Fallen Angel by Alton Gansky

Author:Alton Gansky
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
Published: 2011-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

EVERYTHING ABOUT GINA'S BEDROOM reminded Stacy of her daughter. The wee hours of the morning became the walking hours. Sounds of cars on the street in front of their house seeped through the wall and window; noises made by people going about the same business they went about the day before: work, shopping, taking children to school. Yesterday, she took no notice of the sounds; today they were laden with irony: the tragic happened and the world remained unchanged.

Gina was gone and the world kept spinning. Business would open, transactions would occur, airlines would take wing as if nothing so soul crushing as an abduction had happened.

In the living room sat three girls, the friends with whom Gina studied the night before. Each received word, most likely from Pauline's mother. The police interviewed the family. The girls—Pauline, Beth, and Sharon—refused to go to school. Unlike the rest of the neighborhood, they could not pretend nothing had happened.

At first, Stacy didn't want them in the house, not because she blamed them, but because she didn't want to be distracted with guests. Still, when the tears in their eyes and terror on their faces appeared, she couldn't close the door. For the last few hours the trio sat in stunned silence, staring at the floor, or the walls, or out the window as if Gina might stroll up the walk any moment.

Stacy pulled a tissue from a box by Gina's bed and blew her nose. It was one of the few things she was able to do: cry and blow her nose.

Pink tissue paper. Gina always wanted pink tissue paper. "Blue is for boys," she often said. She was five when she first said that, but she kept the preference as she grew.

Rob once said, "Insisting on pink tissue means you're psychotic."

Gina had replied, "I think you mean neurotic. There's a difference, you know."

On most days, Stacy was certain Gina was the smartest person in the house.

Stacy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The room smelled of Gina; the air was charged with the essence of Gina; and if she listened carefully, she could hear her daughter humming.

The tears came again. Stacy, seated on Gina's bed, pulled a pillow to her chest and buried her face. More Gina. The smell of her shampoo.

Tears turned to deep, body-racking sobs.

She felt a presence and looked up. Chaplain Bartley entered the room. He pulled Gina's desk chair within reach of Stacy and sat. He said nothing. Tears streaked his face.

"You don't have to stay, Chaplain."

"I know, but I'm staying out of a sense of self-preservation and to uphold an old family tradition."

"I don't understand." She continued to hug the pillow.

"My brother is on your husband's team. You know that. What you may not know is how much he admires your husband and your family. A few weeks ago, he told me he hopes to have a family like yours. If I'm not here for you, J. J. will make sure I get a weeklong butt kicking.

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