When Angels Cry

by Maria Rachel Hooley

“Yeah. I was just thinking. When you live the lifestyle of the rich and shameless, that’s what you get—people who assume you’re all about money. I guess that says more about me than anything else, and to think this used to be a lifestyle I enjoyed. You coming?” She glanced at Bastian and stepped into the hallway.

  Bastian followed her. “Yeah. No point in simply hanging out in the bathroom, is there? What changed your mind?”

  Kaylee smiled at him. “It doesn’t matter, Bastian.”

  “What are you about, Kaylee? We’ve established it’s not money.”

  She crept along, forcing him to take small steps to keep pace with her. Together they walked down the floral-patterned hall. The thick burgundy carpet appeared so clean Bastian wondered if anyone had ever walked on it. The whole house was immaculate. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, illuminating the cleanliness.

  “I don’t know, exactly. That’s kind of like asking what I want to be when I grow up. Never mind the fact I’m already grown up.” Kaylee frowned and chewed her lip. When they’d reached the stairs and started down, Kaylee fell into a long silence. She took each step slowly and held tightly to the railing.

  Bastian broke the silence. “I know you’re probably really tired of me being here. Just as soon as the snow blows over, and I get a jump, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “It’s nice to have company. Can I get you anything?” Kaylee stopped at the bottom and turned toward the living room where she headed to the couch, waiting as Bastian pulled off his coat and sat.

  “No thanks.”

  Bastian peered around the room again. No matter how many times he scanned the walls and furniture, he seemed to miss a score of minute details such as the painting of an angel above the piano. The gossamer wings draped its figure in a cascade of soft feathers so multi-dimensional it almost seemed he could touch them. He squinted, trying to place the artist.

  “Nice painting,” he commented. “Who’s the artist?”

  Kaylee sat next to him. “Me.”

  “Nice work,” Bastian nodded. “Why’d you choose an angel?”

  Kaylee leaned back and propped one arm behind her head. “Why not? Maybe I want to believe there’s something beyond this world.”

  “There is that, I suppose. Perhaps I will take something to drink after all—a beer, if you have it.” Shifting uncomfortably, Bastian stared at his hands, watching his fingers brush against themselves.

  Kaylee stood and patted her pink button-down shirt free of creases. “You’re as uncomfortable talking about faith as I am about money.”

  “No, not really--I just don’t have any.”

  Kaylee started to go to the kitchen but stopped short. “Spiritual or otherwise?”

  “Either.”

  Kaylee slipped through the doorway and returned with two capless brown bottles. “I hope you like Budweiser. These are the last two bottles left over from a party I hosted last summer.” As she offered one to Bastian, the charms on her silver bracelet jangled together.

  “Never met a beer I didn’t like. Thanks.” He took a drink as Kaylee joined him. He pointed to her forehead. “How does it feel?”

  “Been better.” Touching the Band- Aid, Kaylee winced. She sipped from her bottle.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere for a while.” Kaylee looked at a lead sky yet unloading more snow into ever-deepening drifts.

  “Nope. So what do you want to do until the storm breaks?” A mischievous smile lit his face. “Wait—I have it. We can get drunk. That will pass the time.” He raised the bottle and took another long drink.

  Kaylee stared at her bottle, grinning ruefully. “I’ve never been drunk before.”

  “I was kidding, Kaylee. Hell, it’s bad enough for you to have a stranger in your home. The last thing you need is a drunk stranger.” He sauntered to a window glazed with a light frost that distorted the landscape.

  Kaylee walked up beside him, standing so closely their shoulders touched. “You sure have a lot of dos and don’ts, Bastian.”

  “That’s a good thing; you could use a few more don’ts.” He lifted the beer to his lips and took a swig.

  “Meaning?” Kaylee turned, frowning as her blue eyes flashed in irritation.

  Bastian set his beer on the windowsill and leveled his gaze at her. “You should lock your damned door. You’re asking for trouble.”

  “It’s just stuff, Bastian.” She looked around the room. “I’d never even miss it.”

  “Not all bad guys are after stuff, Kaylee.” Bastian followed her gaze. He balled his fingers into fists just to keep from grabbing her shoulders and shaking some sense into her.

  “What do you think those ‘bad guys’ are going to do to me?” She brushed her finger against the glass, drawing an angel in the fog.

  “They could hurt you, rape you…kill you.” His voice cracked. Bastian grabbed her wrist with one hand and with the other guided her chin so she had to face him. Despite her effort to pull free, Bastian maintained his grip.

  “I’m not afraid.” Kaylee stilled in his grip, focusing on a piece of lint on the carpet.

  “You should be,” he growled. “What's wrong with you? You act like you’re invincible. I’ve seen what a woman’s face looks like when somebody’s beaten her. If you knew what that looked like, you’d lock your door.” His jaw clenched so tightly his mouth hurt, and his heart hammered in his chest as he forced himself to release her.

  “It doesn’t matter, Bastian. No lock will protect me.” Kaylee looked at the red ring on her wrist, rubbing it lightly.

  “That doesn’t make sense. Did that run-in with your dresser knock something loose? Hell, maybe I need to take you back to the hospital.” Bastian pointed to the Band-Aid on her forehead.

  “It has nothing to do with hitting my head. I’ve been this contrary for about nine months.” Kaylee walked to the couch and perched on the armrest next to her easel.

  “What happened nine months ago?” Bastian tried to focus on the snow, on the fogged glass, anything except the frustration he felt when he thought of someone entering Kaylee’s house while she slept. He could see some guy standing over her with a knife, and he shuddered.

  “My doctor told me I had cancer, Bastian.”

  Bastian whirled and the color drained from his face. “What?”

  “I have cancer,” she half-whispered. “In my brain.”

  “So you’re not really having migraines,” he said finally, moving to the couch.

  “Sure I am. I just didn’t tell you what caused them.” She unfastened the watch strapped to her wrist and set it on the table.

  “So that’s why the doctor wanted to keep you in the hospital.” Bastian stared at that watch, memorizing the time. 11:17. He swallowed hard and thought of the gun in his truck.

  “They can’t help me. I want a normal life, not one filled with doctors and medicine.” Kaylee patted Bastian’s knee. She lay against the couch.

  “Even if it’s not as long as it could be? What about chemo?” he asked, finally turning from the watch to Kaylee’s face.

  “It's useless.” She rested one arm on the back of the couch and the other across her abdomen.

  “So chemo won’t help. And drugs won’t help.” He turned toward Kaylee. “How can you be so calm?” Bastian stood and paced the room, shoving his hands into his pockets and rolling his shoulders.

  “How can you be upset? It’s not like you really know me.” Kaylee wrapped a strand of hair tightly around her finger, trying not to look Bastian in the eye.

  “I didn’t know you when I pulled you out, but I did it. I couldn’t just watch.”

  Bastian stopped short in front of her, knowing that even if he closed his eyes, he would still see her as he had for the last two days. There was no escaping Kaylee, and he stood, studying her face. Kaylee shifted uncomfortably, crossing and uncrossing her legs as Bastian leaned closer. He placed a hand on either side of her face.

  “You’ve kno
wn me for two days, and yet I can come and go in your house because you won’t lock the door. You don’t protect things, do you? But your heart is another matter, right?” Bastian gazed at her expectantly, hovering.

  “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kaylee stammered. Her fingers dug into the afghan.

  “For the last day or so, I’ve been trying to tell myself I don’t feel anything because that’s how I want it. But it doesn’t matter what I say to myself. There’s something between us, something neither of us intended, and that frightens you. So you think you can scare me away by telling me you’re sick. Right about now you’re starting to feel I’m here, and you don’t want to feel, do you?”

  Kaylee tried to squirm under his arms, but he refused to move and simply leaned closer. His warm breath caressed her cheeks. His dark eyes delved into hers, searching.

  “Well dammit, I didn’t want to feel, either but you made me. And by God I’m not going to do this alone.”

  He leaned in, took her shoulders, and touched his lips to hers. A soft touch before his tongue darted inside her mouth. His left hand gingerly stroked her shoulder, and, as his fingers trickled across her skin, he could feel her body slacken, relaxing at his touch. He tasted her honeyed mouth until his voice filled his head.

  What the hell are you doing, Bastian? He pulled away.

  As he stood, he saw Kaylee’s mouth was yet open and her eyes were closed. A soft pink colored her cheeks, and a sweet sigh of breath escaped as she opened her eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

  Chapter Five

  Kaylee’s eyelids fluttered open. Lacing her fingers together, she set both hands in her lap and stared at them, trying to understand the rapid beating of her heart. The afghan had bunched up under her, but she ignored it, thinking instead of Bastian’s heated kiss. Her tongue flickered over her lips, and she stood, trembling. Arms draped across her chest, she moved to the window.

  “I’m sorry.” Bastian cradled his head in his hands. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  What does thinking have to do with this? she wondered. Kaylee closed her eyes as the answer came. He pities me. She braced herself against the sill, trying to ignore the cold, stained wood. Why had she told him? She’d been doing so well at keeping this secret.

  After a moment, she asked softly, “Why did you kiss me?”

  “Why?” Bastian repeated, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. Because I couldn’t help myself, he thought. Still, he didn’t have the right to kiss her. Finding the keys, he traced the worn edges. He kept rubbing, wondering if he could press hard enough to cut through his skin. Maybe that would make him forget what had just happened. She couldn’t want a man like him, someone so…lacking.

  Kaylee clenched her jaw. “It doesn’t matter because you’ve started thinking again. And thinking doesn’t include someone…defective.”

  “You’re not defective. Look at me.” His gaze snapped to her face, and he inhaled sharply. In three long strides, he’d crossed the room, laid his hands on her shoulders, and tried to turn her to him.

  “Whatever you’re going to say, Bastian, don’t. I never should have told you. I don’t want your pity.” Kaylee tried to shrug away his hands, but they refused to go, just like the man standing beside her.

  “I kissed you because I couldn’t help myself. I don’t pity you. This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I don’t feel good enough for you, and I never believed that someone like you could come into my life. I’m nobody.”

  Bastian tugged until Kaylee turned to him. He slipped a finger beneath her chin and lifted until he found her blue eyes. He stroked her face, teasing his thumb across her petal-soft skin.

  “That’s not true.”

  He stiffened, closing his eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know all I need to.” She touched his face with her forefinger and traced his lips. Her fingers moved from his mouth to his cheek, from his cheek to his neck. She leaned toward him and touched her lips to his. One of his hands settled at her waist, and the other caressed the back of her head, deepening their kiss.

  Kaylee slowly slid her arms around him and leaned her head against his chest. As she pressed against him, she could hear his heart hammering. One of Bastian’s hands stroked the small of her back, the strawberry scent of her shampoo lingering.

  “Are you all right with this?” he asked softly.

  “I take things for what they are. Anything else is pointless.” She drew him to her.

  “Why didn’t the hospital notify your parents while you were there? I’m sure they would have come so you wouldn’t have been alone.”

  Kaylee tightened her embrace. “I wasn’t alone. You were with me. Besides, I don’t have parents. I only have one living, my mother, and I didn’t have the energy to explain why I was in the hospital.”

  Bastian shook his head. “Why would you have to explain? Everybody gets sick.”

  “Bastian, I’m not sick. I’m dying, and she doesn’t know. I don’t want her to know. I’m not ready for that.” She leaned against him, closing her eyes and finding his heartbeat again.

  Bastian gritted his teeth. “There are still things that can be done, aren’t there? You can fight, can’t you?” He pulled away enough to meet her gaze. When he looked at her, butterflies fluttered in his stomach the way, years ago, they used to when he’d gotten up in front of his classmates and given speeches.

  “I won’t win–and the battles get harder.”

  “What about drugs?”

  “My body isn’t responding to them.” Kaylee shifted her gaze to her hands, focusing on a broken nail. She could feel Bastian looking at her. She clasped her hands together.

  Bastian grabbed Kaylee’s shoulders. “How the hell can you just give up like this? There has to be something they can do.”

  “You don’t understand, Bastian. Maybe you think that any day, no matter how bad it is, is better than no day, but I don’t want to be in a hospital, barely lucid, in so much pain I don’t even know my name. When I’m sick, it’s hell, Bastian, and taking drugs will only extend my sentence, not the quality of my life.” Her whole body trembled now, and she pulled away.

  “How can you not tell your mother? Doesn’t she have a right to know?”

  Kaylee’s face paled and she winced. “No, she doesn’t, not if I don’t want her to.” She took in the surprised curve of his mouth and the frown darkening his features, but a hint of pain in his face softened her resolve.

  “I will tell her, but not now,” she said quietly. “I don’t have a choice about this disease. But that doesn’t mean I have to regret the way I did it. The last thing I want is her opinion on “the best way” to handle things."

  “Isn’t that convenient? You make all the choices, and the rest of us have to deal with the outcome. Maybe your mother would like to spend time with you. Maybe she loves you and needs to get to know you before....” His voice tapered off. Bastian paced, focusing on the act of putting one foot in front of the other. He touched his cheeks and realized as the stubble pricked his fingers that he’d forgotten to shave this morning. His stomach rolled, and nausea attacked him. He stopped at the window and waited for it to pass. Saying it would make it real so he tried to focus on the way the snow had piled up outside the window, the hum of the heater—anything except the hollowness he felt inside.

  Kaylee folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe she does. But it won’t be because I’m terminally ill. I don't want her pity, and she’s not going to control my death the way she's controlled my life.”

  The doorbell rang, and Kaylee jumped.

  “Looks like you have company, and maybe I should see if my truck will start. Sometimes it changes its mind.” He fumbled with his keys.

  Kaylee peeked out the window again. “Where are you going? I don’t think your truck is going to start.”

  “I don’t want to crowd you or give your guests something to talk about.” He stepped toward the d
oor.

  “You’re not crowding me, and I don’t give a damn what they talk about. It’s pointless.” She gestured to the couch and touched his arm. “Sit. Please.”

  Bastian looked at her imploring eyes and finally sat.

  As Kaylee stepped into the foyer and peered through the stained glass window in the door, she saw the outline of Rosie Griggs.

  “How did I know it was you,” she muttered, pulling open the door.

  “There you are. You could have called St. Andrew’s and said you weren’t coming,” Rosie said. She was a tall African-America woman in her late thirties with thick hair twisted into a bun. She wiggled a chiding finger at Kaylee.

  From the other room, Bastian tried to block the voices, but he couldn’t, not when Rosie’s voice boomed loudly.

  “I didn’t feel well this morning,” Kaylee said, leaning against the door.

  “You didn’t feel well enough to help out in the soup kitchen but you felt good enough to have some hottie over for breakfast? Looks like somebody’s been here a while…maybe all night?” She pointed to Bastian’s truck.

  Does she recognize his truck? Kaylee wondered. “My girlfriend from Newark, actually.”

  “That don’t look like no girl’s truck.” Rosie pulled her hood over her head and cinched the string. “Me and the girls thought maybe you might be in the sack with your Prince Charming. He didn’t show, either.”

  Kaylee coughed uncomfortably, leaning more heavily against the door frame. “Coincidence, I’m sure.”

  “Are you all right?” Rosie asked.

  Kaylee stood upright, and she felt her cheeks redden. “Peachy, thanks.”

  “How’s your head?” Rosie asked softly. “Is that why you were sick this morning?” She gently touched Kaylee’s shoulder.

  “I’m just tired, that’s all. Nothing big.” Kaylee squirmed and nudged Rosie’s hand away. She stared at the ground, avoiding Rosie’s gaze. Goosebumps stippled Kaylee’s arms, and she folded them across her chest, trying to stay warm. Her breath funneled outwards and dissipated.

  “You talked to your mama lately?” Rosie shifted her weight from one foot to the other and shook the snow from her galoshes..