Jared

by Lori Wilde

  “I’ll take my wings any way I can get ’em,” he said as they made their way toward a table in the back.

  “But it’ll upset your stomach. And you didn’t bring your ulcer medicine.”

  “My stomach’s fine,” he said with a smile.

  She shrugged and slid into the booth, then emptied the tray’s contents onto the table. She pushed the plate with the hamburger on it toward Jerry. “Do you want to switch with me?”

  “Heavens, no,” he declared. “I’ll say a prayer and take my chances.” At that, he bowed his head and mumbled a few words. When he opened his eyes, he caught her staring. “What?”

  “I...I’ve never seen you say grace before.”

  “You’re telling me Gerald ate unblessed food?” He seemed appalled by the thought.

  Kimber toyed with her hamburger, hoping he wouldn’t notice the unblessed missing bite. “Well, a lot of people don’t say grace in public,” she admitted. “I guess they don’t want to draw attention to themselves.”

  He looked around the restaurant as if to confirm her statement. His gaze fixed on a young couple in their early twenties.

  Judging by their tattoos, denim jackets, and tattered jeans, Kimber wouldn’t be surprised if they were the ones who owned the Harleys parked outside. Not that she was judging any of that. She cleared her throat, trying to drag Jerry’s attention back to his own table, but the sound merely alerted the couple to the scrutiny they were undergoing.

  “You got a problem?” the young man asked.

  Unfazed by the man’s hostile tone, Jerry merely smiled broadly and shook his head. “I was just looking.”

  The woman brightened and pushed a lock of straight brown hair behind her shoulder. The action didn’t go unnoticed by her companion, who stood suddenly and knocked his chair to the floor with a crash. By now, everyone in the restaurant was watching to see what kind of drama might be unfolding.

  Kimber reached across the table and placed a restraining hand on Jerry’s arm. “Let’s just mind our own business, Jerry, and let them eat in peace.”

  “I only wanted to see if they were going to say grace,” he insisted.

  “Jerry?” said the man in denim. “You must think you’re a regular Jerry Lewis or something.”

  “No, I’m Jerry Kirkland.” He stood and offered his hand in greeting. “And you are...?”

  By now, the other man was walking slowly toward him in the cautious, stiff-legged gait that dogs use when they’re about to launch into a fight with hackles raised.

  “Aw, Ryan, leave him alone,” said the woman at the other table. “Can’t you see he’s got a crip leg?”

  He continued advancing toward Jerry, his jaw clenched and his whole expression menacing. Jerry was a good four inches taller than Ryan and considerably heavier. If he wanted to, he could give better than he got, but Kimber didn’t want to see the situation degenerate to that point.

  Before the accident, Gerald would have prevented the incident before it started, using only his voice and a stern glare. But now, as Jerry, he seemed so...so innocent and unsuspecting.

  The handshake not forthcoming, Jerry stuffed his right hand into his pocket and balanced himself against the back of the booth with the other. If Ryan decided to throw a punch, Jerry would be an open target.

  “If you so much as touch that dude,” his girlfriend continued, “I’m gonna tell all your friends how you wimped on a guy with his leg in a cast.”

  Kimber shuddered. If he was a member of a motorcycle gang, he might get his friends to come find them and finish off whatever was left of Jerry.

  Fortunately, Ryan hesitated and appeared to reconsider.

  Kimber took advantage of his indecision as she moved out from behind the booth.

  “Excuse me.” She clutched her purse and moving past the angry young man. Reaching for Jerry, she made up a quick fib. “I bet you forgot all about going to visit your Aunt Rowena at the nursing home.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, and we’d better hurry up because she’ll worry if we’re late.”

  Jerry turned to follow her, then stopped abruptly. He moved past the surprised smaller man toward the table with the barely touched food and grabbed the neglected paper plate. “Forgot my hot wings.”

  “Goodbye,” Ryan’s girlfriend called after them as they left.

  Kimber quickly led Jerry to the door in time to see a white-haired gentleman and another man young enough to be his son mounting the motorcycles she’d noticed earlier in the parking lot. Obviously neither the pair they’d just encountered nor the pair smoking by the door on their way in. Just went to show you can’t judge people by appearances. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  After they were back on the road, with some distance between them and the site of their near altercation, Kimber whacked Jerry with her purse.

  The hot wing he’d been gnawing fell to the floor. “What’d you do that for?”

  Her face flushed hot with anger. It was all she could do to keep from taking him back to his condo right now and leaving him there to fend for himself, broken leg or not.

  “Don’t you realize you could have gotten yourself killed?”

  He looked puzzled. “The hot wings weren’t that hot, and besides, I don’t think I have an ulcer anymore.”

  Kimber felt her shoulders sag. “I’m talking about that guy in the restaurant. Couldn’t you tell he wanted to break your other leg?”

  “Ryan? He was a little uptight, but I didn’t sense any hostility.”

  “Then I suggest you stock up on bandages and ice packs, because you’re going to need them if you keep blundering your way through life. And if that’s the case, I don’t want to be in the line of fire when you get what’s coming to you.”

  Jerry practically choked on his last hot wing. Bandages and ice packs. When Nahum had assigned him to be Kimber’s protectorate, Jerry had thought in jest that if she was clumsy, she should stock up on those two items.

  And now she was echoing his own thoughts back to him.

  Only it looked as though he was the klutz this time. With a sinking sense of dismay, he realized the episode at the restaurant could have ended much worse.

  Thank goodness Kimber had been there to recognize the potential danger and get them out of it.

  But that was his job. He was supposed to be taking care of her, not the other way around. Guilt nudged his conscience, and he thought of how she’d been taking care of him since he left the hospital. He’d reveled in it, asking her to make his meals and accepting the myriad thoughtful things she did for him each day.

  She was constantly rescuing him from himself, he realized. The shave hadn’t endangered her, but what if she’d hurt her back while helping him up from the floor after he’d attempted to transmogrify himself through the wall?

  Or, worse, what if the tense young man at the restaurant had been carrying a weapon? Not only could Jerry have gotten himself killed and left Kimber vulnerable to whatever threatened an early emptying of her hourglass, but he could have been the indirect cause of her premature departure.

  He’d been so giddy about the idea of getting a pair of wings that he hadn’t considered what he had to do to earn them.

  He could have lost his human ward and, consequently, the wings he wanted so desperately. But the wings seemed insignificant when he considered that he could have lost Kimber.

  He hadn’t expected that to happen. Jerry looked over at her, taking in the delicate beauty of her face. Impulsively, he placed his hand over hers, where it rested on the gearshift knob.

  She glanced up, a hint of curiosity showing in her dark eyes, but she didn’t pull away from his touch.

  Jerry felt his heart fill with an unexplainable sensation when he realized the serious impact his carelessness could have had on Kimber.

  Kimber, the woman who was more beautiful than a pure white dove. Whose lilting voice was more melodic than a finely tuned lyre. Whose heart was as pure as the streets of gold that awaite
d his return upon completion of his mission.

  His mission...to spare her from an early demise.

  Until now, he’d been quite lax about seeing to his duties. Instead, he’d been focusing his attention on savoring many of the sensory pleasures that came with being human.

  He lifted her hand to his lap and traced his fingertips over her soft skin. With a shy smile, she turned her hand upward and laced her fingers with his.

  Jerry vowed that, from this moment on, he would become the model protectorate for Kimber. And that would mean forgoing sensory pleasures in order to put Kimber’s safety first.

  The vision came to mind of Kimber in his arms as he stole maple-flavored kisses from her, and he regretted having to sacrifice that particular pleasure.

  Then again, she had already told him such kissing activity was hereafter off limits, so it was a moot point.

  First thing tomorrow, he would examine the house with an eye for the slightest hazard and repair it lest an accident should befall her.

  “It won’t happen again,” he said, referring to that day’s near catastrophe. “I’ll do everything in my earthly power to keep you safe.”

  Reluctantly, he moved her hand back to the gearshift and busied himself with placing the remains of his lunch in the litterbag.

  She slanted a questioning glance at him but kept silent as she focused her attention on the road.

  “This is the way home,” he observed.

  “Your short-term memory is good. Now all you have to do is work on the long-term memory.”

  “But you said we were going to see Aunt Flo. She’ll worry if we don’t show up.”

  “Aunt Ro,” Kimber corrected.

  “Yeah, right. That’s what I meant.”

  “We don’t really need to go today. She’s not expecting to see you until the Fourth of July, when you usually go.”

  Jerry found a pencil on the dash of the car and stuck the eraser end down into his cast to scratch an itch that would not cease. “Fourth of July? How often do I usually see her?”

  “Easter, Fourth of July, and Christmas.”

  “Yes, but how often each week do I see her?”

  “That’s it,” Kimber said, looking ill at ease. “Three times a year.”

  The pencil paused in mid scratch. “That’s all?”

  Kimber chewed a fingernail and added somewhat reluctantly, “You said the smell of the nursing home bothers you.” She paused and muttered, “It always seemed clean to me.”

  Jerry unclenched his teeth to ask, “If it’s that bad, then why did Ger—” He caught himself. “Why did I allow her to stay there?”

  Looking neither apologetic nor accusatory, she shook her head. Since she offered no excuses, Jerry assumed she felt the same as he did about Gerald’s lack of attention to his only living relative.

  “Let’s go now. I bet she’d love to have some company.”

  “But you said you wanted to spend all afternoon watching YouTube videos and playing Minecraft.”

  “That can wait.”

  She looked at him as if she didn’t know who he was. “Why are you so insistent on going today?”

  “If we don’t go, that would make you a liar,” he said, referring to her reason for rushing out of the restaurant.

  “And?”

  “I’ve said it before, and you must believe me...” he began.

  Kimber finished the statement for him. “You’re not the man I used to know.” She made a left onto Sanderson Highway and headed back to town. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  WHEN THEY WALKED INTO the nursing home, Jerry paid special attention to the smell of the place.

  It wasn’t so bad. A little like antiseptic, but not much different from the hospital. It bothered him that Gerald would cling to such a weak excuse for not visiting his aunt more often.

  They made their way to the activity room where men and women of various ages and abilities mingled. Some sat in wheelchairs doing crafts or chatting with friends, and a few roamed around aimlessly.

  Kimber pointed to the back of the room. “There she is.”

  A tall woman, big-boned like himself, stood watching the commotion around them. Her hair was dark like his, but her roots were white.

  When she noticed him watching her, she smiled and flashed her perfect white dentures at him.

  Leading the way toward her, Jerry stopped in front of his aunt and propped his crutches against the wall. He held his arms out wide.

  “Aunt Flo!”

  The older woman’s smile brightened, and she opened herself to his embrace. After a moment, Jerry released her and examined her at arm’s length. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Her powdered cheeks pinkened under his perusal. “It was so nice of you to come visit me.”

  He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Kimber wearing an amused grin.

  “Aunt Rowena’s over there,” she said, pointing to a tiny, white-haired lady who seemed swallowed up in a thickly upholstered sofa. The woman stared out the window, apparently unaware of their presence.

  Embarrassed, Jerry extricated himself from the wrong woman by promising to play a game of cards with her before they left.

  Kimber pulled up a chair for Jerry, then sat beside his elderly aunt.

  “Aunt Ro,” she said quietly, gaining her attention, “it’s me, Kimber.”

  Rowena smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course it’s you. Did you think I wouldn’t know you?”

  Kimber pursed her lips, leading Jerry to understand there were days when Gerald’s aunt was not quite so lucid. Even so, she didn’t leave it to chance that she would remember him.

  “Then I’m sure you’ll be glad to see your nephew. Gerald couldn’t wait to come see you.”

  Aunt Ro peered at him and squinted her pale-blue eyes. She frowned, then lifted the bifocals that hung on a chain around her neck.

  “That’s not Gerald.”

  Jerry gulped.

  “Of course it’s Gerald,” Kimber insisted. “Just look at him. Same hair. Same face. The only thing that’s different is the cast on his leg.”

  Rowena let her bifocals drop back to her ample chest. “He may only visit me three times a year, but I know my own nephew when I see him. And this is not Gerald.”

  Chapter Six

  Jerry cleared his throat. “Of course it’s me, Aunt Ro. In the flesh!”

  Kimber leaned Jerry’s way and whispered, “Maybe she’s not as clear today as I thought.”

  Rowena harrumphed and tilted her nose upward. “I may be a little forgetful sometimes,” she said, angling a glare at Kimber, “but my hearing is perfectly fine.”

  Kimber bit her lip, making it clear she regretted having possibly hurt the older woman’s feelings by her careless comment.

  A movement near the front of the room caught Jerry’s eye. A young woman in a pink uniform had entered carrying a tray with a pitcher and paper cups.

  He fixed his most endearing smile on Kimber. “Looks like it’s juice time. Would you mind getting us some?”

  “Make mine prune juice,” Rowena said.

  When Kimber was gone, Jerry turned back to Aunt Ro. “You’re making me look bad,” he told her.

  “Who are you?”

  “Kimber already told you. I’m Gerald.”

  “Don’t give me that hooey. I’m old, but I’m not stupid. Now, what’s your real name?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was onto him, and he could tell she wouldn’t let it rest until he told her the truth. “Jared, but I prefer to be called Jerry,” he said at long last.

  He took her hand in his and stroked her pale, thin skin.

  “I’m here to watch after Kimber. Keep her safe.”

  “A guardian angel.” It was more a statement than a question. “That girl’s sweet, but she could use some help. Bad taste in men.”

  Jerry shrugged. “Go along with me on this. Please?”

  Obviously skeptic
al, she looked down at the hand he held but didn’t make any attempt to withdraw it “What’s in it for me?”

  He thought for a moment. “I’ll come visit you more often than Gerald did.”

  Her eyebrows lifted a margin. “More than three times a year?” she asked hopefully.

  Jerry cringed. Of course he’d come more than that. “Twice a week?”

  Rowena smiled and placed her other hand over his. “Once a week is enough, but bring me some butterscotch when you come.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  The elderly woman hesitated. She narrowed her eyes and peered at him through her thick glasses.

  “One more thing,” she said.

  For being so frail-looking, the old lady sure drove a hard bargain. He raised his eyebrows, wondering what she had on her mind.

  “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

  Jerry grimaced and glanced around them to see if anyone might be eavesdropping. The coast was clear, and Kimber had gotten sidetracked by a man with a cane who was showing her a scar on his bony ankle.

  “Neither. I’m a protectorate.”

  “A proctologist?” She shifted on the sofa. “I’ve been having a problem that even bran won’t help—”

  “I’m not a doctor,” Jerry hastily interrupted. “I’m a guardian angel.” Then, lest she get the wrong idea about that, he added, “Kimber's guardian angel.”

  Her mouth puckered into a wrinkled O.

  “You’re from the Great Beyond?” She sank back against the sofa cushion, and her expression relaxed. “I’m looking forward to crossing the River Jordan someday. Put in a good word for me, will you?”

  Jerry hadn’t been in direct contact with Nahum—much less the Chairman of the Board—since his arrival here in Bliss County, but he nodded his assent nevertheless. He made a mental note to bring it up immediately after he was sized for his new wings.

  Kimber returned with three cups of juice balanced in her hands. He took two of the cups from her and handed one to Aunt Ro.

  Kimber settled on the sofa next to the octogenarian. No matter what her own arguments with Gerald had been, she was pleased to see him spending time with his aunt.