Angels at the Table

by Debbie Macomber

  Opening the door, he found Josie standing there, pale and obviously upset. “Hey, what’s up?”

  She ignored the question. “Can I come in for a minute?”

  “Of course.” He ushered his sister inside and closed the door after her.

  Josie collapsed onto his sofa and then sat on the very edge of the cushion. Reaching for a wadded-up tissue, she focused her attention on shredding it into small pieces.

  “That must have been one heck of a movie,” he said, aiming for a comical slant.

  “I … I didn’t go.”

  “Why not?”

  Instead of answering, she scrambled through her purse for a fresh tissue and then dabbed at the corner of each eye before blowing her nose. She sat up straighter and then squared her shoulders. “Guess who I ran into?” she asked, in a flippant tone.

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t Santa and his elves.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “No. I ran into Jack. Thankfully, I don’t think he saw me.”

  “Jack who?”

  “You’re not being funny, Aren. This isn’t a time for jokes. Can’t you see I’m upset?”

  “All right, all right, sorry. So you saw Jack.”

  “He wasn’t alone,” she added. By now her spine was as stiff as a mop handle. Pride, it appeared, was great for proper posture.

  “Jack was with another woman?” Oh, that must have hurt.

  Josie nodded and, relaxing her shoulders, reached for a fresh tissue. “Jack and this other woman were laughing and teasing each other, having the time of their lives. And here I was by myself, standing in line for a movie ticket.”

  “Oh, Josie, I’m so sorry.” Aren wished now that he had gone with her, if for no other reason than moral support.

  “I feel like such a loser.”

  Aren sat down next to her and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You know that’s not true.”

  “Maybe so, but that’s the way I felt. Here I am lonely and miserable and Jack—”

  “And Jack has gotten on with his life.” Aren finished for her.

  Josie made a weak effort to laugh. “Big time.”

  “Was she pretty?”

  His sister slammed him with a look that would have melted kryptonite. “What do you think?”

  “Drop-dead gorgeous,” he muttered. Aren knew the feeling. Katie’s lover was a bodybuilder with muscles—speaking of kryptonite—Superman would have envied. The strongest muscles in Aren’s body were in his fingers from all the typing and texting. Compared to the man Katie dumped him for, Aren felt like the ninety-eight-pound weakling.

  “I’m sorry, sis.” He did commiserate with her. “Can I get you anything?”

  Josie raised her head. “What have you got?”

  Unfortunately Aren had never been much of a drinker, so he didn’t keep alcohol in the apartment. “Beer, I think. If I had chocolate I’d offer that.”

  “I don’t know, Aren. The way I feel right now there aren’t enough chocolate chip cookies in the world to get me through this.”

  “So you still love him?” Actually the answer was fairly obvious, at least to him.

  From the way she hesitated Aren could see that she held strong feelings for Jack, although she was reluctant to admit it. “I think I must. I thought I’d be able to put him out of my mind, but I was wrong.”

  “Have you thought about contacting him?” That seemed an obvious solution to Aren.

  Josie stared down at her hands and the crumbled tissues there. “Actually, I almost did tonight … right before I called you. That would have been a real hoot, wouldn’t it? Jack would have gotten a kick out of that, now that he’s dating Miss Universe.”

  “Stop. You’re no slouch, Josie. You’re smart and attractive and well educated and—”

  “Sure,” she scoffed, “you’d say that, seeing that we swam out of the same gene pool.”

  Aren laughed. “I mean it. The way I see it, you’ve got two choices: you could either attempt to patch things up with Jack, or you could get on with your own life. The choice is yours.”

  “Well, I’m not going to chase after Jack, that’s for sure.”

  “Then you don’t love him. You simply don’t want him to find anyone else. You want him to pine after you the rest of his life.”

  Her gaze shot to his and for a second she looked stricken by his comment. “That’s not the least bit true. I do care.”

  “No, you don’t, especially if you’re willing to walk away.”

  “He’s found someone else,” Josie argued.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” he countered just as swiftly. “And if he did, so what? You care, too.”

  “So what? Clearly you don’t understand the situation. I saw Jack with her and I can tell you right now, he wasn’t thinking about me the way I have been thinking about him.”

  Aren figured they could argue about this all night and it wouldn’t do any good.

  “All I’m saying, sis, is that if you have such strong feelings then let him know. If you don’t, then let it go. Do what you can to learn from the experience and walk away.”

  Josie stood and hung her head as she seemed to consider his advice. After a moment or two, she whispered, “I’ve got too much pride to reach out to Jack … eventually I’ll meet someone else, too.”

  Aren understood the pride issue all too well. “Yes, you will,” he said in as reassuring a tone as he could manage, and he hoped that was true.

  “Did you hear that?” Will asked Goodness. The two had left Mercy and Shirley with Lucie and her mother. Their friends kept a diligent watch on Lucie to keep her and the Eaton Well column separated from each other. Will and Goodness had gone to check on Aren.

  “We’ve got to help poor Josie,” Will said, feeling dreadful over her failed romance.

  “We can’t. It’s strictly forbidden.”

  “But she’s in love and miserable and hurting. Isn’t that part of our mission, to comfort those in pain?”

  “We’re Prayer Ambassadors, Will. Someone has to pray for her first.”

  “Can’t she pray?”

  “Of course, but apparently she hasn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Goodness shrugged. “It’s funny. Some humans are prayer warriors and then there are others who only pray when they’re desperate or badly in need of divine intervention. Then they urgently cry out to God for help.”

  “Do we answer those frantic prayers?” Will asked.

  “We do what we can on short notice.”

  Will watched as Josie buttoned up her coat and headed into the cold night. The festive feel of the holidays was all around her, but Aren’s sister didn’t appear to notice. She kept her head lowered and her shoulders hunched forward against the cold and wind.

  At the corner, she stopped at a red light, reached inside her purse, and took out her cellphone. For a long time all she did was stare at it; then she glanced at her watch, sighed, and tossed it back into her purse.

  “Do you think she was going to call Jack?” Will asked.

  “Don’t know. We should get back and check on Aren.”

  Will glanced over his shoulder. “Can I follow Josie to make sure she gets home okay?”

  Goodness bit into her lower lip. “All right, but don’t let Mercy or Shirley know that I said you could.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Will?”

  “Yes?”

  Goodness tapped her foot impatiently. “You’ve really got to get a tougher skin when it comes to dealing with humans. God granted them free will. If we become involved in his or her lives it can get messy.”

  “But God loves them.”

  “He does very much. It pains Him to watch them make wrong choices, but He’s determined to let each one make his or her own decisions.”

  “Including Josie.”

  “Including Josie,” Goodness echoed.

  “And Aren and Lucie.”

  “Exactly.” All Goodness could do was hope ev
erything turned out well for the newsman and the chef.

  “You must be exhausted.” Lucie’s mother followed her into her bedroom after her shift at the restaurant.

  “You, too, Mom.” Her mother had worked nearly as many hours as Lucie despite her medical condition. Thankfully Aren had been able to help with the serving earlier in the day. He’d been wonderful, really wonderful. He wouldn’t allow either of them to lift anything and had carted all the heavy pots and serving dishes back and forth. As soon as he had arrived, Aren had dug right in, lending a helping hand.

  It was far more than his willingness to serve that touched her heart. Aren had been terrific with the men and women, chatting with them, making them feel welcome, asking questions, making conversation. He’d been willing to listen when so many others had looked the other way, and he’d been great with the children, too.

  “I am tired, but I wasn’t the one slaving over a hot stove all night.”

  “Mom, I love what I do.”

  Her mother hugged her and then went off to her own bedroom. Sammy remained patiently at Lucie’s side, waiting for her and willing to follow wherever she led.

  Lucie took a long hot shower and dressed for bed. Sunday afternoon she’d cook dinner for Aren and she planned to make it a meal he would long remember. Years ago her mother had told her the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She wanted Aren’s heart. Despite all the demands on her time, the responsibility of making the restaurant a success, Lucie couldn’t help falling in love with Aren. He was easy to love. Her head and her heart were full as she drifted off to sleep.

  Her dreams that night were filled with Aren. She woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” Wendy said when Lucie staggered into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  Automatically her mother poured Lucie a cup of coffee. “We’ve got an hour before church this morning. Advent is my favorite time of year. I just love singing Christmas carols.”

  “Me too.” With so much to do on her day off, Lucie was tempted to skip worship service. It would be easy to offer her mother an excuse. She didn’t and was glad because the service was inspiring.

  If she lacked Christmas spirit, working with the homeless at the Salvation Army and attending church had given her more than an ample supply.

  After church, Lucie and Wendy dragged out the Christmas tree decorations from the storage space in the apartment basement. She hoped Aren wouldn’t mind helping her set up the tree later. It would be fun and romantic.

  Before Lucie made one final trip to the basement for the last load of decorations, her mother announced she had made plans for the afternoon. She was going shopping with a friend and they might take in a movie afterward. Lucie wasn’t fooled. This was a gift of time alone with Aren.

  On the way up the stairs, Lucie ran into her neighbor. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said cheerfully. Her mood was high, filled with happy anticipation for her afternoon with Aren.

  “Merry Christmas, Lucie.” Her elderly neighbor was hauling a box of trash to the recycling bin.

  “Oh, is that Saturday’s newspaper?” she asked, eyeing the date on the paper on the very top of the box.

  “It is.”

  “Would you mind if I read it?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Lucie grabbed the newspaper and stuffed it under her arm as she raced up the stairs. She was anxious to look for Aren’s name. He’d asked her to wait to read it, which seemed a little silly. It would be the first time he had a byline and she was proud of him.

  “I got Saturday’s newspaper,” Lucie called out as soon as she returned to the apartment. Setting down the last box of ornaments, she pulled out a kitchen chair and spread out the newspaper. After going through every section twice she couldn’t find Aren’s name anywhere.

  “It’s not here,” she said, disappointment coating her words. “Not the way I expected, at least.”

  “How do you mean?” her mother asked.

  “Well, he mentioned that he wrote a short piece about the play we saw and what happened but there’s no real byline there, just a note to check out the restaurant review, but that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Did you read the restaurant review?” Her mother sounded as disappointed as Lucie.

  “No,” Lucie admitted.

  “Does he write for sports?” her mother asked, as if Lucie had reached for the wrong section.

  “No … actually, he’s never mentioned what he writes.” In fact, now that she thought about it, Aren had always been rather secretive about what he did for the newspaper.

  “Well, check out the restaurant review,” her mother suggested.

  As it was, Lucie was confused. “He couldn’t have anything to do with that. The review is written by Eaton Well.”

  “Then don’t read it,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Every time you even glance at his column you get upset.”

  “And rightly so. The man is an idiot.”

  “Lucie, you shouldn’t say that.”

  “I can’t help it, Mom. Eaton Well nearly ruined us. Oh, and look,” she said, pointing to the column. “Sure enough he’s reviewing the same restaurant where Aren and I had dinner last Thursday night.” She picked up the paper and skimmed through the article. Not more than two inches into the column and her fingers tightened, crumpling the edges of the newspaper.

  “Lucie, I told you not to read his review. It upsets you every time.”

  She swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and set the newspaper back down on the table. Slowly she came to her feet as a tight knot formed in her throat.

  “Was it another negative review?” her mother asked.

  “It was fair,” she said, her voice cracking slightly as the realization hit her. Aren was Eaton Well. This was the reason he hadn’t wanted her to read the paper until after they spoke. He intended on telling her that he’d been the one who wrote that horrible review of Heavenly Delights. He hadn’t known at the time that she was the chef who’d prepared his meal. The sole had been one of her signature dishes, one she was most proud to add to the menu. And he’d panned it with language so harsh the sting lingered in her mind even now, all these weeks later.

  “Lucie, are you all right?” Wendy asked.

  “Yes, Mom.” She was on her feet, although she didn’t know what she intended to do or where she thought she would go. It felt as if the room had suddenly shrunk to half its size, as though the walls were closing in on her. She had nowhere to hide; nowhere to run.

  “What time will Aren be here?” her mother asked.

  “Ah … I don’t recall.” Her head started to spin. Aren would be at the apartment soon. It would be impossible to look at him now, knowing what she did.

  “Janice is stopping by to pick me up in an hour. Are you sure you don’t want any help decorating the tree?”

  The tree. Lucie had completely forgotten she’d agreed to decorate the Christmas tree. A task she’d been looking forward to doing with Aren. Now it would be impossible. “I’ll get the tree up, Mom, no problem.”

  “If Aren has something else in mind, then don’t bother, okay?”

  “Sure.” She walked to one end of the kitchen and then back, lost in a fog that refused to clear. What she needed to do was think and that would be out of the question if Aren was with her.

  Aren. Aren was Eaton Well.

  Lucie had trouble wrapping her mind around what she should have figured out long ago.

  “Lucie, are you all right? You’ve gone quite pale. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? I could stay home, if you wanted.”

  “No … I’m fine. Go and have fun … enjoy your day.”

  “I will.” Her mother hummed as she buzzed about the room, sorting out the stacks on the kitchen countertop and then addressing a few Christmas cards while she waited for her friend to arrive.

  Lucie bided her time until her mother left. Then, gathering her resolve, she reached for her phone.
Of primary importance was to find an excuse to keep Aren away. She needed to think, to absorb what she’d learned, figure out what to do.

  Aren answered on the first ring and when he found out it was her, he said, “Hello. I was just on my way out the door.”

  “I’m glad I caught you, then.” Lucie did her best to sound as though nothing was wrong.

  “What’s up?”

  In a flash, it came to her what to do. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

  Something in her voice must have betrayed her feelings because Aren suddenly went quiet. Lucie could hear the background noise. The sound of an elevator opening. The rushing sound of the doors closing and then nothing.

  “Thinking about what?” he asked, sounding strained and uncertain, as though testing her.

  “Us. When we met all those months ago, I told you that my life was crazy busy with the restaurant and all. The timing to get involved with someone couldn’t be worse for me. I realize now that nothing has really changed.”

  “In other words you want to cool it.”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time and then in a soft voice, he asked, “You saw the article, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t going to lie to him.

  “And now you hate me?”

  “No.” Lucie could never hate Aren. “I … need to take a step back and reevaluate our relationship. You aren’t the person I thought you were.”

  “You’re wrong, Lucie.”

  “You were cruel and mean in the review you wrote about Heavenly Delights. Eaton Well isn’t a kind person … he thinks he’s being clever and he isn’t. He uses words to cut people down … what you wrote about Heavenly Delights was unjustifiable and—”

  “I was honest,” he said, cutting into her short tirade.

  “My cooking is that bad? You’re telling me that the effort and investment my mother and I put into this restaurant was a waste of time and that we deserve to fail?”

  “I didn’t write anything even close to that.”

  “You might as well have.”

  He didn’t respond, which was just as well. Arguing the point would do no good.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she continued. “Tell me now and be truthful. Did the sole actually taste that bad?”