The Second Coming by John Dalmas

Their own bedroom was somewhat larger, with a queen-sized bed. It had two doors besides the hall door: one a sliding door to a small patio; the other was to another three-quarter bath, this one with double washbowls, in a vanity with a false marble top.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Ben murmured.

She answered without turning. “I’m thinking . . . I’m thinking it’s for just a couple of months. Maybe three. At ten thou a month for the two of us. Then we can leave. Go home.”

He smiled, realizing she wasn’t up to being grinned at. “We don’t have a home, sweetheart. Remember? We got foreclosed on. Sold the furniture and appliances to pay on our debts.”

She nodded. “I miss our things,” she said stiffly. “The things we shipped.”

“They’ll be here in a few days.”

“I know.” She gathered herself, but when she spoke, there was no fire in it. “We don’t have a thing in the house to eat. Or a car. How will we get to a store? We should have driven here.”

“We talked about that.” His words still were soft. “By road it’s more than thirty miles to Walsenburg, population 3,100, and part of the road is unpaved. Pueblo’s twice as far, population 78,000, a steel mill town. And we’re higher here than Henrys Hat, which is 7,500 feet above sea level, so there’ll probably be quite a bit of snow, and it probably won’t melt very fast. So we decided . . .”

“Right.” She nodded curtly. “Where are the girls?”

“In their room, probably. Or outdoors.”

She turned to him and put her hands on his shoulders, her eyes on his. “Ben, this isn’t easy for me. I’ll try not to take it out on you, but be patient with me. Okay?”

He smiled softly. “Sure.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This isn’t really that bad,” she said. “This house I mean. I just wish Millennium wasn’t a cult. And there’s the school to worry about . . .”

The doorbell rang, and Ben strode from the room, Lee following. While he headed for the front door, she went into the kitchen, where she could hear the girls’ voices. “Mom,” Becca said, “there’s a little building in the backyard, probably to store stuff in. But it’s empty, and we don’t have anything to store in it, so Raquel and I want to fix it up for a playhouse. And there’s a girl’s bike on the patio next door, so we’ll have someone to play with! Do you know when our bikes will get here?”

“Not exactly. In a few days.”

“Lee?” It was Ben, looking in from the living room. “There’s a man here. He’d like to take us to meet Ngunda.”

“Now?”

He nodded. “If we’re ready. Or we can make it later.”

I need to shower, she thought, and do something with my hair. Maybe change . . . Oh to hell with it! “All right. Let’s meet him.” If he doesn’t like the way we look, let him fire us.

The man in their living room was young, perhaps thirty she thought. And personable, his smile convincing. She didn’t trust him a bit. “Mrs. Shoreff,” he said, “I’m Larry Rocco. Ngunda would like to meet you two today. He’ll be leaving on tour in the morning.”

Lee nodded curtly. “Fine,” she said brusquely. After instructing the girls not to leave the house, she and Ben left with Rocco. As they stepped off the porch, Rocco gestured with his right hand. “I’m your neighbor,” he said, “three houses down.”

There was no car in front; they were expected to walk. Of course, she realized. Everything here is so close. Everything but a town, a real town.

As they walked, she noticed the landscaping was quite good. Give the trees and shrubs a few more years to grow . . . There were even sidewalks and curbs. Whoever bankrolled Millennium had deep pockets, and she wondered about that, not for the first time. It occurred to her to ask where the school was. “Actually I’m really more interested in seeing the school than in meeting Mr. Aran just now.”

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