Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles)

by Allen, Shauna

  It didn’t seem so bad. But Elijah still didn’t want to do it. He just didn’t like water. It wasn’t an angel’s natural habitat. Or at least his.

  But he wasn’t an angel any longer.

  He waited while the Mayor lumbered out of the tank in just his swimming trunks and smiled at him. “You’re up, huh?”

  “I suppose.”

  He clapped him with a wet hand, leaving a sopping handprint on his shoulder. “Have fun.”

  Elijah nodded. Oh, yeah, loads of fun. He slipped off his shoes, socks and jeans, to his swim trunks below. He ignored a few whistles and female comments from passersby and started up the ladder.

  “Aren’t you gonna take off your shirt, boy?” Mr. Boyles called.

  Elijah shook his head. His white T-shirt was all that was protecting him and his scars—his sins—from prying eyes.

  He took a deep breath and settled himself onto the rickety seat above the water, refusing to glance down. He knew his discomfort was disproportionate. He’d survived a swimming pool, for crying out loud!

  But Naomi had been there . . .

  But that didn’t stop the pounding of his heart as he faced the first person who stepped up to the target.

  Claudia.

  “Hi, Eli,” she purred.

  His pulse kicked up about a dozen beats. “Hello, Claudia.”

  She tossed the ball back and forth between her hands. “I’ve been waiting for you to get in there.” She smiled.

  “You have?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  She tossed the first ball. She missed.

  He let out a breath in relief and skimmed his big toe through the water. The coolness actually felt good.

  He relaxed a smidge and took a small breath, forcing himself not to sit so rigidly.

  She picked up her second ball, tilted her head, and narrowed her gaze. She let it loose and walloped the target.

  Heart pounding, Elijah sucked in a breath as his body submerged in the cold.

  He re-emerged and wiped the hair from his eyes. Her laughter filled his ears like an annoying braying donkey. “. . . that outta cool you and your little girlfriend off.” She sauntered away wiping her hands together like she was dusting flour.

  What? She was truly upset about the dance? Between her antics and Naomi’s outburst, he was beginning to see he’d never understand the human female. Shaking his head, he clambered up the ladder and re-seated himself. Only twenty-seven more minutes.

  Twenty-five.

  Twenty-one.

  Tick-tock.

  Fifteen.

  Finally, after taking half a dozen trips into the cool water, his last dunker of the day was little Emma. He couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried. And he’d finally gotten used to the cold water and almost decided this could be fun. Almost.

  She smiled up at him. “You ready to go down, Mr. Eli?”

  He grinned as water dripped down his face. “Gimme your best shot, squirt.”

  She picked up the ball and Scott curled around her to help her aim.

  “Hey, that’s cheating,” Elijah called just as the ball lobbed through the air, hit the target, and sent him into the water once again. He stood with a smile to find Emma in Scott’s arms fit to be tied with giggles.

  “Good aim, little one,” Elijah praised.

  She smiled and giggled some more, ducking her face into Scott’s neck.

  Elijah climbed up the ladder just as the next victim showed up for their shift. He grabbed a towel, dried off the best he could, then yanked on his jeans. He had chili to tend to.

  “What happened to your back?”

  Naomi’s softly spoken words nearly stopped his heart.

  He glanced down automatically. He still had his shirt on. What was she seeing?

  He spun around.

  Naomi’s eyes caught his, and all he saw was true concern, compassion, and . . . understanding. But he couldn’t go there with her.

  No.

  He yanked up his towel and moved away. “Nothing.”

  She followed. “Don’t lie to me. I can see the scars through your wet shirt. Something awful obviously happened to you.”

  He walked faster.

  “Eli.”

  He kept going toward the food tent. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away. Leave it alone. Leave him alone.

  He got nearly to the flap at the opening when she grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Eli!”

  He wouldn’t look at her. He kept his gaze pinned to the ground.

  “Please.” Her voice shook. Her emotion nearly broke him, but he couldn’t. Just couldn’t. He backed up a step, wishing for some of her anger back. That would be easier to deal with.

  “You can tell me. I’ll understand, I promise.”

  He glanced at her, but only got as far as her lips. It was impossible. He shook his head.

  “Eli—”

  They were interrupted when a small group from church filed out, all in tears. “Oh, my God,” one of them cried. “Why? Of all days, why today? On little Emma’s day? They should be here . . . They’re such a part of this community. They’re such wonderful people . . . they deserve better.”

  Naomi released her grip on his arm and turned toward them. “What happened, Barb?”

  The woman breathed in as fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. “Oh, Naomi, I’m sorry.” She glanced at Elijah. “I didn’t see you there.”

  Naomi waited.

  The woman blinked and gathered herself. “We just got word . . . Pastor Donovan’s wife, Janet, passed away this morning.”

  “Oh, no!” Naomi covered her mouth with a hand. “Poor Pastor. Who’s with him?”

  “That’s just the thing,” Barb went on. “He’s all alone. He hasn’t let anyone over to be with him all day. We’re all terribly worried.”

  Elijah’s heart trembled as that December day when he lost Sarah came crashing back into his soul.

  The blackness.

  The aloneness.

  The anger.

  That had been the day that defined all the rest of his days.

  He didn’t know how he knew, but he needed to get to Pastor Donovan.

  Now.

  “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  He spun away and sprinted from the tent and toward the Pastor’s, his feet gaining speed until he was in front of the Donovan home, his hair still wet, his eyes wetter, his soul confused.

  He just stood there, unsure what to do. Had he made a mistake in coming?

  The man’s wife had just died.

  They were nothing more than passing acquaintances and he wasn’t receiving visitors. What made Elijah think he’d see him? And why?

  He moved to go, cursing himself for an idiot when the front door creaked open.

  Elijah stopped and turned. The sun bloomed from behind a cloud and he squinted against its onslaught as it blinded him, warmed him. He stood there, unable to move, unsure of what to say. His heart beat an erratic tattoo in his chest.

  The Pastor studied him for several moments then finally stepped off the porch and approached him, his steps that of an emotionally drained man. As he got nearer, Elijah could see his eyes were red-rimmed, tired, pain-filled.

  Peaceful.

  Elijah found himself taken aback at that last revelation.

  “Eli,” Pastor Donovan said once he reached him.

  “Pastor.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  Elijah glanced down, then back up. “I’m not really sure why I’m here.”

  Pastor smiled. “I am.” He waited a beat, as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say, or perhaps he wasn�
�t sure Elijah would believe it. “I was told you’d come.”

  More confused than ever, Elijah stepped back, rubbed a hand through his now wind-tousled hair. “By who?”

  A stunning smile bloomed on the man’s face. “By a Prophet of the Lord.”

  Chapter 28

  Elijah’s knees hit the ground as his mind tried to wrap itself around the Pastor’s words.

  Father remembered him? Could it be?

  His skin suddenly thrummed with electricity, his heart thundering so painfully it threatened to pound right out of his chest. He clutched at his T-shirt blindly trying to ease the ache.

  The sun, which had warmed him earlier, now felt excruciatingly hot on the top of his head, and he struggled to take in a breath.

  “Eli?” Pastor placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, temporarily drawing him back. “Are you all right, son?”

  Elijah blinked up at the other man and focused. God, how selfish he was being. He was here to offer sympathy and condolences. Not simper and cry over his own mental anguish on the poor man’s lawn.

  Quickly drawing himself up, Elijah dusted off his knees. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.”

  Pastor studied his face. “Would you like to come inside?”

  Elijah hesitated. But he’d come for a reason, even if he didn’t know what that reason was. “Sure. If it’s not an imposition.”

  “No. Not at all. Like I said, I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Elijah swallowed, not sure whether to be uncomfortable or jubilant about that, and followed him into the living room, the sweet smells of a home enveloping him; Lemon furniture polish, lavender, fresh flowers from several arrangements that cluttered the entryway . . .

  “Would you like coffee, tea?”

  Elijah pivoted and found himself trapped in the Pastor’s smiling eyes. “Water would be fine.”

  The Pastor nodded and they moved toward the kitchen where he poured him a glass of ice water and a mug of coffee for himself. “Lunch?”

  Elijah shook his head. “No, thank you.” With his emotions churning his stomach like a hurricane-frothed ocean, the last thing he wanted was food.

  “Well, I hope you won’t mind if I fix a bite to eat. I haven’t eaten since . . .” His eyes glazed over as if trying to remember. “Well, I guess it’s been a while.”

  “No. Go ahead.” Elijah sipped his water as the man puttered around making a sandwich and tried to gather his thoughts. What was he doing here? What should he say? And how had the man known he was coming?

  More importantly, could it really have been a prophecy?

  A Brother?

  His heart flailed hopefully at the idea. But, unwilling to be crushed if it was a fantasy of a grieving man, he tamped it down.

  Pastor finally sat with his ham and cheese and took a bite. He ate in silence until his sandwich was down to just the crust, then he dabbed his mouth with a napkin, sipped his coffee from his I Love my Wife mug, and sat back. Pinning Elijah with his penetrating gray eyes, he finally spoke.

  “So, Eli, tell me what brings you here. What are you seeking?”

  Elijah’s heart, which had become complacent in his chest, immediately sparked awake with a jolt. He dipped his eyes, unsure what to say.

  “I heard about Mrs. Donovan,” he finally managed to choke out. “I wanted to offer my condolences.”

  “Thank you. She was a wonderful woman and I loved her very much.” Elijah finally met his eyes again. “We had many beautiful years together and I’m grateful.”

  “Grateful?”

  Pastor cupped his coffee mug in both hands as if to draw warmth from it. “Yes. I wouldn’t trade a moment of our time together for anything.” His thumb repeatedly traced a tiny crack on the handle of his mug, his eyes appearing lost in some memory.

  “But aren’t you angry? Bitter? Don’t you blame God at all for her suffering? Perhaps yourself for not praying enough?” Guilt washed over Elijah as he realized he was voicing his own feelings, but he couldn’t stop them. “Do you feel you let her down?” His soul ached like never before. Hot emotion clogged his throat. “Do you feel you could have . . . should have done more?”

  The Pastor’s eyes snapped to his, the gray simmering like the ocean brewing a storm. “Of course I do, Eli. But the Lord had a different path for her, and it’s not for me to question.” He took a breath. “But do I blame God? No. Absolutely not. And neither did she.

  “We’re all given a certain amount of time in this life, Eli,” the Pastor continued. “A certain amount of love. It’s our job—our duty—to not waste it.

  “Father,” Michael prayed from the confines of his compact car, his head bowed, his eyes squeezed shut, his heart aching pitifully. “Father, please hear me. I’ve never felt so alone or lost in an assignment.” He swallowed, fighting back tears, disliking that weakness of the human vessel as it mirrored his emotion for the world to see. His failure. “Perhaps You made a mistake, Father. I’m not cut out to lead Love Detail.” He dipped his head and wiped an errant tear. “Elijah has hardened his heart and cannot see the beauty right in front of his eyes . . . and I have no idea what Brother Jophiel’s part is in all of this. Please help me. Please guide—”

  His plea was cut off as a brilliant ray of sunshine burst through the clouds and shone down on the food tent. Just as Naomi stepped out.

  She shielded her eyes from the onslaught of the sun’s rays, her golden hair glinting like spun gold.

  Michael’s mouth tipped up in a half-smile. “Yes, I know, Father. But how do I get the two hardheads to go along with the game plan?”

  He watched as she picked along the gravel walk in her strappy sandals. Then, as if in slow motion, one ankle twisted underneath her and her arms began pinwheeling as she lost her footing and fell in a heap onto her bottom in what appeared to be a pretty nasty fall.

  In an automatic reaction, Michael rushed from Baby Blue since no one else was around.

  No more time for whining. Father had spoken. Or pushed, as the case may be.

  Chapter 29

  “Are you all right, Miz Naomi?”

  Naomi glanced up into Michael’s concerned eyes. She accepted his hand and he gently tugged her up. “Yes. Thanks.” She dusted the dirt off her butt.

  “You’re hurt.”

  She hissed when he brushed her elbow. She glanced down at the scrape. “Nah. It’s nothing. The only thing that hurts right now is my pride.” She peered up at him, hoping her cheeks weren’t flaming. “I bit it pretty good, didn’t I?”

  He gave a lopsided grin. “Well . . .”

  She shrugged. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.” She turned away so she could get back to her mission for more whipped cream, but Michael stopped her by clearing his throat. She glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

  “How’s Miz Vi?” he asked.

  “Good. Thanks.”

  “That’s good.” He fidgeted with the metal chain hanging from his jeans like he was nervous or wanted to say more.

  “Did you need something, Michael?”

  “What? Oh. Uh . . .”

  She turned to face him fully. “Because if this is about you fixing the bakery’s oven, we can definitely pay you if you’ve decided a pie wasn’t enough.”

  His brow furrowed. “No. That’s not it. The pie was delicious. Wonderful.”

  “I’m glad. You’re welcome to another.” She smiled. “We really appreciated your help.”

  “Oh, anytime, Miz Naomi. Anytime.” He shifted from foot to foot.

  “Thank you.” She stifled a sigh. “So, listen, Michael, I really need to get going. We’re running low on whipped cream.”

  She spun away not giving another thought to what the heck was wrong with him when his next words, apparently spit out in a h
urry, stopped her cold in her tracks.

  “And Eli?”

  She stood frozen for several heartbeats, not trusting what she might say, as her heart raged. She was truly sick of that name. Both from other people, and how it resonated in her soul.

  Finally, she turned and met Michael’s clear blue eyes. “What about him?”

  He didn’t avert his gaze one iota, his case of nerves apparently gone. “I was wondering how he was.”

  “How would I know?” Why do I care? she wanted to scream.

  “I thought you two were close. Seeing each other?”

  She tracked a group of teenagers giggling their way across the field toward the games. “You thought wrong.”

  When Michael didn’t respond, she finally faced him head on. He looked . . . pained, though she had no idea why. A myriad of emotions seemed to cross his face before he spoke. “Do you know if I can find him in the cook tent?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. But I doubt it. We had a . . .” What would you call it? “. . . discussion, and he took off like his tail was on fire once we heard about Pastor’s wife. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Michael’s eyes clouded with confusion. “What about Pastor’s wife?”

  “Oh, haven’t you heard?”

  He shook his head.

  “She passed away this morning. And when we found out, they said Pastor Donovan wasn’t taking any visitors. Next thing I knew, Eli took off like he’d seen a ghost.”

  “Uh . . .” Something like comprehension dawned in Michael’s eyes, as he, too, looked like he was seeing an apparition. His face suddenly cleared as he met her gaze full on. “If you’ll excuse me. It’s been . . . enlightening talking to you.” And with that he was gone. “Whatever,” she said to herself.

  She spun away, intent on her whipped cream mission, but her smarting elbow now stung like a son-of-a-gun. She bent her arm. Watery blood trailed down the side and tiny pieces of gravel were embedded in her skin. She sighed. She’d better go take care of that first.