Angel Wings

by Stengl, Suzanne

  At half past four, Betsy arrived with her backpack of school work, including the Romeo and Juliet book. “It has all the notes in the margins,” she explained. Jessibelle turned the reception duties over to Betsy and headed for home.

  As she entered her quiet apartment, she wondered when she’d see Gabe again. He’d be back, she was sure, because he’d said they had one more thing to do. Tonight.

  Outside her living room window, the late afternoon sunshine dappled the water on the bay and the seagulls soared, arcing over the sky. The lighthouse stood guard in the distance and the world seemed right.

  Walking into her bedroom she spotted her Spanish books next to the door. The flamingo orange sack of books frowned at her, with its assignments untouched from last week.

  Maybe she’d do like Gabe had suggested—forget Spanish and learn French. Because she didn’t want to go to Spain. That had been Rodney’s idea, not hers. Instead, she’d learn French.

  The idea took hold. She’d always wanted to go to Paris. And, not only that, she’d be able to go to La Petite Maison and order in French.

  She picked up the sack, feeling its weight—the textbook, the workbook, her binder of notes, The Handbook of Traveler’s Phrases and the CDs of Learn Fast. She took out her binder, removed her pages, and tossed them in the recycle bin. Tomorrow, she’d take the textbooks and the CDs to the College Secondhand Bookstore.

  And now, it was time to think of something to make for dinner. As she entered her living room, she saw Gabe, standing in front of the big picture window.

  His dark brown hair was tousled and looked windblown. In fact, he looked like he’d just flown in, except there wasn’t any broken glass.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Good, you’re quitting Spanish.”

  Once again, he surprised her. “How did you know?”

  “They fill us in on details,” he said, watching her with a warm light in his eyes.

  He wore black slacks and a black shirt open at his throat. The ends of the collar held a tiny white design. She walked closer to him and he closed the distance between them catching her in a quick hug and then holding her shoulders and looking down at her.

  “You had a good conversation with Rodney this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry about that part where he said no passion. Some people don’t have any chemistry.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “You’re plenty passionate, just not with Rodney.”

  She wasn’t sure about that, about the passionate part. Her life was subdued, not passionate. At least, it had been before Gabe had crashed through her window on Monday night.

  And on Tuesday night, she’d been so angry about Rodney. A burning, consuming anger. Then Wednesday morning, she’d been sad. A stormy, heart aching sad, more sad than she ever remembered. And later on Wednesday, just last night, when she’d danced with Gabe?

  She’d felt light and carefree and happy. And romantic, and even a little crazy. Could she actually feel passion? Maybe not with Rodney, but with someone else?

  Standing so close to Gabe, she could see the pattern in his black shirt, the crosshatch of the threads. And on the ends of his collar, the tiny white motif—his logo of Angel Wings.

  Did the Angel Wings mean something? Did they represent something she’d been searching for? Could the wings mean freedom?

  That was another thing she felt around Gabe. She felt free and powerful and uninhibited. And maybe, even passionate.

  He still held her by her shoulders. He hadn’t let go. She didn’t want him to ever let go. Even if it was not allowed.

  Don’t think about that. She put her hands on his chest. “Take me flying?” Her words were out before she’d had a chance to consider what she was saying.

  He hesitated an instant, a question in his glance. “You mean without an airplane?”

  She sighed, amazed at her boldness. And then, “You said you had wings.”

  “Of course I do.” He smiled. “I’m an angel.”

  She was certain now. She knew what she wanted. “I want you to take me flying.”

  He nodded, slowly, gripping her shoulders. “All right,” he said. “We’ll do that. But first,” he released her, taking a step back, “we have to eat.”

  Once again, she felt the loss of his touch. But she couldn’t think about that. Not allowed, he’d said.

  Focus, she told herself. “I have to eat. You don’t.”

  “I want to eat,” he said, pausing as he seemed to study her. “And I want to look at you.” He stepped close again, took hold of her shoulders again. “Wear your dress for me.”

  Surprise flickered over her. “Why?”

  “Because you look like—” He took a moment to think about it. “A winsome nymph,” he decided. “And I love looking at you.”

  A warm blaze spread through her body, even though she knew he only meant he loved looking at pretty things. It had nothing to do with loving her. She was simply a feast for his angel eyes. “Is that you feeling your senses?”

  “Feeling my . . . ?”

  “You experience your senses, more than most humans.”

  “I love my senses,” he admitted. “I love the way everything looks and smells and sounds and tastes.” He rubbed his hands slowly down her arms. “And feels.” He was savoring the feel of her. “I’ve missed this.”

  She put her hands on his chest again. She could feel his heart beating. “Do you remember being human?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Do you remember how you—” She wanted to say died, but she couldn’t. “Do you remember what you were doing right before you became an angel?”

  He thought a moment. “I remember slipping . . .” Then his thoughts seemed far away. “Mostly, I remember the things I left behind. At the time, they seemed important. More important than anything. But now, from this distance, they’re not important. Almost like . . .”

  “Like what?”

  “Like coming here to help you, has helped me, too.”

  He looked up at the ceiling, considering his own words. And then he forgot them. “Get dressed,” he said. “I’ll make dinner.”

  · · · · ·

  She showered, then blew her hair partly dry, letting it fall in random curls around her shoulders. Pulling open a drawer, she found the silk panties that matched the dress. And then, sitting in front of the mirror in her bedroom, wearing only the red lace panties, she applied a little makeup, and a dab of Enchantment.

  If Gabe loved his sense of smell, he’d love the perfume.

  Finally, she donned the light-as-gossamer dress. The red chiffon and silk stretched over her breasts, leaving a lot of skin exposed . . . slightly more than she remembered. Slightly more risky, and sexy. Her back was mostly bare and her skin tingled, like it waited for the touch of a hand in a dance. Below her breasts, the silk rosettes accented the tucks of fabric and the petals of chiffon wisped down to her knees. She slipped into the red sandals, buckled the straps and stood before her mirror.

  He’d said, a winsome nymph.

  She inhaled, letting herself feel the compliment. He was right, she did look pretty. Not only pretty, but confident and graceful and alluring as a goddess.

  She twirled, testing the sandals and watching the petals of chiffon spin around her. Then she went to find Gabe.

  · · · · ·

  The table promised an unforgettable meal, displaying deep red roses, her white Eternity china, and rose-tinted candles the same shade as her dress. Light from the big picture window cast the beginnings of sunset colors around the room. Music, a jazz style, played quietly—something Gabe had picked, something she didn’t own.

  He’d made a Caesar salad and baked potatoes and steaks, grilled to succulent perfection.

  Her world narrowed to the moment, to the meal spread before them, to the man, or rather, the angel, seated across from her, wearing his captivating black clothes. Her gaze settled on the skin exposed by his open coll
ar.

  “Tonight we drink to flying,” Gabe said, handing her a glass of red wine.

  “To flying,” she said, clinking his glass.

  Her senses heightened, as each taste satisfied . . . yet filled her with cravings. The spice of the salad invited her to savor and swallow each morsel with bliss. The flesh of the potato mingled with the sour cream and dissolved on her tongue. And the steak—the juicy, rich, mouthwatering flavor surpassed anything she’d ever eaten before.

  When the meal was finished, Gabe stood. “There’s one more thing we need to do,” he said.

  “Are we going to fly?”

  “Yes, because you want to, and one more thing besides.” He walked around the table and took her hand. “I’m here to teach you one more thing.”

  The music changed, shifting to a flirty tempo, inviting a dance. Jessibelle was positive she didn’t own this music either. It belonged to Gabe.

  He led her to the living room and stopped in front of the window. The sun had gone down but the hues of sunset lingered, rippling over the sky and the water.

  Then she was in his arms again, moving with the dance. He held her close, caressing her back, and pressing his fingers tightly into her skin, massaging away tension she didn’t know she had.

  Outside, across the bay, the sounds of distant thunder rumbled and reverberated.

  When the song ended, the music changed to light, ethereal tones, and he kept holding her with his head nestled to her neck. “I love smelling your hair,” he said.

  And she loved everything about him. She inhaled, deeply, feeling relaxed and alert at the same time, and curious about what he would do next.

  She liked hearing him talk about his senses. “Don’t angels get to have senses?”

  He lifted his head and brushed his chin over her hair. “Only when we take human form.” He released her, took her hand and led her to the couch.

  They sat a moment, side by side, touching. Outside, the dark sky showcased a storm forming out on the water. Sheet lightning flashed over the bay.

  She hadn’t known a storm was in the forecast but she felt safe and snug, sitting right beside Gabe. She didn’t care about what he was going to teach her. At this point, she only wanted to be here, in this moment, with him.

  He reached for her ankle.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking off your shoes.”

  She felt his strong hands moving over her feet. “Why?”

  “I’m helping you to relax.”

  “I am relaxed.” At least, she thought she was.

  He smiled, slowly. “You will be more relaxed,” he said, and he finished removing her shoes. Then, letting himself lie on the couch, he pulled her down beside him.

  Warmth and safety collided with risk and daring. And, at the back of her mind, a little voice wondered, is he supposed to be doing this?

  She ignored the voice, because lying next to Gabe felt . . . right.

  “I love feeling your body pressed close to mine,” he said, as he wrapped one arm under her shoulders, and laid his other hand on top of her, covering the silk rosettes at the bodice of her dress.

  The voice in the back of her mind grew louder. “Gabe? Are we supposed to be doing this?”

  “Yes.”

  “But—” She found it almost impossible to censor her thoughts around him. “But what if I fall in love with you?”

  “It’s not allowed.”

  “But what if I do?”

  He watched her eyes, and she looked deep into his.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “This is a training exercise.”

  “I still feel like I could fall in love with you.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now we have to get you relaxed.”

  “I . . . am . . . relaxed,” she said, sinking deeper into relaxation, feeling like she’d been drugged.

  He adjusted his arm under her neck and draped his leg over top of hers. “At first, it will feel like you’re dreaming. You won’t be able to move.”

  “Why?” she asked, hardly caring.

  “Because when you’re dreaming, you’re paralyzed. So you don’t act out your dreams.”

  She felt like laughing, and like she could open her arms wide if she wanted to, and float up into the clouds. “Is this a dream of flying, or are you really taking me flying?”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “But—”

  He touched a finger to her lips. “Jessi.” He waited, and she kept silent. Then he pressed his hand firmly over top of her waist, holding her tightly.

  “I’m going to teach you how to kiss.”

  “What?” She felt herself lift out of her relaxed state.

  “I heard what Rodney said about—”

  She tensed in Gabe’s arms, and she struggled to sit up. She didn’t want to hear about Rodney and what he’d said. Not now.

  “No spark,” Gabe said, restraining her. “No passion. No earth moving.”

  “I—”

  “Relax. This is practice, remember?”

  “Practice?” He was going to kiss her. She knew it. Her hands braced against his chest. She didn’t want him to know she couldn’t kiss. At least not with any skill or mastery. Or, passion.

  And then she felt herself go limp.

  “Because in a dream you can’t move,” Gabe said, in a voice that was so reassuring she almost melted.

  His lips hovered above hers. She watched his deep brown eyes with the green lines in the irises, and she fell into their depths.

  Then he slowly brushed his lips across hers, barely touching.

  She could feel his arm around her shoulders, and she could feel his hand resting below her breasts, and she could feel the full length of his body pressed next to hers.

  “Lick your lips,” he said.

  She did. It was the only movement her body could make.

  “Now,” he smiled, “lick mine.”

  She felt her head tilting up to him. She touched her tongue to his lips and then his mouth was on hers, sealing over her lips, and—

  Day replaced night, and they were flying, soaring over the bay and trailing along gilded currents of light. Gabe held her from behind, with his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close to his body. “Spread your arms open, Jessi. Feel the wind.”

  She did, and she felt the warm air ruffle her dress as they slipped through sun-filled clouds, whirling with a flock of seagulls, hearing the birds cheering them on.

  Twisting in the air, they glided down, skimming over the waves of the ocean, hovering a moment and then lifting to the sky again. Radiance filled the world, cloud puffs slipped past them as they sailed, and passion pulled her tight all the way up from her toes.

  Then, slowly, the world became insubstantial, and suddenly she found herself lying next to Gabe on the couch. He looked down at her, with pleasure beaming over his face.

  “Now that’s a kiss,” he said. “You don’t need any practice.”

  She touched his cheek, tracing her fingers over his face. “I don’t care,” she said. “Let’s practice some more.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, Jessibelle woke up in her bed to the sound of seagulls wheeling through the sky. Sunlight filtered through her pink Chenille curtains and her bedroom door was open. She turned her head to see her clock.

  Seven o’clock of a perfect spring morning.

  She touched the clothes she wore, discovering pajamas. Her pajamas. She couldn’t remember going to bed, but at least she hadn’t fallen asleep in her clothes again.

  But what had happened last night?

  All she could remember was kissing Gabe and Gabe kissing her. She’d never forget the way it felt to be in his arms, whirling and soaring in a whole new reality.

  She caught sight of her dress, the red chiffon and silk draped over her chair. Her shoes were lined up on the floor next to it. On top of the dress, her red lace panties puffed in a ball.

  Had he undressed her?


  Her body tingled with the thought. But, it was strange that she couldn’t remember. And, also, strange that she didn’t care.

  She inhaled a deep satisfied breath, feeling more rested than she had in her whole life. Stretching, she rubbed her shoulders into the mattress, marveling at the way her skin felt.

  And then, holding still, she listened, as music drifted into her bedroom. Her radio was playing in the kitchen.

  Was Gabe making her breakfast?

  Feeling an immediate urge to hug him, she flung back the covers, hopped out of bed and headed toward the kitchen.

  But, she found it empty—the kitchen, the living room, even her grandmother’s big round cherry wood dining room table. The deep brown hardwood with its hint of dark red gleamed in the morning light from the windows and not a single dish remained from last night. The candles were gone too, and the roses.

  In the galley kitchen, all the counters were clear and every dish was put away. But the radio was playing, tuned in to the Seraph Morning show, with the announcer talking about the freak spring storm last night that had doused the town in heavy wet snow.

  Jessibelle walked to the window beside the dining room and looked outside at the world seventeen stories below. Snow crystals coated the trees, sparkling in the early morning light. Some shrubs, loaded down with snow, bent under the weight. And even now, the branches were springing back up, catapulting sprays of melting snow into the still air.

  Stepping back from the window, Jessibelle felt a wave of loneliness wash over her. And then she caught herself, surprised at how the deserted apartment made her feel.

  The radio still played in the kitchen, advising motorists to take extra caution this morning and then the traffic report concluded and a song started, about new love waiting to be found. About possibilities and promise.

  Where was he?

  Ever since he’d arrived on Monday, Gabe had been here in the mornings. Where was he now?

  She glanced down at her grandmother’s table, hearing her grandmother’s words in her head. You’re never really alone, dear. Not when someone loves you.