism. “This is us,” she
said sadly.

Greg
gave her a questioning smile.

“The
night you and David had it out, you said I should think about the many ways
that we’re different. It’s right here.” She gestured toward the pizza. “We’re meat
and anchovies. Old Vermont Yankee and immigrant Italian, white collar and blue
collar, Protestant and Catholic.”

“I
was angry.” His smile was gone.

“White
and not so white—”

“Stop!”
Anguish contorted his face as he stared at her. “I don’t care what our
differences are! They make it all the more interesting! I was angry that day. I
felt like an outsider, and I was lashing out.” His voice lowered to just above
a whisper. “I love you, Connie. You must know that!”

Connie
stared across the table at him, dumbfounded. He looked frightened, totally out
of his element, as startled by what he had said as she was.

Confusion
overtook her. “How can you say that? We have nothing in common. You said so
yourself.”

He
leaned across the table toward her, his gray eyes drawing her in. “I was wrong.
We have everything. We’re smart and educated, and we can do whatever we want.
Live wherever we want. Start over and do it right this time. Finish our degrees
and create a life together doing what we believe is right for us. Who cares if
we don’t vote for the same guy to be president, or you eat freaking anchovies?
How is any of that important when you love someone?”

Connie
sat staring at him, rendered speechless by the intensity of his emotion. He had
no reason to love her. All they did was argue. Their one date had ended in
disaster, with her an hysterical wreck. She had embarrassed him in front of her
family. She was unsophisticated and rough around the edges, and he was uptown
and well-bred. He belonged with Candy What’s-her-face at a country club
somewhere, not eating pizza in a dive with Connie.

“I’m
sorry.” He sat back in his chair, his expression caught between anger and
remorse. “I’m sure you didn’t want to hear any of that.” His eyes shifted to
focus on something past her shoulder, at the front of the restaurant. “Don’t
look now, but Paul just walked in.”

Paul?
Connie fought the urge to immediately turn around, her
heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and surprise. She watched Greg’s face
with trepidation. “Does he see us?”

Greg
fixed his gaze on the action behind her. “No, he’s with three other people, and
they’re looking at the menu board.”

Oh,
my God.
Connie was aching to
turn and see who Paul was with, yet frightened to have him see her there with
Greg. She considered slouching in the booth seat. “What kind of people?”

“A
guy and two women.”

Connie
closed her eyes.
A guy and two women? He was out with a woman and another
couple?

“The
couple looks older,” Greg said. “Not like parent-old, but not our age, either.
The girl is more like us.”

She
had never met the guy Paul was apprenticed to. Maybe it was him and his wife
and… somebody else.

“I
think they’re just buying stuff to go,” Greg reported. “It looks like they’re
picking out slices.”

Connie
drew a deep breath and stared at the tabletop, unsure which was worse—Paul
seeing her there with Greg or Paul’s being with another woman.

“They’re
paying and leaving.”

Connie
continued to stare at the table. Paul had told her he had to work. Was he
really out with someone else?

“They’re
gone. He never saw us.”

Connie
felt sick to her stomach. She turned her face away from the window on the
chance that Paul might look in from the parking lot and see her there. And if
he did, what would he feel? Anger that she was there with Greg? Chagrin that he
was with someone else? Remorse? Nothing?

“You
never looked to see for yourself.” Greg’s expression had gone cold. “How do you
know I didn’t make that up?”

Connie
frowned at him. The thought had never entered her mind. “Did you?”

“Me?”
His eyes bored into hers, and his voice was laden with sarcasm. “I’m too nice
to do that to you.”

Connie’s
temper flared.
Had Paul been there, or not?
“Except now you’re being an
asshole.”

Greg
gave her a humorless smile. “I didn’t make it up, Connie. And anyway, it could
have been his boss.”

“Could
have been.” She was determined to hurt him now. “After all, here
we
are,
and it doesn’t mean a damn thing!”

Greg
looked at her without answering, then reached for a piece of sausage pizza.
They ate in silence, then maintained that silence for the remainder of the trip
to the Park and Ride.