by T. R. Hamby
She smiled too. “Thanks.”
“These pancakes are delicious, by the way,” he said, trying not to talk with his mouth full. “Is there a recipe?”
Nora nodded. “My mother’s. The secret is the buttermilk, she always said. Makes them richer.”
He frowned. God, was her mother dead too? It only took a look at her face to know the answer. Poor Nora. He felt anger boil in his stomach. The same question he had been asking since his Creation--why?
He decided to change the subject--he didn’t like seeing her so quiet. “How are you feeling?”
She frowned, shifting in her seat. “Better,” she said cautiously, “but I think I’m getting cramps already. I only took it half an hour ago.”
“There’s Tylenol in the cabinet over the stove,” he said, finishing his last pancake, “and pads in the bathroom.”
She looked at him, amazed. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Like--actual pads? Not the baby ones?”
He chuckled. “I’ve made pad runs before, you know.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she replied wryly, getting up and taking her plate to the sink. “God, I just hope it isn’t like yesterday.”
Mel hoped not too. He had worried over her all day, while she had lied in the bathroom, sick as a dog.
It turned out a little better, although Nora was confined to the couch. Her cramps were strong, but at least she wasn’t throwing up anymore. She laid her head in his lap, and they spent the day watching Tv again, talking through each episode of each show. Every couple of hours a client would text or call, and Mel would excuse himself to talk to them, trying to keep the conversation short.
The final call was unique, though. A client in Farver had died, and apparently she had bequeathed all her jewels back to Stockton & Co. The official reading of the will would be in two days.
Mel returned to the living room, frowning. Nora was lying on the couch; her cramps had settled down in the last hour. She looked at him curiously. He wasn’t sure what to do, and decided to ask her first.
“How are you feeling?”
She studied him, catching the caution in his voice. “Better now. Why?”
He folded his arms. “A client of mine has passed away,” he began slowly. “She was in her nineties, and apparently left her jewels to be returned to my company. They need me at the reading of her will the day after tomorrow.”
Nora sat up slowly, wincing slightly. He could see she was thinking, her brow furrowed.
“When do you need to leave?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” he said, and she pressed her lips together.
They were quiet for a moment. Mel could tell Nora didn’t like it, that she still felt vulnerable--that she needed him close by. She didn’t have anyone else to take care of her--no other friends, as she had so clearly said. And she had taken the second pill today. What if something happened tomorrow?
“Come with me,” he blurted out, before really thinking about it.
She looked around at him, and let out a surprised laugh. “Don’t be silly.”
“Why not?” he persisted, shrugging. “Rehearsals are still canceled. You have nothing better to do.”
She ignored his last statement and shook her head. “Mel--I can’t afford--”
“Don’t think about that. It’s my treat.”
She gaped at him, and he waited for her to collect herself.
This wasn’t the first time he had invited a friend on a trip, but it certainly was the first time in a while. Years.
But he looked at Nora, and he knew he wanted to. Even if she wasn’t in the middle of a medical crisis he would have asked her. He liked her, and he wanted to spend more time with her. And to spoil her a little, too.
“Look,” he sighed, sitting beside her, “I don’t want to leave you alone. And it would be good for you to get out of Rome, see a new country. And...well, it’ll be more fun with you there.”
Nora sighed too. “I just...a plane ticket is so much money…”
“Do I look like I’ll miss it?” he asked, and she chuckled.
“I guess not.”
“Good. I’ll book a flight, pick up some clothes from your place tomorrow.”
She let out a breath, clearly still absorbing what she had just agreed to.
“I have nothing to wear to Denmark,” she muttered, shaking her head.
He looked at her, a smile playing on his lips. “Well--if you’re up to it, you could hit the shops before our flight.”
She frowned at him, and he shrugged. “Just tell them my name at the register. They have my card.”
“Wait--where is this?”
Mel listed some names, and Nora’s jaw dropped.
“Those are all designer,” she exclaimed, looking almost scandalized.
He chuckled. “Yes, they are. And before you argue; yes, I will pay for them. It’s money well spent, and you deserve some pretty things.”
She still looked hesitant, but he could see she wasn’t going to argue. “You know this is like, a sugar daddy situation, right?” she teased, and he rolled his eyes.
“Don’t call me that.”
“What--Daddy?”
“I said don’t.”
“Oh Daddy, please don’t send me to Denmark--”
He grabbed her wrists, gently pinning her to the couch, and kissed her neck while she laughed, squirming. He was grinning, loving the sound of her laugh, but she suddenly winced, and he let her go.
“Ugh,” she moaned, holding her stomach. “God, these cramps.”
“Time for more Tylenol,” he said, going to the kitchen. He shook out a couple pills from the bottle and brought them back, along with a glass of water.
She took the medication, then studied him, her brown eyes worried.
“Are you okay? You know, since your client passed.”
Mel nodded. “We were only acquaintances.”
“Still--I mean--you seem to know all your clients pretty well.”
He looked at her, wondering if he should bring up the Angel thing again.
“Well, you won’t believe it,” he said quietly, “but being Immortal, I tend to outlive my friends. So I’ve gotten used to death. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “So what--they go to Heaven?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re a Christian,” she said, and he noticed a hint of disapproval in her voice.
He frowned at her. “No, I’m not. I’m an Angel; I’m not religious.”
She frowned too. “Angels are usually associated with religion, last time I checked.”
“To humans, maybe. Mortals love religiosity. They’ve been making cults dedicated to the divine since the beginning of time, and it always ends up messy. But I don’t worship my Father.”
He heard his tone change, become bitter, and he remembered what Lilith had said. I don’t care about Father anymore.
She studied him shrewdly. “Sounds a little...heretical for an Angel.”
“Part of the reason I got kicked out,” he joked, smirking ironically.
“So…” she murmured, “you really believe good people go to Heaven, and bad people go to Hell?”
“Yes. I know they do.”
She stared at her hands, her brow furrowed, clearly thinking. Then she looked at him, and there was amazement on her face.
“You really believe it,” she breathed. “That you’re an Angel. You’re not just shitting me.”
The look on her face made him nervous, and he wondered for a moment if she was going to run out the door.
But she didn’t. She studied him for a moment, and there was suddenly a look on her face he couldn’t decipher. She took his hand, squeezing almost soothingly, and gave him a gentle kiss. Then she broke away, lying back down on the couch.
“I think the next episode is the finale,” she said, as if their conversation never happened.
Mel leaned back on the couch, bewildered
over the exchange. He had no idea what had just gone through Nora’s mind, but somewhere in there she had decided to trust him.
Denmark was going to be interesting.
Michael
It was night, and Michael was in a cemetery on Via di Castagna. It was a mixture of old and new, with crumbling graves from as far back as the eighteenth century, and graves as recent as last year. He had spent the last few hours stalking the street, searching amongst the dilapidated buildings for any sign of a brown-haired Angel. Women smiled at him, but none of their customers matched the description.
He shook his head. He felt ridiculous looking at these gravestones. He had no idea where Mel had gotten the idea that Ariel may have stolen a human’s identity, and it hardly seemed likely. Sure, an Angel touching down on Earth for the first time would need money, but that could be solved with some work done under the table.
Unless, Mel had reminded him, Ariel had been meaning to stay for a long time. He may have wanted to open a bank account instead of constantly scrounging for cash. Angels, after all, didn’t like to live like humans. If they came down to Earth, it was to enjoy its luxuries, not its poverty.
He shined a flashlight on each headstone. There was no night guard, he had already determined. He had started with the most recent graves, and now was somewhere in the 1990s.
Eureka. Ariel Cortez, b. 1980, d. 1994.
The grave was dirty, the grass around it yellowing. Michael felt a pang. A fourteen-year-old child had died, and no one was visiting his grave.
He suddenly had a flash of his children, when they were that age--or close, as Angels took longer to mature than humans. Serene, his oldest, had been a terror; she had always had a temper. Gabriel had stayed out all night with his friends, worrying his mother half to death.
Michael’s lips twitched. But pain washed over him, and he closed his eyes. He hardly saw them anymore.
He shook himself. No, not right now. He got to his feet, looking down at the little grave. He couldn’t talk to Mel right now; he had seen him loading his car with suitcases earlier today. He would have to go home...get on his computer…
It would be rough. How long would it take to find one Ariel in the entire city of Rome?
Nora
It was official.
Mel King was ill. Nora couldn’t believe she hadn’t pieced it together before. The detailed delusions, the stalking, the hallucinating his brother’s voice. It had all been hiding beneath his poise, his money. Sure, he was clearly organized, perhaps to an anal degree. His social skills were above the mark, and he kept up a smooth appearance. But that didn’t change the fact he was delusional. High-functioning schizophrenic, she guessed.
But this didn’t scare her. Maybe it should have, but it didn’t. After all, she herself had her own issues. The medications in her suitcase were damning.
She glanced at Mel as he drove them from the airport in Denmark. Snow covered the ground, and the mountains seemed to circle them like a rocky ring. She hadn’t mentioned the Angel thing since that last conversation, and things had been pretty much normal.
She thought of her father, when he had died. It had been unexpected--a sudden heart attack. He didn’t even make it to the hospital. Nora had lost it, had to be sedated--and when she started seeing things, it was off to the psych ward. They said it must have been a psychotic episode, brought on by the stress of his death, but things didn’t get better. She didn’t see things anymore, but she was so depressed she couldn’t eat. She lost twenty pounds. Back to the hospital. Antidepressant. She was better for a while--and then it happened again. Hospital.. Antipsychotic. The two together seemed to be the only thing that worked, and now her depression was, mostly, manageable.
She had to take a year off from school, and was at the mercy of Izzie, who didn’t trust her to take her medications, or go out on her own. It had been hell. Maybe that was why Mel’s care was so refreshing.
She looked at him again, and he glanced at her, smiling. “Hi.”
She chuckled. “Hello.”
“You’re quiet. What are you thinking about?”
She couldn’t tell him about her illness yet. She wasn’t ready. No one knew except for Izzie. But the realization that he too had problems gave her clarity, and relief. It was something she could empathize with, and it meant he wasn’t a liar. He was just troubled, and she understood--she knew what it was like, to have your mind turn against you.
She cast around for something to say. “How far now?”
“Only ten minutes,” he replied. He glanced at her again. “Still feeling okay?”
She was, actually. She was still cramping, but the pain was much better. She had woken up refreshed, and had happily shopped at the mall that morning, choosing several outfits, one of which she was wearing now--black pants, a cream top, and a knitted cardigan.
“I feel great,” she replied soothingly.
“I feel guilty for putting you on a plane.”
“I’m fine, I promise,” she said. “The worst is over.”
He glanced at her again, his blue eyes piercing. “I know how hard it must be. How traumatic.”
She looked at him warmly, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “Well…it’s over now. And you helped me.”
They drove through a little suburb, in a valley at the foot of the mountains. It was a gorgeous view, and the houses were beautiful. Finally they arrived at a smaller house with a stone facade, a ways away from the others.
Nora felt her jaw drop, and she looked around at him. “Isn’t this the house I picked?”
Mel was smirking. “It looks like a good choice.”
She let out a breath, amazed, and they got their bags and went inside.
It was a beautiful home--hardwood floors, a large stone fireplace, and a balcony that overlooked the valley. Not very big, but not too small, either. Nora dropped her stuff off in the master bedroom, then returned downstairs, hungrily searching for the piano.
She found it and grinned excitedly, sitting down and fingering the keys. She began to play, and she heard Mel laugh as he came into the room.
“Elvis?” he said, and she giggled.
“Can you play?” she asked.
“Very badly.”
She cocked her head, teasing. “What, all those years and you couldn’t learn?”
“Some things require talent,” he replied, sitting next to her on the bench. Their elbows touched, and Nora felt her heart leap.
She smiled. “My dad taught me,” she murmured, brushing her fingertips on the keys. “Mostly Elvis.”
And she began to play again, singing along. Mel sat and watched her, though he didn’t smile until she finished.
“Gorgeous,” he said softly.
She caught the tenderness in his voice, and she blushed, leaning close and kissing him. He was more than eager, tangling his hand in her hair, kissing her gently. It was perfect.
His phone rang, and he broke away, swearing under his breath.
“Client,” he said, glancing at the screen. “Hold on.”
And he went to the other room, answering the phone in what sounded like German.
Nora frowned, a little deflated. She tried counting the number of languages she had heard him speak in the past two days. Italian, of course...English...French...Russian...Mandarin...and a couple she couldn’t identify.
She tapped on the keys, puzzled. That kiss was different, and she didn’t know why. She felt something different...something new, and she couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.
He stepped back into the room, looking mildly annoyed. “Ein weiterer--”
He stopped, chuckled, and continued, “Sorry. Another difficult client.”
“You’re a polyglot,” Nora said, almost accusingly.
He smiled, and sat next to her again.
“How many languages do you speak?”
He seemed to be weighing his answer, tapping on a key. “I speak most languages fluently.”
“Oh really,” Nora said
, raising an eyebrow. “What about Japanese?”
He said a few words.
“Spanish?”
Again, a few words.
“Well--what about--Gaelic?”
And to her immense surprise, he spoke that too. She could tell none of it was gibberish; the words were distinct.
“Jesus, Mel,” she breathed. “What, did you grow up abroad? Were you a military brat? What nationality are you, anyway?”
Mel chuckled, though he was avoiding her eyes. She knew he was going to give the Angel answer--but she still wanted to hear him say it.
He studied the keys, taking a deep breath. “Officially I’m Canadian. But you can guess that’s not true.”
She studied him, fascinated. “So you’re from Heaven?”
“No,” he replied. “Heaven is for mortals. I was Created in the Immortal World, where all Angels live.”
She frowned. “How do you get to Earth?”
“You fall,” he said simply. “Through to another dimension. It’s hard to explain.”
“Does it...hurt?”
He chuckled. “Actually, yes. At least for me. I never seem to land right. But those days are over. I’m not allowed back.”
There was a hint of sadness in his last few words, and he started playing a song, tripping over the chords, his brow furrowed.
Nora watched him, thinking. She felt almost like Freud--wondering what had happened in Mel’s past to make him believe he was a fallen Angel, not welcome back Home.
He caught her studying him, and winked. She blushed, and he grinned.
“What about you?” he asked curiously. “Anything other than English and Italian?”
She shrugged modestly. “Sign language, actually,” she said.
He looked intrigued. “Really. ASL?”
Nora nodded. “I had a friend throughout grade school who signed. I picked up most of it.”
Mel smiled, his blue eyes bright. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s picked up a few things.”
They went out to eat, and then stopped by the store, buying ingredients for dinner later. Nora was tired, and napped in bed while Mel spoke to some clients. Then they made dinner together, talking and laughing, purposefully bumping into each other as they passed, their hands wandering. Mel seemed relaxed, more relaxed than usual. He laughed freely, slipped his arms around her waist while she cooked, and just--looked at her.
