John finished communing with the garlic bread, adjusted the timer, turned. “He should be back by now.”
“It’ll take as long as it takes. And he’ll be talking to people. Finding out plans. Whatever they’ll tell him.” Ryan had been trying not to think the same, though. The not knowing ate into his heart. Acid on his bones and his soul. “You know he’ll try to pick up as much as he can.”
“He always tries—” John’s hands clenched briefly around the counter’s edge, and let go. “I think we need—if he’s up for it, I want to put him back on his knees. Or get out the cane. Or something. I don’t know yet. But—”
“So he can feel it,” Ryan said. “So we can feel it. That he’s here, and this is real, and he’s—”
Pale gold light iridesced into a portal. Aureate streamers flared and faded. The television became a backdrop as Holiday arrived out of thin air.