He didn’t budge. “I know you too well to believe that.”
She stiffened. His words set fire under her. “You don’t know me at all, you never did.”
Seeing that he wasn’t going to leave her, she stood abruptly and made her way out of the pew and down the side aisle. Her crisp steps echoed in the empty church.
She must have risen too quickly, because she hadn’t gone more than a few feet when her head started to swim and the room began to spin. Reaching out to the end of the wooden row, she caught herself in time to keep from collapsing.
Roberto was at her side in an instant. He murmured something impatient in Spanish and led her to the back of the church.
“Stay here,” he insisted, and disappeared. No more than a minute passed before he returned with a glass of water.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she insisted. She didn’t want him to touch her. Didn’t want him close to her. He was the one who wanted her out of his life. She’d go. Kicking and screaming, she’d abided by his wishes. However difficult, however painful. He had no reason to complain.
“When was the last time you had anything to eat?”
Brynn couldn’t remember, but she wasn’t about to let Roberto know that. “I’m fine,” she insisted stiffly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d kindly leave me alone.”
“Brynn, please listen.”
“If I understood you correctly, you don’t want anything more to do with me. All I ask is that you respect my wishes, as I have yours.”
He hesitated, and Brynn felt a small sense of satisfaction, knowing her words had hit their mark.
“Allow me to escort you to the wake. Please.” She knew that the “please” had cost him a great deal.
“Why?” She didn’t understand the necessity of this.
“It’s a little thing, isn’t it?”
It would be petty to refuse him, so she agreed. His arm came around her shoulder. She meant to shake it off, but the moment he brought her close to his side, the tears that had refused to come broke free in a surging dam of grief.
Brynn sank into the pew at the back of the vestibule and wept as though her very soul had been ripped from her body.
“It’s all right,” Roberto whispered, cradling her in his arms, pressing her head to his chest.
She didn’t mean to cling to him, but her pride be damned, she needed him as she’d never needed anyone.
He spoke again in Spanish, his voice low and soothing. Tucking her head against his shoulder, he rocked back and forth gently.
“You were right,” she admitted when the shoulder-shaking sobs had abated. “You tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen. Now Mike’s dead and—”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
On a conscious level Brynn agreed with him, but deep inside she felt she carried a portion of the blame. Mike had trusted her enough to write her. She was the one person in all the world to whom he felt comfortable enough communicating his last wishes. Yet she’d been oblivious of his pain, deaf to his needs. The boy had been desperate, and she had been blind.
In retrospect Brynn realized that Mike had been trying to tell her in subtle ways of the hopelessness he experienced. His essays had been full of it. The dark side. Despondent words from a despondent youth.
Abruptly, Brynn pulled away from Roberto. In addition to his comfort, his embrace was a painful reminder that he wanted nothing more to do with her. If this was a contest, she was declaring him the winner.
“I won’t be coming back,” she announced firmly, surprised at the strength of her voice. “I’ve already given Mr. Whalen my letter of resignation. In January the kids will have a new teacher.”
“Do Emilio and the others know?” Roberto asked.
“Not yet.”
“When do you plan to tell them?”
“Now.”
Something flashed in his eyes. “It’s for the best.”
She noticed that Roberto didn’t try to talk her out of leaving. She realized that was what she wanted, what she longed with all her being for him to do.
She stood. “I’ll do it now,” she said, and boldly walked out the door.
“What are we going to tell Gabriel?” Shirley demanded of her two friends. The three had gathered in the choir loft following Mike’s funeral, at a loss as to how to report their progress to the archangel.
“This is the first time we’ve failed. He’ll understand,” Mercy offered.
“He might accept one failure, but all three of us?”
“What happened this year?” Goodness threw her arms into the air, thoroughly disgusted by this unexpected turn of events.
Shirley cast them a disgruntled look. “It might have helped matters if you two hadn’t been playing on escalators and writing on billboards in Times Square.”
“Blaming each other isn’t going to help.”
“But it’s nearly Christmas Eve,” Mercy protested. “I can’t possibly see us turning everything around at this late point.”
“Maybe there’s a chance if we work together.”
Shirley shook her head slowly. “It seems to me working together is what got us into this mess.”
“All right, let’s each report what’s happening with our charges,” Goodness suggested, and gestured for Shirley to go first.
“Well, as you can see,” Shirley said, pointing to Brynn, who sat in the corner of the parish hall, “Brynn has said good-bye to her class. She’s miserable, and blames herself for Mike’s death.”
“What’s going to happen to her?”