Angel Wings

by Stengl, Suzanne

  Wrong, she thought. That didn’t sound right. She turned to her friend and added, “I mean, I’m sure you and Rodney—”

  “Then maybe you can give me some advice.”

  Disoriented, again, Jessibelle felt the absurdity of that statement sink into her. “Advice? About Rodney?”

  “Yes.”

  Might as well go along with this. “What?”

  “He’s taking over my life.”

  Jessibelle felt her eyebrows rise.

  “How did you deal with that?” Hanna asked her.

  “Deal with it?” With Rodney making all their decisions? “I didn’t,” she told her friend. “I wanted him to take over my life.”

  Hanna closed her eyes for three long seconds, blowing out an exasperated breath. “You what?”

  The truth clunked into Jessibelle’s mind. She hadn’t known. Not until this moment. “Not very mature, I know. But I was in love. At least . . . I thought so.”

  And now, it was like she’d crossed a barrier and entered into a new world of awareness. “Fortunately, he never wanted to marry me. I’m getting a second chance.”

  Her own words surprised her. A second chance. A second chance for finding love. How trite was that? And, still, how true.

  “Maybe I’m getting a second chance,” Hanna said. “I don’t have to go through with this.”

  “Go through with . . . ?”

  “I don’t want to marry him.”

  Chapter Six

  “You don’t want to marry him?”

  Somehow, Hanna’s announcement made about as much sense as Gabe crashing through the living room window.

  “No,” Hanna said, flatly. “I don’t.”

  “But . . . but—”

  “Do you have a good reason why I should?”

  A good reason? Jessibelle felt like she was stuck in the middle of a whirlwind. Everything was happening too fast.

  Or had the signs been there all along? And had Jessibelle been so wrapped up in her own little world that she had not noticed?

  “One good reason,” Hanna prompted her. “One good reason why I should marry Rodney.”

  “Sure,” Jessibelle said, thinking of the first reason that popped into her head. “I’ve got this great dress to wear to the wedding.”

  “You do? You found one? Show me!”

  Jessibelle felt the laughter well inside her. “Hanna! We’re talking about you breaking your engagement and you want to see a dress?”

  Hanna smiled, looking sure of herself. “Tells you how serious I am, doesn’t it.” And then she glanced at Jessibelle’s feet. “Hey, nice shoes. To go with the dress?”

  “But . . . but all you could talk about at work was Rodney? All the time. Every single minute of every single day.”

  Hanna watched her for a beat. “And you never listened. You always changed the subject.”

  Baffled and uncertain, Jessibelle chased through her memories. “But you were so happy.”

  Hanna’s shoulders sagged. “I was trying hard to be happy. Too hard. It shouldn’t be an effort.”

  Understanding came crashing down on Jessibelle. “And I was not listening—”

  A stretch of silence fell between them. Then Hanna said, “Because you were still in love with him.” A little sad smile of acceptance. “I didn’t know.”

  It’s over, Jessibelle thought. This whole crazy thing is over. She’d wished for a miracle, it had come in the form of Gabe, and her heart had mended faster than she’d thought possible.

  And her friendship with Hanna had mended too.

  Hanna spent the next hour drinking hot herbal tea and listing all of Rodney’s considerable deficiencies.

  Jessibelle listened, and she worked hard, forcing herself to simply listen, and to not agree with her friend’s assessment. Since, who knew? This could be trouble in paradise, and it could blow over . . . .

  Jessibelle told Hanna not to do anything drastic. Not until she’d had a good night’s sleep and could think clearly. They ended the night with a promise to meet the next day for lunch.

  · · · · ·

  The next morning, Jessibelle woke up early, refreshed from a good night’s sleep. She showered and dressed and then came down the hall into the living room. The sight of her grandmother’s cherry wood table—set for breakfast—filled her with happiness. Not only because she was hungry, but because it meant Gabe was back.

  He walked out of the galley kitchen with the coffee pot in his hand. This morning he wore black jeans again and a black T-shirt with a pair of white wings, angel wings, over his heart.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Yes, I did. How about you?”

  “I don’t need to sleep,” he answered. “Not as long as I’m an angel.”

  Jessibelle looked at the table, at her plate filled with scrambled eggs, toast points and bacon, and she inhaled the smells. “I think I could fall in love with you.”

  “Not allowed,” he said, pouring the coffee. “But if I were human . . .” He shrugged, and didn’t finish the thought. “How did it go with Hanna?”

  As the radio played the Seraph Morning Show in the kitchen, they ate together and talked about Hanna’s visit. Or rather, Jessibelle talked about it. Gabe listened, asked a few questions and helped her to make sense of this new development.

  “I bet that Rodney’s father has some kind of ultimatum,” Gabe told her between bites of eggs.

  “Ultimatum? What are you talking about?”

  “It’s time for Rodney to take over his father’s business. It’s the largest dealership in New Breckenridge. His father probably wants to make sure his son is stable. Stable as in, married.”

  “So when he met me . . . and it all happened so quickly . . .”

  “Rodney was on a timetable. Then he met Hanna and he figured she was more suitable.”

  “Oh,” Jessibelle said, astounded by this news . . . but, oddly enough, not hurt.

  “That doesn’t mean you are not suitable. You’re just not suitable for Rodney.”

  In between talking, Gabe savored the eggs and bacon and toast and marmalade. Then he sipped his coffee like it was a fine wine and he wanted to enjoy every drop of it.

  Jessibelle took a last bite of eggs, finished her coffee and sighed, satisfied with breakfast and filled with peace. The world seemed completely normal—other than the fact that she was having breakfast with an angel.

  “I’ll walk you to work,” he said.

  “I’d like that.”

  On the sidewalk, he put his arm around her and she leaned into him, feeling the comfort of his closeness. Then a sudden thought flitted through her as she pictured the way she would look, walking and leaning with her arm around . . . nothing.

  “Don’t I look funny walking like this?”

  “Would you rather walk alone?”

  “No,” she told him, knowing this could be one of the last moments she spent with Gabe. Knowing he’d been sent on a mission to help her get through a wedding she didn’t want to attend. A wedding that most likely would not happen. “I don’t care how funny I look. I like you hugging me.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Good for me?”

  “You’re getting over that thing—where you care too much about what other people think.”

  “Yes,” she realized. “I am.”

  “And besides,” he said, “you don’t look like you’re walking funny.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No. You look like you’re walking with me.”

  But, how come—? She stopped walking and turned to look up at him. “I thought people couldn’t see you? You’re not grounded again, are you?”

  He smiled and laughter filled his eyes. “No, I’m not grounded.”

  “And people can still see you?”

  “They can, if I want them to.”

  She watched his eyes, the deep dark brown irises with the pattern of green lines, and she felt herself being drawn into his soul.

  “Come on,
” he said, breaking the trance. “Let’s get you to work.” He scooped her to his side again.

  They walked along, through the quiet of the morning, and Jessibelle felt the potency of spring. “Sometimes, I can still hardly believe you’re real.”

  “I’m as real as you want me to be.” He hugged her closer, and kissed her forehead. “And we have one more thing to do tonight.”

  One more thing? What could it be?

  She didn’t care. As long as it meant a little more time with him. Except— “But what if there is no wedding?”

  “We’ll do it anyway,” he said. “Just so you’re prepared. For anything.”

  · · · · ·

  As they reached the City Realty office, Gabe let go of Jessibelle and held the door for her. When she turned around, he was gone. It was exactly eight-thirty, and she was exactly on time.

  And so was their first customer, who turned out to be Rodney.

  Rodney Reginald Remington. Heir to the used car dynasty of Hembrook Motor Sales. The man who had taken her to La Petite Maison and told her he didn’t love her. The man who had—temporarily—shattered her fragile world.

  He sat in the waiting area, working on his laptop, wearing his expensive navy pin stripe suit, his Rolex watch and his shiny brown laced up shoes. His tie was knotted perfectly at his crisp white collar and his carefully groomed blond hair fit him like a helmet.

  “Jessibelle,” he said, by way of greeting. He closed the laptop, set it on the coffee table and stood.

  “Rodney,” she answered and moved closer to him, stopping about six feet away.

  “You’re looking well.”

  “I am well. How are you?” The mundane exchange matched the mundane relationship they would have had.

  “How do you like your new job?”

  “I hate it.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I heard—” And then he must have realized what she’d said.

  “You hate it?”

  The door opened behind them and Bea entered.

  “Hey! Jess Belle Girl. Don’t mind me. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  Bea must have forgotten her homework. “This is Bea,” Jessibelle said. “She’s one of the evening receptionists.”

  Rodney spared her a glance, didn’t bother to say hello and checked his watch.

  “And this is Rod—”

  “You don’t need to introduce us, Jessibelle. I’m not here to make friends.”

  Bea didn’t seem interested in making friends with Rodney either. She disappeared behind the Reception Desk and started opening drawers. Like her partners, Betsy and Bobbi, she tended to forget school work she’d brought to the evening shift.

  And sometimes they didn’t really forget it. They left it on purpose, so the others could use it.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that you hate your job, but I need to talk to you about—”

  “Hates her job? You’ve got to be kidding?” Bea said, looking at Rodney. “She loves it here. And we love her here.” Bea glowered at Jessibelle. “Quit talking funny, Jess Belle Girl.”

  Rodney gaped at Bea, who smiled a huge smile at him. Then he turned back to Jessibelle, with frustration punctuating his face.

  “You’ve got to talk to her. Convince her.”

  “Convince who?” Bea asked, pulling up a chair at the desk and sitting down.

  Rodney took a deep breath. “Could we go somewhere and—”

  “No,” Jessibelle said, without even pausing to consider. She hadn’t seen him since that night at La Petite Maison and now he was here. Not only here, but asking her for help. She actually felt impressed with his arrogance.

  He straightened. “Very well,” he said, adjusting his perfectly knotted tie. “I thought that once you left for City Realty, Hanna would get over her doubts about the wedding and—”

  “I didn’t know she had any doubts.” Because she hadn’t been thinking about Hanna. She’d only been thinking about herself.

  “You didn’t?” He looked surprised, and a touch flustered. “Well, nothing serious, just a few. Perfectly normal, really.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, once you left, Daphne Whithammer started visiting the office.”

  He paused, like he was thinking about Daphne. “Daphne’s a true friend to Hanna,” he said, implying that she, Jessibelle, was not. “Daphne got right into the spirit of the wedding, setting up gift registries, picking out flowers, choosing wedding cakes. She even planned a bridal shower for Hanna.” Another pause, and a tightening of his eyes. “Which, I understand, you missed.”

  Jessibelle heard the note of condemnation, smiled sweetly, and waited for Rodney to get to the point. If there was one.

  “Anyway, Daphne is always telling Hanna what a great catch I am.”

  “Daphne has good taste,” Jessibelle said, for lack of anything else to say.

  “Yes, she does,” Rodney agreed.

  “Is she the one who left her boyfriend at a very bad time?” Bea asked, not even pretending to look for her homework.

  “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Rodney snapped at her.

  “No,” Bea smiled, full of apparent innocence. “Go on. This is interesting.”

  Rodney looked at the floor and appeared to be counting. “You need to talk to Hanna,” he said. “Convince her I’m the right guy for her.”

  The irony of his words made her laugh. “I was once convinced you were the right guy for me.”

  His shoulders fell and he looked like he was going to have to explain something to a small child. “That was ancient history, Jessibelle. We never really had anything.”

  How could she have been so blind? “Nothing? At all?” She knew it was true, but she wanted to hear him say it.

  “No,” he said, determined. “No spark. No passion. No earth moving. We’re simply friends, Jessibelle. Just friends.”

  A short sharp spike of irritation rushed over Jessibelle. “No,” she said. “We’re not friends.” And she felt no loss.

  He frowned, and Jessibelle remembered how he always got whatever he wanted from her. Because her goal in life—then—had been to please Rodney.

  “Maybe there won’t be a wedding,” Bea said.

  “There will be,” Rodney told her, glancing at Bea over his shoulder. “It can’t be cancelled at this point.”

  “Why not?” Bea asked.

  Rodney looked up at the ceiling and then he slowly turned to face Bea who sat at the Reception Desk, with her elbows on the desk and her chin in her hands.

  “All of my relatives are coming,” he said. “People have booked flights.” He counted off on his fingers. “My Aunt Deborah is coming. My grandmother Lackster is coming. Even my cousin Eric is coming.”

  “Even your cousin Eric? What’s so special about him?”

  “He’s Eric Madison. And he’s coming all the way from Los Angeles,” Rodney informed Bea.

  Bea looked at him, blankly.

  “You haven’t heard of him? The race car driver?”

  “Nope. But I’m sure he’ll be happy to get out of Los Angeles,” Bea said. “Smoggy there.”

  The City Realty main door opened again and Daphne Whithammer entered, walking quickly. She wore one of her three-piece white suits, with her white heels, and she carried a little white purse tucked under her arm. Her blonde hair fell in loose curls down her back. When she saw Rodney, her face lit up with cheerfulness. “Rodney! What a surprise!”

  Then she noticed Jessibelle and some of the cheerfulness slipped. Daphne stared at Jessibelle, looked back at Rodney, and then at Jessibelle again.

  “I work here,” Jessibelle said.

  Daphne looked confused.

  “Good morning, Daphne,” Jessibelle said. “Is there something I can help you with? Are you looking at real estate?”

  “No, I just wanted to talk to you about—” Daphne glanced at Rodney, and seemed to shift gears. “I wondered if you’d found a dress for the wedding yet?”

  “I have.”

  “Bec
ause I have time this—you have?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” Daphne said, shifting gears one more time. “That’s all then.”

  Rodney checked his watch, picked up his laptop and said, “I’ve got to go.”

  And he did.

  Daphne watched him leave, letting her gaze wash over him. When the door had closed behind him, she turned to Jessibelle. “Was he telling you about Hanna?”

  “Yes.”

  “She actually wants to cancel the wedding?” Daphne looked stunned. “She’s out of her mind.”

  “Maybe not,” Jessibelle said. “Maybe he’s not right for her.”

  Daphne sat down in the same chair Rodney had used. She took a deep breath and tried to collect herself. “How can she do that? Now? I mean we all have doubts . . .” She shook her head, lost in thought. “Even I have doubts.”

  “You do?”

  Daphne looked up at Jessibelle and realized she’d spoken out loud. “Normal ones,” she explained. “Like sometimes I wonder if my boyfriend Luke is the right one.” She tilted her head, considering. “Of course, he’s got an excellent job, over at Scriber and Speeken. But—”

  She shrugged the thought away. “Never mind. We have to help Hanna. We have to keep her from making a big mistake.”

  “Yes,” Jessibelle said. “Keep her from making a big mistake,” she repeated the words. And then, “I don’t think she’s going to make that mistake.”

  “Found it!” Bea held up the book they were studying, the old Romeo & Juliet book, with its worn brown cover and tattered pages.

  “This is a great story,” she said. “I sure hope it doesn’t end in a tragedy.”

  Chapter Seven

  Daphne left City Realty looking muddled and worried. Jessibelle spent a busy morning answering the phone, talking to clients and realtors, and finishing the filing. And Hanna arrived for lunch at a quarter past twelve.

  They walked to the Friends Café on Collins Street, ordered lattes and salads, and spent the noon hour talking about the soon-to-be-cancelled spring wedding. If anything, Hanna was more convinced than ever that she would not marry Rodney.