As “Nights in White Satin” faded from his mind, Nick looked up. The priest stopped speaking and motioned for the children to place their flowers at the foot of the statue. The youngsters eased forward with their bright red roses, past the priest to the statue, which from the back, appeared to be a nurse holding a child’s hand. From the front, the nurse also held a child in her other arm. A stethoscope hung around her neck. She stood above a plaque at its base, now almost obscured by roses: “Dedicated to the memory of Kristen Elizabeth Spinicelli. Our Compassionate Angel.”
Mary was the last child to lay her rose at Kristen’s feet. “It’s perfect,” Shelly whispered.
“That’s because we decide which is right, and which is an illusion,” Nick said quoting a line from poem playing in thoughts.
Shelly smiled. “Speaking of what is right,” she whispered, “what about the money?”
“Now that’s a problem that we’ll have no trouble figuring out,
Doctor. We just changed the world. Now, we get to make it better.”