by Delia Latham
Another lengthy silence ensued, during which he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. She was clearly trying to decide whether to trust him.
“Aria, I know we kind of got off to a rough start, you and I. But these past couple of weeks…it’s been better, hasn’t it? I think Pastor David’s decision to have us pray for each other was a good one.”
“I agree.” Her voice was soft, almost shy. “And I’m still praying for you, Corbin.”
Surprised, he turned to look at her, glad the sun was still up so he could see her face. A soft blush stained her cheeks. Long, thick lashes framed her eyes and created lengthy shadows beneath them. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail like a little girl, and her face fresh and clean, without even a hint of makeup, she seemed the picture of innocence. Sweet, candid innocence, tinged with a shadow of something sad…something he wanted desperately to erase.
Corbin swallowed hard, shaken to the core by a sudden desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t even remember her name—much less whatever was bothering her.
She spoke then, breaking the moment, and he eased a breath of relief between his lips. Thanks, God. You sure know when to step in.
“I’ve been having dreams.”
“Well, dreams can be good…or they can be really, really bad. Which is it?”
“It’s awful!” She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and swiped at her cheek.
If she cries, I won’t be responsible for my actions, Lord. Just sayin’…
“I keep having the same dream—well, various versions of the same dream—over and over again. When I wake up from it, I fight going back to sleep because I don’t want to go back to that place. I’ve prayed and cried and tried to decide if it’s something from God or just something weird in my brain, but it keeps coming, and—” Her voice broke. “It’s on my mind every moment of the day.”
“I’m sorry. That kind of thing can be torture.” He knew that to be true, but his mind-movies were more memory than dream, and they were his cross to bear. Not hers.
“Torture is the perfect word. You sure you want to hear this?”
“Well, now that you’ve piqued my curiosity, it wouldn’t be nice to leave me dangling, would it?”
She laughed softly. “OK. You asked for it.” And she dove straight into her dream world. “It’s always in this big building—a barn, I think.”
Corbin’s mouth went dry. “A barn?” he croaked. He hadn’t intended to interrupt, but dreams about barns struck such a painful chord, he’d spoken without thinking.
“I think so.” She frowned. “Corbin, are you OK?”
“I’m fine. Keep talking, I want to hear.”
She held his gaze for a few seconds that felt like forever. Was she looking into his soul? He breathed a silent sigh of relief when she finally broke that eye-hold and walked on.
“Well, OK, I guess. Where was I? Oh, the barn. Sometimes I enter from outside because I hear voices. Other times, well, I’m just there, inside the barn. The scenario is almost exactly the same every time; I just see it from different perspectives. Once it was like I was looking down on it from above—maybe the hayloft or something, I don’t know.”
“So the dream setting is the same. Your entrance varies.”
She offered a wan smile. “You are a good listener.”
“OK, whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “What’s inside the barn?”
“A boy. He’s maybe—”
“A boy.” Again, Corbin broke in without meaning to. “There’s a boy in the barn.”
Was Aria having dreams about him? The thought galled him. It was bad enough that she witnessed his humiliation and abuse in his own dreams. God, please, don’t let her dreams go there too!
She nodded, apparently not hearing the horror in his croaky voice. “Yeah. He’s about thirteen, I think. Could be fourteen or fifteen, though—I’m not much good at guessing ages.” She paused to send him a cute little self-deprecatory twist of her lips. “He’s dressed only in his underwear, and his wrists and ankles are bound—tied with a rope, and they’re scraped raw. His back—” She stopped and covered her face with both hands. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs. “His back is an angry mess of raw, bleeding flesh.”
Corbin tried twice before his voice worked. “Let’s take a break.” He took her elbow and guided her off the trail toward a picnic bench in a small clearing nearby. Once seated, he wrapped one arm around her shoulder and tucked her close to him. “You don’t have to keep talking if this is too hard.” Please stop.
“No, I…I need to talk about it, I think.”
God, give me strength. I can’t believe what I think I’m hearing.
“All right. Then just take your time.”
“OK. So I’m in the barn, watching this all play out. There’s a man standing over the boy. He’s drunk—he has a bottle in one hand and some kind of leather strap in the other, and he’s…” Her voice hitched, and she closed her eyes, as if to block out the hideous vision. “He’s beating the poor kid and yelling awful things about—” She broke off, and her shoulders grew still beneath his arm.
He’d told her he didn’t believe in angels. He knew what she needed to say, and why she hesitated.
“About angels.” He said it for her, and her surprised, tearful gaze widened and fixed on his own. “He says the angel told him to beat the devil out of the boy.”
“H—How…?” She raised a trembling hand and touched his cheek. “Corbin? How do you know that?”
****
The raspy prickle of a five o’clock shadow tickled her fingers, made them want to dance across his face, to become intimately at home with the strong curve of his jawline, and the precise shape of his lips. The bottom one, a little fuller than the top, begged to be caressed.
Aria pulled her hand back and slid it under her leg for safekeeping. But she held his gaze, probed it with her own, searching for…she wasn’t sure what. The clear azure of his eyes whirled and coalesced into a deep, smoky gray. How had she not already noticed that Corbin’s eye color changed with his mood?
The world went still around them. Leaves that had swayed in a gentle breeze only seconds before no longer stirred. Not more than a heartbeat ago, a glorious symphony of birdsong had filled the air, but neither chirp nor tweet nor warble broke the heavy silence of the here-and-now.
Corbin’s jaw flexed…relaxed, then flexed again. He returned her questioning gaze with the trapped expression of a man on the wrong end of a loaded gun.
And something else. Pain. Raw, heartbreaking, mind-shattering pain. The same agonizing torture she’d seen in her dreams every night for the past week.
In those very eyes.
No. Her soul shrank from facing the truth that stared back at her in Corbin’s broken expression. The abused kid in her dreams was real. He had survived that torture, grown to manhood, and now sat beside her in an agony of mortification.
She shook her head. Her eyes burned with tears that overflowed and streaked down her face in hot rivulets. When she spoke again, the words ripped from her throat in a painful, hoarse whisper.
“Oh, no, Corbin. No. You?”
****
Scathing humiliation seared his soul and rushed in head-spinning waves into his face. The thought of Aria seeing him spread-eagled on those hay bales like a helpless fish waiting to be fileted went against everything his masculinity stood for.
“I, uh—I think I’ve been having the same dream.”
She narrowed her eyes and peered into his soul, then shook her head.
“Your eyes…I can’t believe I didn’t recognize them. You’re the boy in the barn.” She placed a soft hand on each side of his face and leaned close so she could press her forehead to his. “Oh, Corbin. I’m so…so sorry!”
His arms were around her before he gave them permission to be. He tucked her close, reveling in her sweetness, hungrily absorbing the elusive scent of jasmine that floated around her. Something about
the soft fragrance heightened his senses, and he couldn’t tell if the pounding in his ears was the sound of his heartbeat or hers. Her arms went around his waist in a tight hug and she rested her head against his chest.
Corbin forced himself to breathe, and willed his pulse to slow. Could a heart pound so violently and not explode? Aria was offering comfort. That’s all. She barely tolerated his existence, and yet her soft heart couldn’t handle what he’d gone through.
For Corbin, though, the moment changed everything. His world would never be the same. Because now that she was in his arms, he never wanted to let her go.
7
As they walked back to the complex, Corbin’s introspective mood twisted Aria’s already raw emotions and squeezed her heart in a painful, unrelenting grip. His obvious embarrassment burned into her soul. She longed to ease his pain, but found herself battling an inexplicable shyness. Every ounce of courage she possessed came into play when she slipped a tentative hand into Corbin’s.
He immediately wrapped his fingers around it, and she released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding.
At her gate, she tiptoed to kiss his cheek.
“You’re amazing,” she whispered, determined to rid herself of the unwelcome timidity that had overtaken her. “So many people would have let that kind of horrible abuse during childhood destroy them, even as adults. You didn’t, Corbin. Look at you. I’m so proud of you.”
He shook his head and traced a finger down her cheek. “I’m not anything special, Aria. Just a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who God rescued and saved from a whole lot of misery. You’re the one who’s amazing.”
His gaze traveled her face, and she felt its weight as surely as she’d felt his touch only seconds before, and it left behind a pleasant tingle she didn’t quite understand.
“Thank you for being a friend, for praying for me. I’ve never talked about…all that stuff with anyone. Ever.”
She wanted to suggest that he do that. Pastor David perhaps. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She’d find a way, though, and soon.
“You can talk to me. Anytime. And Corbin…” She laid her hand on his arm, terrified by the thrill that raced through her being as his muscles rippled and bunched beneath her fingers. “My lips are sealed. I would never betray your confidence.”
“I know. That means a lot to me.” He hauled in a breath and blew it out, clearly bringing an end to the conversation—at least, to that portion of it. Then he tossed her one of his patented killer smiles, and tapped the tip of her nose. “I should let you get inside.”
She didn’t want him to leave, but refused to ask herself why.
“Um…I could make some tea. Or coffee?”
He tilted his head and studied her face while she held her breath. “Sure you can take more of my company? I kind of turned your nice, relaxing walk into a mile-long torture route, don’t you think?”
“No. You made it memorable.” She lowered her gaze, and her next words came out in a whisper. “And sweet.”
His finger under her chin coaxed her to look up. “I’m a tea drinker,” he said, and winked. “Texas style, please.”
Her laughter broke the spell, and they were just two people enjoying a friendship they hadn’t expected.
Relieved, but also strangely regretful, Aria unlatched her gate. “Coming right up. Follow me.”
****
To the moon and back, if I thought it would do any good.
But she wasn’t headed for the moon, so Corbin trailed her across the yard and through her front door. She went straight to the kitchen and started puttering around like she was right at home in a kitchen.
She pulled a couple of glasses out of a cabinet, and then gave him a hesitant look, pinching her lip between perfect white teeth. “I guess it’s too hot to use the fireplace, isn’t it? This weird—” She hesitated, and for a moment, Corbin thought he saw a shadow of fear in her eyes, but what a ridiculous idea. “Humidity. Oh, well, just a thought. I’m in the mood for sweet tea with popcorn, a good movie, and the relaxing flicker of firelight.”
Corbin glanced into the living room. “I see several candles. Where’s a lighter? We’ll improvise.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?” She fished around in a drawer, and then triumphantly presented him with a fireplace lighter. He winked, and she gave him a saucy grin that did nothing to hide a shyness he’d never seen in her before. Her gaze slid away and a warm blush pinked her cheeks.
Corbin took mercy on her and headed for the living room. He set about lighting every candle he could find, and it turned out she had enough of the things to open her own shop. He made a mental note to remember she liked them.
After a moment, he felt her watching him and stole a glance her way.
She was nibbling at her lip again, and a troubled crease marred the smoothness of her forehead. He smothered a sigh. How did he know exactly what was going on in that pretty head of hers?
She wasn’t finished with the conversation they’d started on their walk.
“What is it, Aria?” He turned and met her gaze straight on, then smiled to take the edge off his words. “Say it, so we can get on with our evening.”
She grimaced, and regret darkened her eyes. “I’m sorry, Corbin. I know the subject isn’t easy for you, but I do want to say something else about—well, you know. About your…past.”
He nodded, but couldn’t quite dredge up a real smile. “Say it. I’m listening.”
“OK. Let’s sit down.” She took a bag of popcorn out of the microwave and dumped it into a large bowl, handed him a glass of tea, and then picked up her own glass. He followed her into the living room and they settled onto the sofa with the popcorn between them.
“It’s about angels. I can see now why you don’t want to believe in them, and why they don’t elicit positive feelings for you. But I’d like you to think about something.”
He nodded, but kept quiet. The less he said, the faster this would be over and he could try to forget she knew everything. At some point, he’d have to deal with the reality that he and Aria had shared the same dream. He probably should tell her that. Not now though. And probably not tomorrow, either. The next day…well, that was too far off to worry about.
She touched his arm, and he realized he’d been off on another mental tangent.
“You sure you’re up for this?”
“I’m fine. Talk.”
Her soft, warm laughter touched his heart, soothing the ever-present ache within its deepest corners. “Look, I know I told you this earlier, but I was kind of distraught, and I’m not sure you picked up on it. In my dreams, there is a huge, hideous creature with massive, leathery black wings standing behind your dad, goading him, pushing him to—” She shuddered and drew air quotes with her fingers. “‘…beat the devil out’ of you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Dad’s imaginary angel.”
“Well…hold on a minute, Corbin. What if it wasn’t imaginary? What if something really was saying those things to your dad? Like…a dark angel?”
His jaw dropped, and he stared at her wide-eyed. “You’re not serious.”
“Yes, I am. If you believe in good, you have to believe in evil, too. Don’t you think?”
“I—” He frowned. Arguing seemed like a good idea, but she had a point. “Well, I suppose that could make sense.”
“Of course it does. If God has special messengers of light—which, according to the Bible, He does, then doesn’t it make sense that Satan might also have his own such creatures of darkness? After all, the Bible also says that other angels were cast out with Lucifer.”
She sipped at her tea, opening the door for a response, but he had no idea how to counter that. This was all new territory for him.
He shrugged, then leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.
“We tend to think of Satan’s minions as demons, something completely unique; but those demons are angels by nature—fallen and evil, yes—
but still organically the same. Isn’t it possible that an inebriated man might see only an angel of light? For that matter, Corinthians says that Satan and his ministers can take on the form of an angel of light for the very purpose of misleading human beings. So many people aren’t truly tuned in to the Father’s voice, and therefore aren’t able to try the spirits, as God’s Word instructs us to do. A man like your father, whose mind is muddled already by alcohol…can you see how easily he could be led to believe such a well-orchestrated ruse?”
Corbin didn’t offer a protest, but couldn’t quite bring himself to voice an agreement, either. He opened his eyes just enough to see her from beneath his eyelashes. Her gaze moved over his face, searching for who knew what. He made a point of relaxing his tight jaw, not wanting her to think he was angry. He wasn’t, but that didn’t make him like the subject.
“I saw the creature, Corbin. You had mentioned nothing whatsoever to me about—well, you know. About your life, your childhood. I did not pull that…thing out of my subconscious. These dreams, they were from God. I started having them when I started praying for you. You know that’s true.”
He opened his eyes fully, turned his head toward her and dredged up a smile he hoped did not reflect the torment in his soul.
“You’ve made some good points, Aria. Thank you for caring enough to try. It’s always been a little tough to get things through my thick skull. And I know it wasn’t easy for you to go there.” He sat up straight and reached out to tug gently on a strand of her hair, then cupped her cheek in his hand. “I promise to think about it. I do. But can we leave it alone now—just for tonight? Watch that movie? Enjoy the candlelight?”
She smiled, and reached up to cover his hand with her own, holding it against her cheek for a brief, blissful second or two. “That’s a great idea.”
Then she pulled back, and Corbin forced himself to do the same. But the zing in his fingertips promised they would never forget the smooth softness of her skin.
Aria grabbed a stack of DVDs off the coffee table and laid them on his leg. “Your choice tonight. Next time I’ll do the honors.”
