She diverted for the women’s restroom and was greeted by the humid, non-air-conditioned stench of sweat, mildew, urine, and some other things she didn’t want to name. She quickly made her way to the sink and studied herself in the mirror. Her hair had sagged in the day’s heat and her cheeks were rosy. She plucked her T-shirt from her sweaty chest where it’d stuck to her like a second skin.
“Yuck.”
She turned on the faucet and let the cool water run, doing her best to get her elbow in the stream and wash it with soap. She was holding a paper towel against it when the door swung open and another blast of hot air fluttered the bathroom’s pleasant assortment of odors.
She bit back a curse when she saw who sashayed in. Looking perfect, as freakin’ usual.
“Naomi.”
Snide didn’t even come close to the tone.
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Claudia.” She purposely glanced down at her elbow and dabbed, checking for bleeding. All good. She pulled the towel away and tossed it in the trash.
Claudia raised a hoity brow. “Took a tumble, did you? You all right?”
“Fine.” Naomi turned the faucet back on and washed her hands, which still felt dirty. Why wouldn’t Claudia just make a move to use the restroom or get out already?
Naomi ripped a few paper towels from the holder with more force than necessary as Claudia continued to stare at her, drilling holes into the back of her skull, by the feel of it. Finally, she spun around and matched her, stare for stare. “Did you need something, Claudia?”
The other woman shook her head. “No.” She stepped toward one of the stalls then stopped. “Well.” She eyed Naomi coolly. “I am curious. Did Eli cool off any since I dunked him?” She grinned like she had some inside secret. “He was looking mighty hot.”
Naomi snapped her mouth shut. She refused to rise to the bait. “You know what, Claudia?” She waited a beat to make sure she had her undivided attention, knowing full well the other woman thought she’d bested her. “Eli’s nothing to me.” She cocked her head as if she felt sorry for her. “He never was. Have at him. He’s all yours.”
She pranced out and let the restroom door swing shut behind her, knowing she’d left Claudia dumbfounded. Served the bitch right.
Naomi stewed on that all the way back to the tent, her feet crunching up huge strides of gravel. “‘He was looking mighty hot,’” she mocked under her breath. “Oh, I’ll bet he was.”
Her heart was pounding and so was her head by the time she ducked inside the flap and nearly ran headlong into Vi and Sam wrapped in an embrace, kissing like two teenagers.
“Oh, God.” Naomi pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry!”
Vi studied her, confusion written all over her face.
“What?” Naomi demanded, now getting frustrated on top of angry.
“Where’s the whipped cream?”
“Damn it!” She spun back around and stormed right back out. This was turning out to be the suckiest day in the history of sucky days.
The festival wound down without further incident, though Naomi was on her guard for further Claudia sightings or emotional upheavals.
She just didn’t know what to expect today.
But the benefit had turned out to be a resounding success, raising much more money than any of them had expected.
She packed up the left over whipped cream containers—she’d gone a little overboard in a bit of a tirade at the store—and glanced over at a grinning Maura, who had an arm wrapped around Scott’s waist. He brushed a lock of hair back before kissing her cheek as Emma danced at their feet. So simple. So easy. The way love was supposed to be.
“You almost done here, darlin’?”
She started at Vi’s voice. “Oh. Yes. This is the last of it.” She forced a smile. “I’m just glad we sold all the pies. I’m wiped and would’ve hated carting any of that back tonight.”
Vi’s gaze tracked hers back to the happy family they were celebrating. “It was a good day though, wasn’t it?”
Fatigue lined Vi’s eyes and mouth. Guilt tugged Naomi’s heart. “You’ve overdone it today. Why don’t you have Sam take you home?”
“Oh, phooey.” Vi waved her hand as if the idea was preposterous. “I’m fine. Besides, I’ve still got to take the chili pot back over to Sharla’s place.”
Naomi eyed the huge cast iron pot. “What? Why?” Sudden anger spurted through her that Eli had left that thing behind. Where was he, anyway?
“Oh.” Vi tilted her head. “Well, Raul took the second shift after Eli this morning, and Sharla told him to go enjoy the last bit of the festival with his kids and she’d take care of the clean-up.” Vi shrugged. “Unfortunately, she took off and forgot the pot. She called me and I told her Sam and I would bring it to her.” She studied Naomi’s eyes. “It’s no big deal.”
“No, it’s not. Because I’m taking care of it.” She strode over and hefted it. It was a sturdy son-of-a-gun.
“Wha—?”
“Go. Relax with Sam. I’ll get this to Sharla.” She eyeballed her when she didn’t move. “Go!”
Vi arched a brow. “Fine. Thank you.” She pecked a quick kiss to Naomi’s cheek. “Have a good night, dear. I love you.”
Naomi felt a little chip of the frustration she’d been carrying all day melt off her heart. “Love you, too. Now go rest.” She shifted toward Sam as he strolled up and took the pot off her hands and set it onto her cart of items to go to the car. She smiled at him. “Thank you. Now, go, both of you. And take good care of her.”
Sam wrapped a protective arm around Vi’s waist. “I will. Goodnight.”
Naomi waved them off and pivoted to finish loading up, then made her way out into the humid night. She breathed in the subtle scents of summer—honeysuckle, the sun easing off the pavement, the syrupy sweetness of the children’s melting snowcones. The twilight sky was easing into the gentle arms of the coming night, its multitude of shimmering stars painting the heavens like glitter.
She stopped and stared.
Remembered.
Her breath hitches, tears threatening as Paul’s arms wrap around her, his aftershave tickling her nose, his love making her safe—safer than she’d ever been in her life—as they snuggle on Vi’s old plaid blanket, sipping cooling hot cocoa, staring at the stars.
“That’s Orion,” he says, pointing, his voice a mere whisper, as if it’s a secret. “He’s the great hunter of the sky. Do you see his sword?”
She squints until she can make it out. “Yes. Yes, I see.”
“And do you see the angels?”
Her surprised gaze shoots to him. “Angel? Is that a star?”
He smiles. “No, baby. Heaven’s angels. And if you look hard enough you can see them. They soar among the stars, come as close as your very breath. All you have to do is look.”
Naomi didn’t know what to say to him then, but he went on and pointed out all the constellations. Most she didn’t remember, but she stood and stared now, hoping to find Orion again.
Or an angel.
He’d taught her to believe once, and she could sure use that magic again.
Nothing.
She heaved a ragged breath and moved on to her car. She loaded up and made the short drive to Sharla’s, hoping against hope that she could avoid Eli.
She found Sharla on the front steps, phone in hand. She parked and heaved the chili pot from the back of the car with a fatigued half-smile.
Sharla put the phone to her chest. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Hi. Got your pot. Thought I’d save Vi the trip out. Where do you want me to put it?” She shifted its weight on her hip.
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you! I keep that out back in Eli’s apartment.” She waved a hand in the general vicinity of her backyard, mumbling
something about storage space. “Would you mind?” She indicated the phone in her hand. “I’m on an important phone call.”
Naomi struggled to keep her face and voice impassive. “Of course not. Is he home?”
“Oh. Uh, I’m not sure. I think so?”
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Naomi nodded and started that way, her stride eating up big, angry chunks of walkway. He was the last person she wanted to see. But Sharla didn’t notice with her face pressed back to the phone.
She found his apartment dark and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he wasn’t home.
She knocked and waited. Nothing.
She knocked again for good measure, ready to leave the pot on the porch, then she heard a muffled voice on the other side of the door. Darn it, he was home. Had he called for her to come in?
Carefully, she shifted the pot and tried the knob. The door was unlocked so she inched it open and poked her head inside. “Eli?”
Again, the muffled voice came from the back of the apartment. “. . . please . . . come . . . I’m sorry . . .”
“Eli?” she called again.
She waited a heartbeat, nerves skittering up her spine. Deciding this was silly—she was only here to return a pot—she stepped inside and quickly set it on his tiny dining table. She rushed to leave, but his mournful cry stopped her cold.
As if drawn by an invisible force field, she followed the sound of his voice, his sorrow calling out to her. “Eli?” her voice came out as a whisper now.
She found him kneeling beside his bed, his head bowed, eyes squeezed shut, the moonlight streaming in through the single window onto his tortured form. The sorrow was palpable.
“Father,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please hear my cries. I beg You to not forsake me as I have forsaken myself.” He choked back a sob. “Thank You, Father. Thank You for the gift of wisdom You’ve given me tonight through the Pastor and his words. But how can You possibly forgive me for the horrible thing I’ve done?”
He paused, tears streaming down his cheeks in a torrent of obvious cathartic pain.
Naomi’s heart clenched in her chest. She longed to go to him, to comfort him. But something stopped her. She didn’t want to intrude. But, more than that, red flags were raising in her mind. What could he have done that was so horrible that he needed to beg for this kind of forgiveness?
She gripped the doorway for stabilization as her world started spinning at the possibilities.
She needed to go. She wanted to stay. Her heart and mind battled.
“But, Father,” he continued, his body sagging to all fours. “If You can find it in Your heart to forgive me, to redeem me, to guide me, to help me . . . please show me how to forgive myself. How to control my heart.” He sucked in another greedy breath. “Because I think I may be falling in love with her.”
Oh, God.
She didn’t realize she spoke aloud until his eyes slowly slid open and pinned her with their eerie, bottomless gaze.
“I’m sorry, Eli,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean—”
He blinked and stood, saying nothing.
“Eli?”
He strode past her and left the room, leaving her staring at his back as he made his way to his tiny kitchen.
She followed and saw him eye the chili pot. “That’s why I’m here. Sharla asked me to bring it in,” she offered by way of explanation. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
He ignored her and yanked a water bottle from the fridge, opened the cap, and chugged.
Okay. Awkward.
She paced toward the door, then spun around. “Eli.”
He said nothing, simply sipped his water again, then tossed the empty container in the trash.
“Eli!”
That finally got his attention and his heated gaze snapped to hers.
“I said I’m sorry. I really am.”
He studied her, their eyes colliding like opposing weather systems in a perfect storm. It was killing her. She had to know. “Who . . .?” She swallowed, dipped her eyes, then met his gaze again. “Who were you talking about? Who do you love, Eli?”
He still said nothing, just studied her with his deep, dark eyes.
“Eli. Please.”
He sighed. “Isn’t it obvious, Naomi?”
Her heart began to gallop like a wild pony in her chest. “Well . . . I . . .” A million thoughts crowded her mind. Should she tell him she loved him, too? That he had somehow taken up residence in her soul like—
“But I’m not what you think I am.”
Oh, shit. Back to that horrible thing. Was he a thief? A murderer? In witness protection? She could probably deal with that one.
“What do you mean?”
His earnest gaze seared her, seemed to be begging her to believe him. He swallowed, cleared his gaze as if making a decision to trust her. “I haven’t always been human.”
What? What?
Even worse than she’d feared.
Her heart sunk to her toes—no, straight out of her body—as he continued to study her as if he was serious. He couldn’t be. No.
But as he blinked at her, sincerity shining brightly in his gaze, she realized he was.
God.
With her confused heart shattering in her chest, Naomi sucked up her dignity and her pride, and fled the apartment as fast as her sneakers would carry her . . . before he saw her tears.
Chapter 30
Oh, Father, he’d almost told her the truth.
Frustrated, Elijah spun around and ran a hand through his hair. What kind of fool was he? She’d never believe him!
He rushed back to his bedroom, yanked out his duffel bag, and started stuffing clothes into it. It was time to get out of New Destiny. He simply couldn’t face her again. Not after—
A loud banging sounded at the front door, bringing him upright. Had she come back? His stomach seized up.
“Eli?” Michael’s voice boomed through the solid door.
He ignored the big man and shoved jeans and underwear into the bag. He didn’t want to see another soul after he’d humiliated himself like that. It was bad enough that he had to beg Father like a man sentenced to hang, but for her to witness it . . . it was simply too much.
But something in her eyes, in her heart that shown there, he thought he could trust her.
Or was that his own wishful heart?
Stupid.
No human could understand angel ways. Nor should they.
Bang! Bang! Bang! “Eli!” Michael shouted, his voice reverberating even louder. “Please open up. I know you’re home.”
Elijah hung his head, conflicted.
“Eli,” Michael urged, his voices softer. “Please. I’m just here to make sure you’re okay.” A heartbeat passed. “We’re friends, right?”
A pebble pinged in Elijah’s heart. Friends. He dropped the socks in his hand and faced the door. Silence greeted him and he wondered if Michael had left. Slowly, he made his way to the front and swung the door open.
Michael’s open face greeted him, his eyes somehow seeming to search his soul. “Are you all right, Brother?”
Elijah stared at him for several seconds, not sure what to say. Surely he had no idea what had happened with Naomi. So why would he be here? “I’m fine.”
“I think you’re a spectacular liar, but I just needed to check to make sure you were hanging in there.”
Elijah tilted his head, his mind rebelling at being called a liar. “Why’s that?”
Michael shifted his weight, studied his face. “Miz Naomi told me about Pastor’s wife and how the news seemed to affect you.” He stepped forward as Elijah’s heart hiccupped at the mention of Naomi’s name. “Miz Donovan was a real fine lady. It’s such a sad thing, he
r passing. It was real nice of you to go visit Pastor. He all right?”
“Um . . .” Elijah struggled to get words past the cotton in his throat. His time with Pastor would be forever etched in his mind and soul as a precious thing. A sacred time.
Something Heaven-sent.
Michael raised his eyebrows in question.
Elijah’s heart knocked. “Yes,” he managed. “Yes, he’s doing as well as can be expected.”
Michael smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. And you?” he asked again.
“I’m fine.” Elijah forced the lie though it about killed him.
“So you said. But I just want to be a friend.”
Images of Naomi’s face flashed before his eyes. The shock of what he’d told her, the sheer disbelief . . . the tenderness mere moments before. He knew then what he must do. What he should’ve done a long time ago, before things got so out of hand.
“Then would you do me a favor, Michael?”
The big man smiled. “Sure. Anything.”
Elijah spun around and rifled through a kitchen drawer until he found the envelope he was searching for. He drew out the wad of bills then handed them to Michael. “Here. Would you take this to Troy MacIntyre at the automotive shop? I’ve been saving and it should be more than enough for him to fix anything that’s wrong with my car now.”
Michael stared at the stack of money in his hand. “Your car?”
He nodded, resolute. “Yes. It’s high time I get out of this town.”
“He’s certifiable.”
Beau glanced up from the stack of reports in his hand. “Excuse me?”
Naomi suddenly regretted bothering him at work. But ‘not human?’ Really? She stepped closer to his desk and leaned down on both hands. “Nuts. He’s absolutely freakin’ nuts, Beau. You need to check him out because I think he might’ve escaped the looney bin and he could be dangerous.” She released a pent-up breath, hardly believing she was saying the words out loud.
Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles) Page 21
