Chapter Three
Angela's mother was hot on her heels. "Scoot over. You're in no condition to drive." Mona nodded at Angela's hands, which were shaking like a particularly cowardly leaf.
"Like you're any better off? Mother, look in the mirror! You're paler than Caspar the Friendly Ghost!"
"Will somebody just drive, already?" Samantha screeched, already in the last stages of buckling her seatbelt. "I'll do it myself if I have to!"
The poor girl looked as wrecked as they were, making up Angela's mind. "You drive, Mother." She climbed into the backseat with Sam and gathered her into another embrace. Sam sank into her arms gratefully. "Shh, he'll be okay." Having another child to comfort was a relief. In addition to giving her something to do besides descend into madness, it forced her to think of calming things. "He's young and healthy, he's in the hands of trained professionals, and your father is watching over him."
The cop she'd nearly strangled banged on the driver's side window. "Ladies, if you'll just wait five seconds, I'll give you an escort to the hospital."
"You've got four!" Mona hollered at him.
"Mother, be civil," Angela pleaded. "He's trying to help us."
The cop hopped into his cruiser, hit the siren, and waved out the window for them to follow him. Mona gunned the engine and zoomed after him. It was a testament to how bad their nerves were that Angela didn't reprimand her for her reckless driving and Samantha didn't applaud it. "Samantha, what happened?" Angela looked down at Sam, as looking at the road ahead was making her already-raw nerves even worse.
"I don't know!" Samantha shrieked hysterically. Angela got the feeling she'd already been asked that question too many times by too many people. "Like I said, I was inside! Dad was helping me with my homework, and Jonathan went out to ride his new bike, and then a few minutes later, we heard a scream. Dad told me to call 9-1-1, and then the 9-1-1 operator made me stay on the phone with her until the paramedics arrived."
Angela hated to grill the poor child when she was this upset, but Sam was the only source of information she had access to, at the moment. "Did you get a look at Jonathan?" she persisted. "Was he conscious? Did he say anything? Did anyone say what was wrong with him?"
Sam shook her head without lifting it from Angela's shoulder. "He was out cold. One of the paramedics mentioned his head and spine were injured, and they had to tie him up because they were worried he might have a seizure. He wasn't breathing. They stuck this crazy long hose down his throat and were pumping air into him like he was a deflated basketball…" Sam trailed off into a dazed silence, clearly traumatized by what she'd seen.
Angela stroked the girl's hair, her heart sinking lower with every word from Sam's mouth. "But he was alive?"
"Yeah. The paramedics kept calling out his pulse every few minutes. It was around a hundred and twenty most of the time. Is that bad? They seemed upset about it, so I'm pretty sure it was bad…" Samantha rambled.
"It's a lot better than nothing," Mona piped up from the driver's seat.
"Right. Listen to Mother," Angela encouraged both Samantha and herself. "Did you see any blood, Sam?"
Sam nodded. "There was a puddle of it dripping out of his nose, and his face was all scraped up."
Angela shuddered. She didn't want to know, but had to ask… "How big a puddle?"
"I don't know! Is there a good size for a puddle of blood?"
Sam sounded positively exasperated, and it was a valid point, so she abandoned that line of questioning. "Did they find the person who did this to him?"
"Yeah, he wasn't trying to run. I'm pretty sure he was high."
Oh, great. Some idiot decides to spark up a doobie, or whatever the hell kids were saying these days, and an innocent child pays the price. "Did they arrest him?"
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't really paying attention. I was trying to get a look at Jonathan through all the paramedics. The guy fainted when he saw the blood, and they put him in an ambulance, too. But they handcuffed him first, so I'm guessing if they haven't arrested him yet, they're going to when he snaps out of it."
"If they're smart, they'll put him in protective custody," Angela muttered darkly. "Before I get my hands on him."
"Ditto," snarled Mona.
"Amen," Samantha echoed.
Tony was easy enough to find when they arrived. He wasn't exactly keeping a low profile, pacing frantically around the ER lobby, a cop on each side of him, barking out the same account Samantha had just delivered in the same exasperated, hysterical tone. "How the hell should I know? Is there a good size for a puddle of blood?!"
"Dad!" Samantha placed herself in his path, forcing him to cease his relentless pacing. "Heel, already!"
Tony hugged his daughter without looking at her, Angela or Mother. His eyes were fixed on a random spot on the floor and did not budge from it. What was this, some sort of relaxation technique? A focal point exercise? "Tony?" Angela grabbed his arm and shook him. "Tony!"
"I think his battery might be loose." Mother struck him on the back of the neck with the heel of her hand.
"Ow!" he growled. His gaze rose, though he still wouldn't look directly at her.
"There. I fixed him for you."
Tony rubbed the back of his neck. "Officer Gomez, Officer Bier, this is Angela Bower, Jonathan's mother, and Mona Robinson, his grandmother. Can I have just a minute to fill them in, please?"
"Of course. Mrs. Bower, we'll need to speak with you once your husband has brought you up to speed."
"My husband?" Angela repeated dumbly.
"I didn't tell 'em that, they just assumed," said Tony defensively, his eyes flitting restlessly around the mostly-empty waiting room. Angela couldn't begin to imagine why. There was nothing to be seen in here. Just a few hard plastic chairs, bare white walls, and a matching linoleum floor, and a muted TV tuned to the Weather Channel. The room was one small step above a sensory deprivation tank.
"Is he still alive?" Angela demanded without further pleasantries.
"Last time I saw him," Tony replied. "His heart's beating again—"
"His heart stopped?!"
"Just for a minute!" Tony assured her. "It started right back up after I gave him CPR—"
"He needed CPR?!" The fact that Tony thought this information would be a comfort was just plain scary.
"It worked!" Tony yelled, sounding every bit as hysterical as she felt. "Don't think about what could have happened if it hadn't. It did. So did the defibrillator and the tracheal tube. He started breathing again on the ride over, but he ain't out of the woods yet. They think he's got a busted spine, and a brain bleed, and maybe more internal bleeding. They said they wouldn't know for sure till they open him up."
"Where is he? I have to see him!"
"Angela, you can't! He's in surgery!" Tony yelled, grabbing her arm to hold her in place but still not looking her in the eye. "The doctor told me it'll be hours. Possibly many hours, depending on what they find when they open him up." While her higher faculties recognized the logic of his words, the primitive, reptilian parts of her brain were in charge right now, and they didn't care about anything but defending their young and maybe killing the predator who had wounded said young, if there was time. She fought against Tony's grasp. Stubbornly, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, but it was more of a wrestling hold than an embrace. "Angela, he's in good hands! Doc Ferguson is the assisting surgeon."
"Doyle?"
"No, the other Doc Ferguson, Isabelle." Tony kept his arms around her and walked her up and down the room. Was the pacing for his benefit, her own, or both, she wondered? "She was the ER physician on duty when we got here, but since she knew Jonathan needed a specialized trauma surgeon, she called in one of her buddies. But she'll be there with him the whole time. She'll take good care of him."
More than can be said for me. Hot tears stung the back of her eyes. What had she been thinking, buying Jonathan that bike? Top speed of thirty-seven miles an hour! the salesman in the sporting goods store had bragged. That was as fast as a car. Hell, it was illegal—Oak Hills drive had a speed limit of twenty-five miles an hour. An eleven-year-old had no business on that thing! He wanted the damn telescope. He told you so, right to your face. They were on sale at Hobby City the day you went to the mall. Sam pointed the display out to you as you walked by and reminded you what he'd said. But no! You didn't want another peeping Tom in the family! You'd rather have a vegetable or a corpse!
Having been brought up not to cry in public—the natural consequence of having British relatives—Angela straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath in, counted to five, then let it out, counting to seven. "Angela, it's a bit late for Lamaze. The kid's been out of your body for eleven years," she heard Mother snipe fuzzily, somewhere in the distance. Angela ignored her, narrowing her entire being to her lungs and nostrils until nothing else was left.
After a minute or two, Angela ceased the strange, rhythmic breathing and looked at the pair of cops that had been dogging Tony's steps for the past half hour. Tony snuck a glance at her face, and was disturbed by what he found. It was as blank and lifeless as that of a mannequin in a department store window. Tony half-expected to see black and white static, like dead air on a late-night TV station, replace the warm brown of her eyes. But they just stared ahead, unchanged and unblinking. "You said you had some questions for me?"
The younger of the two cops seemed almost as disturbed by Angela's behavior as Tony was, but the older of the pair just nodded and hunkered down in front of her. "Mrs. Bower, I'm Officer Bier."
"Are you going to arrest me?" she asked, her voice idly curious, as if asking for the time.
Officer Bier cocked a single eyebrow. "For what?"
"Child endangerment."
Officer Gomez laughed. Officer Bier shot him a warning look and shook his head, stonily silent Officer Gomez hunched his shoulders sheepishly. "Sorry, ma'am. Not to make light of your distress at this difficult time. It's just…that's exactly what your husband asked. I guess you two were made for each other."
Yeah right, thought Tony. About now, she's probably wishing I'd run off with Frankie while I still had the chance. Come to think of it, so do I. Or better yet, I wish I'd never darkened Angela's door in the first place. Jonathan would still be cooped up indoors with his science book, friendless and alone, soaking up pointless trivia, growing paler and geekier by the minute, and alive, with no question that he would remain that way.
Angela didn't blush or stammer in embarrassment, as she had done during these situations earlier in their relationship. Nor did she glance at him out of the corner of her eye and smile knowingly, as she had started doing more recently. Angela merely blinked her eyes and continued to stare straight ahead. "Is that a no?" she asked in the same disinterested tone.
"Yes. I mean no. I mean, yes, it's a no," Officer Gomez stammered.
"Look, lady, I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told your husband." He gave Tony a sharp look. "There's no one to blame here but the junkie who plowed into the kid. Judging from what we found on scene, your son was following all the traffic laws. He was riding on the appropriate side of the road with reflectors in place, and he even had his helmet on. It's plain to see you two are good parents who brought him up right. I just want to make sure you understand your rights."
"What rights are those?" Angela asked mechanically.
"If you're talking about the right to remain silent, my daughter already seems to have picked up on that." Mona gave her daughter a worried frown.
"I'm talking about our state's DWI laws. This idiot needs to be made an example, if you ask me. If he tests positive for alcohol or hard drugs, which he will, you can and should press civil charges. Sue for personal injury, or God forbid, wrongful death-"
"Ay-oh, oh-ay! The D-word's off-limits right now, pal!" Tony snarled, insinuating himself between Angela and Bier. "You got any other brilliant advice?"
Gomez rushed to his partner's side, clearly expecting trouble, but Bier himself didn't appear particularly worried. "No, that's it. We'll be around for a while. We have to wait until the perp comes to and gets discharged before we can resume locking him up and throwing away the key. Tony, if you think of anything else you saw or heard that might be significant, don't hesitate to let us know."
"Sorry this happened," Gomez offered, following his partner off toward the triage center. "We'll be keeping our fingers crossed for your boy."
One of the ER nurses entered from the double doors to the trauma wing just as the cops disappeared into the triage center. "Tony, right? Jonathan's dad? I'm Nicole, we met briefly when you brought your son in."
Angela made no move to correct the nurse, or respond, or even breathe much. She just watched and waited. Someone had to do something in order for the conversation to proceed, so Tony nodded. "Yeah, I'm Tony. This is my daughter Samantha, Jonathan's mom Angela, and Jonathan's grandmother Mona. How's our little man doing?"
"Hanging in there. That helmet he was wearing saved his life, no question. The head injury could have been much, much worse. But he's got a long hard road ahead of him. He's going to be undergoing multiple procedures. Dr. Adams and Dr. Ferguson haven't finalized the list, but they agree that a craniectomy is at the top of it, as the cranial pressure presents the most immediate threat to his survival."
"A craniectomy? Whatever that is, it sounds bad," Sam observed uncomfortably.
"What's a craniectomy, exactly?" Tony asked.
"The removal of a small piece of the patient's skull."
Tony's stomach knotted. Behind him, he heard a sharp intake of breath from Angela's general direction. Mona, standing at his side, groaned in disgust and/or dismay, while Samantha shuddered fiercely. "Seriously?" was all Tony could choke out.
"I know it sounds scary, but it's actually a pretty standard approach for brain bleeds. It'll allow us to drain some of the fluid building up in his head, and give Dr. Adams a window he can go through to fix whatever blood vessels have ruptured." The nurse took one look at Sam and pulled an emesis bag from a dispenser on the wall. "Here, honey. You look like you might need this. I promise, we'll be really careful, and we won't touch anything in your brother's head that we don't absolutely have to. We'll keep the piece of bone we're removing safe, and if all goes well, there'll be another surgery to put it back, once he's stronger."
"And in the meantime?" Tony prodded.
"Then we shift our focus to keeping blood in his vessels. He's showing signs of an aortic intramural hematoma-"
"English, lady," Tony pleaded.
"The main blood vessel carrying blood out of his heart's sprung a leak. We're going to stitch it up, and then give him a transfusion to replace all he blood he's lost. Then we'll go to work on his spine. We haven't had the time for any sort of imaging, but Dr. Ferguson's pretty sure he's fractured some vertebrae in his spine. We'll either fuse them, remove them, or patch them up with some cement and put them back where they go, depending on the type of fractures and the severity of the damage. Based on some irregularities in his breathing, there may need to be work done on his lungs as well."
"You mentioned a spine fracture. Does that mean paralysis?" Angela droned.
"Possibly. There's no way to know one way or the other until he wakes up. If he does end up with some form of paralysis, it's not always permanent. But you should really save those questions for the doctor. I just wanted to let you know his vitals are stable, and we've got all hands on deck, but he's looking at hours under the knife. Get comfy, folks. I'm afraid you're going to be here a while. I'll be in roughly once an hour to update you on his condition and our progress."
Angela nodded mindlessly. Tony shook the nurse's hand politely. "Thank you for keeping us posted. Please let us know if there's anything we can do."
"That goes for me, too. Jonathan and I have the same blood type. I'm here if you need a donor," Mona offered. "Just say the word."
Tony gave her a double-take. Noble as her intentions were, the offer was disconcerting. When Mona was desperate enough to start being polite and helpful, it meant the situation was dire indeed.
Samantha seemed to understand the severity of the situation, bursting into tears. "Mona, don't talk like that!"
Mona hugged the girl, looking contrite. "Sorry, dear, I didn't mean it. Give me a minute, and I'll come up with a zinger about how all men have holes in their heads. It's right on the tip of my tongue, I promise."
With Mona comforting Sam and Angela nearly as comatose as their—her son, there was nothing left for him to do but follow Dr. Ferguson's suggestion. "If you guys need me, or if anything changes, I'll be praying in the chapel."
"Good thinking, Tony," said Mona. "Prayer can be a comfort in dark times like these."
Sam choked out an ugly sound. "Mona, stop! You're scaring me!"
"Sorry!" Mona stroked her hair gently. "I mean…uh…why don't you pray for a girlfriend while you're at it, loser?" She glanced at Sam. "How's that?"
"Needs work," Sam snuffled through her tears.
The distant sound of Samantha's sobs didn't quite pierce the thick white fog Angela had retreated into, but they did thin it out a little. "Oh, Mona, this is all my fault!"
"What in the world are you talking about? Did you push him in front of that car?"
"No," said Sam, "but the whole reason Dad sent him outside to ride his bike was that we were fighting with each other."
"Sam, that's the stupidest thing I've heard all day, and I spent the day with Angela." The two of them looked at her expectantly, as if hoping to see some sign of life, but Angela didn't have the psychological capacity to be offended. Mona sighed sadly. "It was worth a shot. But seriously, Sam, you're the last person in the world who should be blaming herself for this. You could just as well say I'm to blame because it was my bad example with my binoculars that caused Angela to buy him a bike instead of a telescope."
"Mona, that's just dumb."
"Exactly. And you're a smart young lady, so quit talking like a dummy."
"I can't help it!" Sam started to sob in earnest. "If he dies, the last thing I'll have ever said to him is that he looks like a dork and I'm going to punch him in the face!"
Angela's feet picked her up and carried her to where Sam and Mother stood, clinging to each other. "And then you called 9-1-1 and saved his life," she reminded Sam, wrapping her arms around them both. "I'm glad that you were there. Whatever happens, I'm proud of you for keeping your cool and doing what had to be done."
"I just wish I'd known. I would have…I don't even know! Given him a hug or something."
"Me, too," Angela sighed, resting her chin wearily on Samantha's head. "I would have taken a day off work and spent some time with him for a change. Told him I loved him one last time."
"Angela, you told him you loved him this morning," her mother reminded her. "You tell him every day. Multiple times. Even when he has friends around and is pleading with his eyes for you not to say it in front of them."
"And you're always spending time with him," Sam insisted. "You even tried to enter the father-son golf tournament with him. And remember when you signed on to lead his Boy Scout troop?"
Ah, yes. Their brief, unsuccessful adventures in Scouting. That had certainly been an exercise in humiliation for one and all. "I'd forgotten about that."
"Jonathan probably wishes he could," Mother snarked.
"Maybe he'll get lucky and wake up with amnesia," Sam suggested hopefully. The three women shared a tearful laugh.
"That's more like it." Mother pulled away. "Well, now that I've talked some sense into you two, I'd better go find Tony, before he starts flagellating himself."
It took Angela a moment to figure out what her mother was saying. "You mean Tony's blaming himself, too?"
"Of course he is. Did you see how he was avoiding eye contact? And how he flinched when we walked in, like he thought you were going to hit him?"
"What on earth does he have to feel guilty for? He gave Jonathan CPR and more or less resurrected him, from what I'm hearing."
"And you bought Jonathan the helmet that saved his brain, along with the bike," Mother reminded her. "Guilt isn't always rational."
Angela dug into her purse for some tissues and handed one to her mother and another to Samantha, dabbing her own eyes with a third. "I'll go find him, Mother. I need to thank him. Come and get us if you hear anything, okay?"
The chapel was small, only six pews, with an aisle running between them and an altar at the end of it. The altar was flanked by a pair of elaborate candlesticks, a cross hung above it, flanked by a pair of stained-glass windows that were probably very impressive when the sun was shining. As it stood, the room was nearly as dark as Tony's heart. He had been sitting in the front pew with his head bowed and his eyes screwed shut, trying to think of something non-profane that he wanted to say, but it was proving futile. "I dunno what the hell I'm doing here," he growled under his breath. "You hear me? This is bullshit!" He shot a positively murderous glare at the cross on the wall. "I prayed to you when my mom got sick, all those years ago. Do you remember that? I prayed till my little knees were stiff and bruised. By the end, I was saying the rosary a dozen times a day. And you took her anyway. I always figured that was probably my fault, more than yours. I was a little kid, and not a very smart one. I know I mispronounced half the words of all them prayers."
He drew his hands into a compound fist, in a gesture that could have been either clasping them in supplication or preparing to land a massive uppercut on an enemy's chin. "When Marie got sick, I didn't just pray. I groveled. I offered to die in her place, because Sam needed her mother a lot more than she needed me, but that wasn't good enough for you, was it? Father O'Malley said it was probably because you needed her by your side. You selfish bastard, did you even care that she had a family? She had a little girl at home who had just made her a set of ugly papier mâché coasters for Mothers' Day! She had a pathetic worm of a father who needed her to keep him on the straight and narrow. And she had a husband who had loved her so much, for so long, he'd forgotten how to live without her."
Seething, Tony picked up the closet object to hand, which was a hymnal someone had left on the bench, and threw it at the cross on the wall. "And still I was dumb enough to go back for more abuse after I busted my shoulder! I got down on my knees and I begged you to heal me, like a good little Catholic boy. I begged you not to take away the one thing I'd dreamed of since I was old enough to hold a bat. The thing I depended on to make a living and provide for my motherless child. My father said it was all part of your plan, and you were probably trying to set me on the path to something even better. He managed to convince me. Then you took him, too!"
Tony threw another hymnal. It knocked over one of the candlesticks, but didn't do any permanent damage, which was disappointing. "I let all that go, pal! I let it go 'cause I figure you were right when you said that stuff about the poisonous root of bitterness back in the day. But if you take Jonathan from me, from his mom, from his grandma…" An influx of pure venom surged into his mouth. "If you take him away from Sam, who's already lost so much in her short little life. If you keep that boy of mine from shooting his first basket or scoring his first kiss, from bringing home his first paycheck, driving his first car, or marching down the aisle with the love of his life, so help me I'll…I'll…" What? Give the Supreme Being of the universe a knuckle sandwich? Tony buried his face in his hands. He was aware of how ridiculous he sounded, but it was too late to back out now. "I'll join that witches' coven from Rosemary's Baby! Yeah! At least they were kid-friendly! They'd never have stood by and let that little baby with the hoofs and horns get flattened by a pickup truck!"
"Tony?" a soft voice interrupted his tirade.
He turned to see a silhouette in the doorway—the darkness of the chapel and the stark white light of the hospital beyond coming together to cast the figure in silhouette. For a moment, he wondered whether God had sent some avenging angel to give him a good spanking for the all the horrible, blasphemous things he'd been saying. He armed himself with another hymn book. Then the figure turned on the light switch, and he relaxed. "Angela?"
"Tony, I've never been much of a praying woman, but I don't think you're doing it right," said Angela nervously, prying the hymn book from his hands before he could throw it, too. She sat down on the pew beside him and gave the cross an apologetic look. "He didn't mean it, God. Please excuse his attitude and language, we're not at our best right now. You're a parent yourself, I'm sure you understand."
The moment he'd set eyes on her, all the fight had gone out of him, and he sagged with exhaustion and regret. "Angela, I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen."
"I know you didn't. For the record, I didn't either."
Tony groaned. "Oh God, you ain't seriously trying to pin this on yourself, are you? What, because you bought him the bike? Angela, you ain't a psychic!"
"Neither are you," sighed Angela, laying her head on his shoulder. "Neither is your daughter, for that matter."
"Aw no. Sam, too?"
"She was blaming herself because they quarreled right before it happened."
Honestly, the entire day leading up to the accident had turned into a vague blur, and Tony hadn't even remembered their little spat until just now. "Did Mona talk you both out of it?"
"Yes. She was coming to work on you, next, but I was worried she might burst into flame or get struck by lightning if she entered a church."
Tony chuckled softly, easing an arm around her and resting his cheek on the top of her head. "Well, since I didn't get zapped for all them terrible things I just said, I'm guessing this place is probably safe for sinners."
"Now that you've finished venting, maybe we could give it another try?" She held out her hand for his. "How do we start?"
Tony took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Dear Lord? Our Father Who Art in Heaven? Hey, You Up There with the Lightning Bolt?"
"Oh, you're no help!" she complained, though he'd gotten a small smile out of her, which had probably been his real angle.
"Dear Lord, we wanna thank you for Jonathan," Tony began, leaning forward and bowing his head. "He's a real little blessing. Despite the smart mouth and all the terrariums full of exotic bugs, he's brought a lot of joy into a lot of lives, just by being here and being him. The downside of that is, there are gonna be a lot of broken hearts if we lose him." Tony squeezed her hand.
She took the hint, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Please do whatever you can for my son." As the last of the numbness she had been carefully cultivating slipped away, tears began to well up in her eyes again. Alone in the chapel with only God and Tony to see, she quit fighting it and let them spill down her cheeks. "I don't know what I'd do without him, and I don't want to find out." An idea struck her. "If it's not too much trouble, maybe you could send my father to watch over him while he's there on the operating table?" The very idea did her heart good. She saw a lot of Daddy in Jonathan, and had always privately thought they would have adored each other if they had ever had the opportunity to meet. "You know, like a guardian angel type of thing?"
"Hey, that's a good idea!" said Tony, raising his head to look at her thoughtfully. "Lord, could you send my old man, too? And my mom? And maybe Grandpa Micelli? I still talk to them sometimes, and they all know how much Jonathan means to me. They'll help him if they can." He snapped his fingers, and turned back to the cross on the wall. "And Marie! See if you can get her on board, too, will you? Angela looks out for Marie's kid every day, after all, and I know my wife will want to return the favor."
Angela laughed softly through her tears. "Don't call down too many guardian angels, now, Tony. The operating room is only so big, after all."
Tony gave her a dirty look. "Quit giving me a hard time, Angela. God is watching."
Angela patted his cheek tenderly. "While we're on the line, so to speak, God, I'd like to thank you for Tony and Sam. If Tony hadn't been there to give my son CPR, and if Sam hadn't been there to call 9-1-1, we'd be at the mortuary instead of the hospital right now. I'm just sorry I wasn't there to do it myself. I promise, if you let my son stay here with us, I'll strive to be a better mother from now on."
"Aw, come on!" Tony pulled her into his arms. "Don't listen to her, Lord. She's a great mother. To her own kid and mine. She loves them with everything she is, and spends her life showing them how to be strong, smart, and successful. Her only mistake was that time she tried to lead Jonathan's Boy Scout troop, but I think she's learned her lesson about that."
Angela sighed. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
"Nope," said Tony succinctly. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, amen."