Love in an Undead Age, A.M. Geever [best contemporary novels txt] 📗

Connor could not catch Miranda as she ran from the Jesuit Residence into the wet, inky night. She was headed for the Mission Church. He knew it before she darted up the steps and pulled on one of the massive doors. A few moments later, he stepped inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the murky interior. Her sobs echoed off the walls like forlorn prayers.

He couldn’t believe he had missed it, but how could he have known? She hated Emily’s husband so much she only visited if Mario was not there. The vicious riposting and malicious digs that she and Mario had traded at dinner, and Karen’s comment that he did not know the half of it. In hindsight, it was lit in neon, but there was no way he could have seen it. He hadn’t had enough pieces of the puzzle to fit together.

Connor wiped the rain from his face as he walked past the row of tapestry draped columns that demarcated the entryway from the sanctuary proper. In keeping with classical Mission style, the church had no fixed pews. Often the altar was set up against the far back wall, but at the moment it was in the center. Rows of sturdy wooden chairs surrounded it, utilizing an in-the-round style. Massive iron candelabras glowed, candlelight flickering off the stark white walls and golden decorations. The timbered ceiling was almost lost in the cavernous gloom, and the deep-set windows high along the walls stared out into the night like sightless eyes.

Miranda huddled on the floor in the aisle by the first row of chairs. Sobs racked her body. A few people milled nearby, not sure what to do. Connor waved the concerned onlookers away and knelt down beside her.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, her head and shoulders on his lap. He ran his hand over her soaked head, making sure to tuck imaginary strands of hair behind her ear. Her mother had smoothed her hair behind her ear when she was sick as a child. She told him that the first time she was stuck-in-bed sick her freshman year. Funny the things you remember, and when.

The familiar motion seemed to soothe her. Eventually she began to settle a little, sobs replaced by weeping.

“You loved him.”

She shuddered, and for a moment he thought she might begin to sob again. He slid his hand under the fingers of her right hand so he could get a look. The knuckles were scuffed and scratched and beginning to swell.

“We should get some ice for your hand.”

She shook her head and mumbled.

“I can’t hear you, Miri.”

Miranda’s tremulous voice was barely audible. “God is punishing me, I know He is.”

“Miranda… It doesn’t work like that.”

“He’s punishing me, He is,” she insisted. She began to cry harder. “He wasn’t free. I was so, so selfish.”

“Look at me.”

Miranda shook her head. Connor burrowed his hand under her chin and raised her head. Tears ran unchecked down her face. Even though he held her chin, she tried to look away.

“Look at me,” he said again.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. The fear and self-loathing Connor saw in them tore at his heart.

“You must think I’m horrible,” she said, almost unintelligible through her tears. “I know you do. I’m the worst kind of— God’s been punishing me all this time and—”

“Stop it,” Connor said. “Stop right now. Do not put words in my mouth. I don’t care, Miranda. I love you whether you think you deserve it or not, and God loves you, too. God is not punishing you; that’s not how it works.” His voice softened. “I only care that he hurt you so much.”

Connor pulled her close and held her tight and rocked her like a baby. She wept with her face pressed against his chest. And then, finally, she surrendered. Her body relaxed and went limp.

“I can’t believe you have to see me like this. Crying over someone else, I mean,” she said. Tears that she quickly wiped away still leaked from the corners of her eyes.

Connor shrugged. “I was gone a long time. I never thought you were waiting for me.”

“That might have worked out better,” she muttered. She looked up at him, then straightened up, concerned. “Connor, your face… It’s all cut up.”

Connor touched his face. He felt small cuts on his left cheek and forehead. His fingers came back with red smears.

“There’s a big piece of glass in your cheek.” Miranda leaned over and pulled out a long, sharp sliver. Warm blood began to run down the side of his face. “Ah, Jesus, I should have left it alone. You’re going to need stitches.” She dug in her front jeans pocket and produced a handkerchief which she pressed against his face.

The squelch of wet footsteps echoed from the direction of the main doors. Doug walked toward them looking uncomfortable but resolved. When he saw the blood-stained handkerchief in Connor’s hand, he stopped short.

“She didn’t punch you, too?”

Connor swallowed his annoyance and shook his head.

Doug looked at Miranda. “We need to talk, Miri. I know you don’t want to hear anything I have to say, but things are going sideways. We need you.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before,” Miranda said. She had her voice under control, but she still swiped at tears.

“That’s part of what I need to talk to you about,” Doug answered. The exuberant young priest looked more serious than Connor would have thought possible. “I don’t mean to sound like Walter, but this is more important than any one of us.”

From the look on her face, Connor was sure Miranda would hurl an insult, but she surprised him.

“It’s about the vaccine.”

“Yes,” Doug answered.

She gave a disgusted sigh. “Fine, whatever. I could give a shit, but fine.”

Doug looked at Connor expectantly. Ah. Apparently he was supposed to beat it.

Fuck that, Connor thought. Aloud he said, “Do you want me to stay?”

Miranda turned to look at him, misery stamped across her face. Seeing her like this was torture. I’ll kill that asshole if it’s the last thing I do, he vowed.

“It’s okay,” Miranda said tiredly. “You should get your face looked at.” She kissed him, then lingered, like she didn’t want him to go. “Thank you.”

“You silly,” he said, his voice pitched low for her ears alone. “I’d do anything for you.”

“I know.”

Her cornflower blue eyes, beautiful despite being red and puffy, regarded him gratefully for a moment.

Connor grasped Miranda’s hand as he stood. “I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

“No. Go to the Jesuit Residence and get someone