Don blinked and snorted, snoring.
"Pride," Dad said. "This person has already wronged you in some way, and now you are the one who has to swallow your pride, give something up, in order to forgive him. In fact, the scriptures say that if you remain in your pride and choose not to forgive someone, then you are the one committing the greater sin. The good son in this story is actually in much graver danger than his prodigal brother."
"So should the prodigal be loved no matter what?" Daniel asked from his corner.
I shot up out of my chair. This was all just too much.
Dad gave me a quizzical glance. "Brownies," I said.
There was a collective "mmmmmm" from the audience as I left the room. Dad's lesson was probably cut short when I came back with refreshments, but I didn't really care. I wanted to go home. I cleaned up the napkins and gathered the empty mugs while the others milled around, talking about jolly things like presents and carols. Once the room was tidied enough, I went to my father and asked if I could take off early.
"I don't feel well," I said. "I'd like to get to bed."
"Finals burnout?" Dad chuckled. "You deserve a good night's rest." He leaned over and traced the cross on my forehead. "I promised to drive a couple of the ladies back to Oak Park, so I can't send you with the car. I don't want you walking home alone, though." Dad looked to the back of the room. "Daniel," he called.
"No, Dad. That's stupid." I felt a surge of anger against my father. The cross he traced on my forehead seemed to burn my skin. Why was he making this so hard on me? "It's not even that far."
"You are not walking alone in the dark." Dad turned to Daniel as he came up to us. "Will you be so kind as to walk my daughter home?"
"Yes, Pastor."
It wasn't worth protesting, so I let Daniel walk me into the hall. As the classroom door clicked shut, I stepped away from his side. "That's far enough. I can make it the rest of the way myself."
"We need to talk," Daniel said.
"I can't talk to you anymore. Don't you know that?"
"Why?" he asked. "Give me one good reason, and I'll leave you alone."
"One good reason?!" Was this the same person who'd told me he was a werewolf? Was this the same person who admitted doing those terrible things to my brother?
"Try Jude for one." I threw my arms up and stomped toward the coatrack near the exit.
"Jude's not here," he said, and came after me.
"Stop, Daniel. Just stop." I looked down at my coat buttons. Why wouldn't they go into the right holes? "I can't talk to you, or be with you, or help you, because you scare me. Is that reason enough?"
"Grace?" He reached for one of my shaking hands.
I shoved them into my pockets. "Please let me go."
"Not until I tell you ... You have to know." He wrapped both hands around his pendant, and said like it would solve every problem in the world, "I love you, Grace."
I stumbled back. His words felt hke a knife in my heart. They were everything I desired to hear, and everything I hoped he'd never say. And they couldn't solve a thing. I stepped away farther; my back butted against the large oak doors of the parish. "Don't say that. You can't."
Daniel dropped his hands. "You really are afraid of me."
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
He bowed his head. "Gracie, let me fix what I've done. That's all I want. All I care about is you."
I wanted to be able to forgive Daniel. I really did. But even with everything Dad said, I didn't know how. It's not like I could just flip a switch and forget everything he'd done to my brother. It's not like I could change the fact that loving me meant that something inside of him wanted to kill me. But it's not like I could just stop loving him, either--couldn't stop the aching to kiss him, to be with him.
How could I go on seeing him like this every day? I knew I'd give in eventually--I'd lose everything.
I pushed on the door latch. "If you cared, then you'd leave."
"I told your father I'd walk you home." "I meant for good, Daniel. You'd leave here for good."
"I won't let you walk alone."
"Then I'll call April or Pete Bradshaw," I said, even though I knew both of them were at the hockey game.
"I can take you," Don Mooney's voice boomed down the hall. He held a large fudge brownie in his fist, and there was a smudge of chocolate frosting on his chin. "I don't mind."
"That would be nice, Don." I pushed open the door. "Good-bye, Daniel."
Chapter Twenty-two
Alpha and omega
WALKING HOME
I clung to Don's bear like arm as I stumbled down the street. My breath created a thick, white fog around my face, and a migraine pressed behind my eyes--but that's not why I found it so difficult to see. I once would have never believed that I'd be happy to have him as my escort, but I silently thanked God that Don had been there to see me home.
I could tell he wanted to talk to me by the way he sputtered and sighed, as if trying to get up the courage to speak. We were almost to my front porch when he finally said something.
"Are you gonna come with us on deliveries tomorrow?"
"No." I wiped at my face, trying to hide the tears I used to be able to stop myself from crying. "The Christmas dance is tomorrow evening. I have a date."
"Oh, that's too had." He kicked at the porch step. "I was hoping you would be there." "Why?"
"I wanted you to see," he said. "I bought thirty-two Christmas hams to donate for the parish."
"Thirty-two!" Why did that make my tears come faster? "That must have cost a fortune."
"All my Christmas money and then some," he said. "I wanted to help the needy instead of buying presents this year."
"That's great," I smiled because I knew that Don himself technically fit into the "needy" category.
"I have something for you, though." Don dug into his pocket. "Pastor says I should wait till Christmas, but I want you to have it now. I hope it will make you feel better."
He opened his giant fist and offered me a small wooden figurine.
"Thank you." I rubbed away the few tears that remained in my eyes and inspected the present. It was crudely carved, like what a child would make, but I could tell that it was an angel with flowing robes and feathered wings. "It's beautiful." It truly was.