Sanctuary Steps

Chapter Two

Regan
Eight Years Old.

I think the first thing I noticed was the light. Warm and inviting. It felt like the love was just radiating through the windows and past the cracks in the door.

As soon as I walked through the threshold, I was impossibly certain of three things. Number one; the hand in mine was all that mattered. Two; turkey smelled better than I ever could have imagined. And Three; this was home. I belonged right here, at Thanksgiving with my angel holding my hand.

The look on Cassia's face was one I would never forget. She reminded me of a sun, and she was radiating happiness. I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

She looked even more like an angel in the light. I could better see her hair, which was actually more brown than blonde, but carried a soft sort of sheen to it. I could see inside, the impossibly warm brown of her eyes, and the little freckles that dusted her nose. She had dimples on both cheeks, and one tiny one on her chin when she smiled, and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. She was something to be cherished and protected, like a piece of priceless antique glass. I wanted to be the one to protect her. I wanted to keep her safe against the world that I lived in. The darkness of my lonely life was not something I wanted her to ever have to see.

"Daniel!" Someone shouted across the room. Her voice was sweet and kind, and I looked up. A woman with a swollen belly and short cropped, brown hair was peeking past the doorway of what I thought was the kitchen.

The preacher smiled as he took off his coat. "Barb! We brought a guest!" He had to yell to be heard over the screaming of children. A pack of them ran through the living room where we stood, pulling off our boots and jackets.

One of them, a boy around Cassia's age, skidded to a stop and took her free hand, pulling her from me. He wore a band of multicolored feathers on the crown of his head, and held a plastic tomahawk in his hand. "Common! We're playing Indians and you need to be Pocahontas!"

My angel held fast to my hand, despite being yanked away, and I was so grateful when she looked back to me. "Tommy, I'm not gonna play without Regan."

Tommy looked around her at me, his nose wrinkling. "Who's he?"

I didn't say anything, just scuffed my warn sock on the carpet of the livingroom. Her socks where pretty, new and pink. Mine where grey and had holes in them. She didn't seem to notice.
Cassia pulled me next to her, hand still entwined with mine. "He's my friend, his name is Regan. And I'm not playing if he can't."

Tom crossed his arms but nodded anyway. "Okay. He can be our white man prisoner."

Cassia shook her head, bundle of gathered blond hair bouncing beneath her bow. "No, he's gonna be my John Smith."

"Ugh, fine." Tommy groaned, before taking off again. "Hurry up then! "

Daniel, the preacher, touched my shoulder and I looked up at him, craning my neck back. He smiled, and I realised where Cassia got her dimples from.
"You should go play with Cassia's cousins. I'll be in there if you need me, okay? We should be eating in a little while." I nodded, my long hair falling into my eyes. I didn't remember the last time I'd had a haircut.

Cassia pulled my hand, and I looked at her. "Come on, let's go play!" I followed her.

"Who's Tommy?" I asked quietly. I was a little jealous of him and his new clothes and his brown, well trimmed hair. She didn't look at me as she pulled us into the kitchen, and I thought for a moment she hadn't heard me.

"He's one of my cousins, he thinks he's better than me." She sounded annoyed, and I prayed it wasn't directed at me.

I said quietly, "I don't think anyone is better than you." She weaved us through adults, some of them petted her head as she went by. No one really seemed to have noticed me, as I stared in amazement at the size of this family. There was a good dozen or so kids zipping around the house, and at least twice as many as that of adults and teenagers. The only family I'd ever known was passed out with liquor filled veins in a dusty old chair.