From the Corner of His Eye

felt wasn't just sentimental gush."
        "You sound so sure." great "When hasn't she, since the age of three?" her father said with affection.
        "I'm meant to be this baby's guardian," Celestina said, "to keep her safe. She's special. But I'm no selfless martyr. There's joy in this for me, already at just the thought of it. I'm scared, sure. Oh, Lord, am I scared.
        But there's joy, too."
        "Brain and heart?" her father asked again.
        "All of both," she confirmed.
        "What I insist upon," said her mother, "is coming down there for a few months at the beginning, to help out until you get organized, until you figure out the rhythm of it."
        And thus it was agreed. Although sitting in a chair, Celestina felt herself crossing a deep divide between her old life and her new, between the future that might have been and the future that would be.
        She was not prepared to raise a baby, but she would learn what she needed to know.
        Her ancestors had endured slavery, and on their shoulders, on the shoulders of generations, she now stood free. What sacrifices she made for this child could not rightly be called sacrifices at all, not in the harsh light of history. Compared to what others had undergone, this was easy duty-, generations had not struggled so that she could shirk it. This was honor and family. This was life, and everyone lived his life in the shadow of one solemn obligation or another.
        Likewise, she wasn't prepared to deal with a monster like the father, if one day he came for Angel. And he would come. She knew. In these events as in all things, Celestina White glimpsed a pattern, complex and mysterious, and to the eye of an artist, the symmetry of the design required that one day the father would come. She wasn't prepared to deal with the creep now, but by the time that he arrived, she would be ready for him.

Chapter 26
        
        AFTER UNDERGOING TESTS for brain tumors or lesions, to ascertain whether his seizure of violent emesis might, in fact, have a physical cause, Junior was returned to his hospital room shortly before noon.
        No sooner was he abed once more than he cringed at the sight of Thomas Vanadium in the doorway.
        The detective entered, carrying a lunch tray. He put it on the adjustable bed stand, which he swung over Junior's lap.
        "Apple juice, lime Jell-O, and four soda crackers," said the detective. "If you don't have enough of a conscience to make you confess, then this diet ought to break your will. I assure you, Enoch, the fare is far better in any Oregon prison."
        "What's wrong with you?" Junior demanded.
        As though he'd not understood that the question required a reply and had not heard the implied rebuke, Vanadium went to the window and raised the venetian blind, admitting such powerful sunlight that the glare seemed to crash into the room.
        "It's a sunshine-cake sort of day," Vanadium announced. "Do you know that old song, 'Sunshine Cake,' Enoch? By James Van Heusen, a great songwriter. Not his most famous tune. He also wrote 'All the Way' and 'Call Me Irresponsible.' 'Come Fly with Me'-that was one of his, too. 'Sunshine Cake' is a minor tune, but a nice one."
        This patter poured out in the detective's patented drone. His flat face was as expressionless as his voice was uninflected.
        "Please close that," Junior said. "It's too bright."
        Turning from the window, approaching the bed, Vanadium said,
        "I'm sure you'd prefer darkness, but I need to get some light under that rock of yours to see your expression when I give you the news."
        Although he knew it was dangerous to play along with Vanadium, Junior couldn't stop himself from asking, "What news?"
        "Aren't you going to drink your apple juice?"
        "What news?"
        "The lab didn't find any ipecac in your spew.
        Any what?" Junior asked, because he had pretended to be asleep when Vanadium and Dr. Parkhurst had discussed ipecac the previous night.
        "No ipecac, no other emetic, and no poison of any kind."
        Naomi had been cleared of suspicion. Junior was pleased that their brief and beautiful time together would not forever be clouded by the possibility that she was a treacherous bitch who had tainted his food.
        "I know you induced vomiting somehow," the detective said, "but it looks like I'm not going to be able to prove