From the Corner of His Eye

him, took his temperature, and spooned two chips of ice into his parched mouth. Leaving, she gave Celestina a meaningful look and tapped her wristwatch.
        Alone again with Wally, Celestina said, "They told me that once you regained consciousness, I can only visit ten minutes at a time, and not that often, either."
        He nodded. "Tired."
        "The doctors tell me you'll make a full recovery."
        Smiling again, speaking in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, he said, "Got a wedding date to keep."
        She bent down and kissed his cheek, his right eye, his left, his brow, his dry cracked lips. "I love you so much. I wanted to die when I thought you weren't with me anymore.
        "Never say die," he admonished.
        Blotting her eyes on a Kleenex, she said, "All right. Never."
        "Was it Angel's father?"
        She was surprised by his intuition. Three years ago, when first she moved to Pacific Heights, Celestina had shared with him the fear that the beast would find them one day, but she hadn't spoken of that possibility in perhaps two and a half years.
        She shook her head. "No. It wasn't Angel's father. You're her father.
        He was just the son of a bitch who raped Phimie."
        "They get him?"
        "I almost did. With his own gun."
        Wally raised his eyebrows.
        "And I hit him with a chair, hurt him some."
        "Wow."
        She said, "Didn't know you were going to marry an Amazon, huh?"
        "Sure did."
        "He got away just as the police arrived. And they think he's psychotic, plenty crazy enough to try again if they don't find him soon."
        "Me too," he said worriedly.
        "They don't want me to go back to the apartment."
        "Listen to them."
        "And they're even worried about me hanging around St. Mary's too long, 'cause he'll expect me to be here with you."
        "I'll be okay. Lots of friends here."
        "You'll be out of ICU tomorrow, I bet. You'll have a phone, I'll call. And I'll come soon as I can."
        He found the strength to squeeze her hand tighter than before. "Be safe. Keep Angel safe."
        She kissed him again. "Two weeks," she reminded him.
        He smiled ruefully. "Might be ready for a wedding by then, but not a honeymoon."
        "We've got the rest of our lives for the honeymoon."

Chapter 74
        
        WHEN AT LAST Paul Damascus reached the parsonage late Friday afternoon, January 12, he arrived on foot, as he arrived everywhere these days.
        A cold wind raised a haunting groan as it harried itself around and around in the bronze hollow of the bell atop the church steeple, shook dead needles from the evergreens, and resisted Paul's progress with what seemed to be malicious intent. Miles ago, between the towns of Brookings and Pistol River, he had decided that he wouldn't again walk this far north at this time of year, even if the guidebooks did claim that the Oregon coast was a comparatively temperate zone in winter.
        Although he was a stranger, arriving unannounced, and something of an eccentric by anyone's definition, Paul was received by Grace and Harrison White with warmth and fellowship. At their doorstep, raising his voice to compete with the wailing weather, he hurriedly blurted out his mission, as if they might reel back from his wild windblown presence if he didn't talk quickly enough: "I've walked here from Bright Beach, California, to tell you about an exceptional woman whose life will echo through the lives of countless others long after she's gone. Her husband died the night their son was born, but not before naming the boy Bartholomew, because he'd been so impressed by 'This Momentous Day. And now the boy is blind, and I hope you'll be able and willing to give some comfort to his mother." The Whites failed to reel backward, didn't even flinch from his unfortunately explosive statement of purpose. Instead, they invited him into their home, later invited him to dinner, and later still asked him to stay the night in their guest room, They were as gracious as any people he had ever met, but they also seemed genuinely interested in his story. He wasn't surprised that Agnes Lampion would enthrall them, for hers was a life of clear significance. That they seemed equally interested in Paul's story, however, surprised him. Perhaps they were merely being kind, and yet with apparent fascination, they drew out of him so many details