Lone Star Book Blog Tour: Angel Thieves by Kathi Appelt (Guest Post)

First Draft—Cade Childress

Guest Post by Kathi Appelt

When I originally set out to write Angel Thieves, I had set it in the days just following the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost 20 years since that awful day. To so many of us, that moment seems as if it only just occurred. I originally wanted to try to capture that time via my characters, especially Cade and Soleil, two teens who are facing the immediate aftermath and having to make decisions in a world that felt wholly new and different.

It wasn’t until I was well into the drafting stages that I made the decision to move the novel more fully into the present. That wasn’t an easy decision. But at some point, I realized that 9/11 is so much a New York story. I wanted my book to be fully set in Houston, with all of its wonders, mysteries, and deep history. I had to leave New York behind, and bring my characters into the present day.

But if you’d like to compare Cade’s opening chapter now with the original draft, here you go.  Enjoy!

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Cade Childress

Houston, TX

Monday, October 1, 2001

            At dusk Cade Childress stood beside the Waugh Street bridge and watched the bats  emerge from underneath it. After days of rain, Cade was glad to be outdoors, even though he could tell by the gathering clouds that the rain would return soon. Along with the steady sound of traffic, he heard the rushing sound of wings bouncing off the mud-colored water of the bayou, and into the heavy, wet air.

Bats. Not angels. Clustered in small groups, when he squinted his eyes, they looked like puffs of smoke hovering over the water.

Cade didn’t know so much about praying, but he did know about angels.

Not the invisible kind that wore halos and sang in heavenly choirs, or those who hovered around guarding people.  He wasn’t sure he even believed in those despite all the discussion about them, and how there were three thousand new ones in the wake of the destruction of the Twin Towers, at least that’s what some people were calling the victims—three thousand angels.  He had seen their photos in a special section of the Houston Chronicle.  Day after day, photo after photo.  Each portrait beaming out from the newsprint. More ghosts than angels, thought Cade. No wings to be seen.

Cade could only barely wrap his head around it all. He couldn’t help but see the constant television shows. They were everywhere. The incessant replaying of the planes flying right into the buildings. He had looked at those tumbling towers over and over, but he hadn’t seen any angels flying out of the destruction. Then again, maybe they were invisible. How does anyone know for sure?

Nevertheless, he did know about angels. It’s just that the kind he knew were chipped out of marble and stone, or carved out of petrified wood, or shaped out of clay, maybe poured from a mold and cast into concrete.

Cemetery angels.

They stood at the heads of graves and gazed down at the burial plots, watched as the ground at their feet, or at the tip of their robes, sank lower and lower, year by year into the thick black clay of the city. Cade imagined that they must grow weary, their heads always facing down.

He rolled his head in a circle on his shoulders, watched the last of the bats fly downstream against the darkening sky; he was grateful again that he didn’t have to lean his own head forward and down for all eternity.

It made him figure that the heavy stone angels probably appreciated shoes, especially brightly colored ones. He imagined that shoes were mostly what they saw from their vantage points, unless they were singularly tall and had broader views thanks to their heighth above the landscape. Those tall angels might see the occasional mocking bird or blue jay fly by. Maybe, if they were lucky, an owl might swoop just beneath a marble eye. Cade would love to see an owl.

Thinking about the shoes made Cade think about his best friend, Martin. Since somewhere around the sixth grade, Martin had decided to wear flip-flops and only flip-flops.

“It’s either these or nothing!” Martin declared. Cade remembered the conversation.

“What do your parents think?” Cade had asked.

“Are you kidding?” said Martin. “With five of us? They’re happy when we can find two shoes that match.”

With five kids in their family, the Noriega house was always an exercise in “controlled chaos.” Cade could never really see the controlled part of it. It made his own life, with just his dad and Mrs. Walker, seem especially quiet.

But seriously. Flip-flops? Martin even managed to somehow wear them in PE, proving that soccer, basketball and track could be done in flip-flops. He wore them even on those rare days when the temps fell below freezing. Cade had to admit that he admired his friend’s singular devotion. Six years later, and Martin was still wearing only flip flops.

It wasn’t too different from the angels, Cade guessed, standing out there in all kinds of weather, waiting to spot shoes.

He had never seen a flip-flop on a cemetery angel. In fact, most angels were either barefooted, or their long flowing gowns covered up their feet. Flips-flops belonged to the living, to those who could get out of the rain, rain that recently felt never-ending.

Of course, there were also the angels who were not only facing down, but whose eyes were closed. Imagine being tasked with standing watch for eternity with your eyes closed. Cade blinked and felt lucky that he could see in all directions. He was also grateful that he was not an angel even though it was angels that supported him and his dad and Mrs. Walker.

It seems that Cade Childress and his father Paul, were “angel hunters.” That was the euphemistic term for their profession. It certainly wasn’t something they could do in the bright light of day, and he knew not to speak about it out loud. Not even Martin had a clue.

Was it wrong?  It was complicated.

But call it what you will. A thief is a thief.