The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles)

by Allen, Shauna

  Ariel grinned. “I did. I got here early so I just got started. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all. This is fabulous.” She picked up a cup. “Is this eggnog?”

  Ariel’s crystal blue eyes twinkled. “Yup. But don’t worry. It’s the alcohol-free kind.”

  Darn. She took a sip. “What can I do to help? Looks like you’ve done all the work.” She glanced around as the first strains of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” started up.

  “Not a thing. Let’s just pass out the stuff for the ornaments and get started.” She lowered her voice, “But I’d keep the hot glue gun far away from Mrs. Roth. She’s been hitting the eggnog pretty hard. Alcohol or no alcohol, it’s gone straight to her head.”

  Braelyn couldn’t suppress the giggle. “Right.”

  The women worked in tandem as they helped cut, glue, glitter and string popcorn until the huge Christmas tree was suitably decorated for at least two nursing homes. Braelyn hadn’t had this much fun in weeks. Maybe months. Especially when Ariel started telling her about some of the tattoo parlor’s more, um, eclectic customers.

  “Yeah,” Ariel said, “when she started talking about getting pierced down there because she wanted to be permanently vagazzled, I suggested she try to glue some rhinestones on or whatever. You know, to see how it all worked out first.” She scooted closer and put down her glittery ornament as her voice lowered in embarrassment. “Plus, I needed to Google the word. I mean, what the heck is vagazzle?”

  “Like bedazzle? Only in the girly parts?”

  “Exactly! But I didn’t know it at the time. Where have I been? Whatever happened to nice belly button rings and tongue piercings? I mean seriously.”

  Braelyn laughed until she cried.

  As they cleaned up the ornament-making mess, Braelyn kept up the giggles as Ariel kept her entertained with tales of stranger and stranger clients. Did Noble really deal with these people every day?

  Braelyn snapped the Tupperware container with all the craft supplies shut. “So, what’s been the hands-down strangest customer you’ve had lately?”

  “Hmmm. Well, it might’ve been the pair of self-proclaimed demon experts who wanted matching tattoos and piercings. Real dark stuff.” She thought a moment. “But, no. You know, we get all kinds of interesting types and all kinds of requests. Some you’d probably find downright scary or freaky. But, the one that had us all staring at each other and going ‘What the . . .?’ was this big guy. I mean probably 6’8, 450 pounds. He had Michael by several inches and a good hundred pounds, a real bruiser.”

  Braelyn sat and found herself leaning in to listen to what this guy could possibly have up on a couple of demon experts.

  Ariel paused and waved to a few residents as they wheeled out of the dining room before continuing. “Anyway. He comes in and consults with Jed first. Then Jed calls in Noble. Then they call in Michael. So, whatever it is, I know it’s big because it’s gonna take all three tattoo artists, right?” She glanced at Braelyn. “They sketch it up; takes them an hour and a half. Then they took turns tattooing on him for hours. The design covered his entire back and one shoulder and part of an arm. It was humongous! I have no idea how he stood it for so long, either. Most customers do something like that in several sittings, but he refused to come back. Wanted it done all at once. And I’d hate to know what it cost him. But I have to say, it was very pretty when they were finished with it.”

  “So? What’s the big deal?”

  Ariel leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “Those three big, strong, virile men tattooed a flowered field, a rainbowed sky, and a prancing unicorn on that man’s back. And it was something to see, I have to tell you.”

  Braelyn was momentarily speechless as it sank in. A unicorn?

  Ariel didn’t give her a chance to respond. She laughed. “I couldn’t believe it! I would’ve expected something big and intimidating like skulls and fire or dragons, which are Jed’s specialty. I mean, a unicorn. Really!”

  The women dissolved into a fit of snorting laughter. “A unicorn? You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “Wow. How . . . manly.”

  Ariel winked. “Yes. Very.” She stood up and Braelyn followed so they could put away the Styrofoam cups from the decidedly non-alcoholic beverages. “You know, I’ve been trying to talk Michael into getting a tattoo. I think it’s kinda strange that Jed is the only tattoo artist in the place with tattoos.”

  “He’s not.”

  Ariel flashed her a strange look. Crap. Simultaneous visions of Noble’s yummylicious tattooed back and her foot-in-mouth, disease-ridden self filled her brain.

  “What do you mean he’s not?”

  How much to divulge? She looked Ariel in the eye trying to discern her level of acquaintance versus friend. They’d been working together in the nursing home for several weeks now and she’d not said much about her relationship, or lack thereof, with Noble because she knew Ariel worked with him and she couldn’t be sure if anything she said would make its way back to the hottie in question. But she sure could use a girlfriend. Where would Ariel’s alliance lie? Wow. She was sounding pathetic—even to herself.

  “Well,” Ariel prompted. “Michael and I have been good friends, like, forever, and I know he doesn’t have any tattoos. So, does that mean Noble does? Nothing shows. You’re sure?”

  Oh, she was sure. Painfully so. “Yes.”

  Ariel took her hand and tugged her to the corner and turned off the stereo just as “Winter Wonderland” was into its first chorus. “I hope you know you can trust me. We’re friends. Right?”

  Braelyn studied her earnest blue eyes. “Sure.”

  “Then spill it. I want details, sister. He has no ink showing, so what’s hidden and how, oh how, do you know about it?”

  Braelyn felt herself blushing as she returned Ariel’s giddy smile. She wasn’t sure why, but all of a sudden she knew she could trust her. Girl talk would trump work alliances. And, man, she needed some girl talk. “He’s got some kind of tribal design on his back.”

  “Oh.” Ariel’s brows furrowed. “Where on his back?”

  Braelyn smiled saucily. “His whole back.”

  “Ohhhhh . . .” She started to say more, but they were interrupted by the bickering of two elderly women and the squeaking of wheelchair brakes. She and Ariel both glanced over guiltily, hoping their conversation hadn’t been overheard. A nurses’ aide intervened and scooted off the combatants with promises of reality television.

  Ariel gripped her hand. “And? You can’t leave me hanging here, Bray.”

  Braelyn felt her face flame a dozen deeper shades of crimson. “And, what?”

  Ariel’s eyes just about popped out of her head as she yanked her into a chair and sat facing her. “Did you . . .? Are you . . .? Are you and Noble, you know?”

  Braelyn waited a moment, her head cocked to the side. Then the meaning thundered down on her. Her hand flew to her lips. “Oh. No. Nothing like that. We’re just friends.” Not that she wouldn’t love more. Sometimes thought she needed more.

  “Oh. Well, I’d thought . . . never mind.”

  “No, tell me. What did you think? Cuz I only saw his tattoo when he changed shirts because he thought I wasn’t looking when he took me on a bike ride. It was totally innocent.”

  Ariel nodded, seeming disproportionately disappointed. “You guys just seem to have amazing chemistry. I guess I’d thought, especially after you came in for your tattoo and seeing him over for Thanksgiving dinner, that you two must be an item. You’re beautiful together.”

  Braelyn felt something deep in her heart tremble. What a tragically romantic notion. “Nope.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Yes, it was.

  Ariel popped up from her chair. “So, wanna
swing by a couple rooms with me? There’s a few folks who couldn’t make it to the party who I’d like to say hi to.”

  The change of subject nearly gave Braelyn whiplash. “Um, sure.” She stood and followed Ariel out of the dining area.

  Their first stop was to Mrs. Foster’s room. Braelyn didn’t know her very well, but Ariel apparently did. The snappy woman was bed bound but alert and they chatted it up for a while over her stash of chocolate covered cherries and the newest episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

  Next were Mr. and Mrs. Frank. A sweet couple who’d been married for over sixty years and had neighboring rooms now, because Mr. Frank insisted on helping the workers with the care of his wife, who was comatose with dementia. Mr. Frank appeared content as he held his wife’s frail hand and talked to her as if she could hear and understand him.

  The sight of unconditional love brought tears to Braelyn’s eyes. When they exited, she turned to Ariel. “I don’t know if I’m up for any more visits like that. It’s too sad.”

  Ariel’s brows dipped. “Sad? Why?”

  “Look at how he’s losing his wife like that. It’s horrible. How does he stand it?”

  Ariel stopped and caught her in the ice blue of her stare. “He loves her. He told me she’s his soulmate and he believes she was sent to him by God. They’ve had a lot of happy years together, so he’s more than happy to take care of her now when she needs him. That kind of love doesn’t die. That’s true love. Timeless.”

  Does that kind of love even exist anymore?

  She hadn’t realized she’d whispered her question aloud until Ariel reached over and gripped her hand. “Yes. It absolutely does. And yours is out there, too. Much closer than you imagine. I’d be willing to bet on it.”

  Braelyn didn’t know what to say other than to tell her to stay away from Vegas. But she kept that thought to herself.

  “So.” Ariel dropped her hand, breaking the moment. “Shall we make one more stop? We’ve got to at least see Mr. Myers.”

  “Sure. I need to let him know Tristan aced his history exam and sends a ‘What’s up?’”

  They moseyed down to the next hallway in time to see a familiar face exit Mr. Myers’ room. It took a moment for the name to click. She tapped Ariel’s arm. “Hey. Isn’t that what’s-her-name from the hospice company?”

  Concern skittered through her as Ariel met her glance. “Yeah. Christie. We see her entirely too much around here sometimes.”

  Braelyn’s feet were frozen in place. She didn’t know if she could stand it if Mr. Myers was close to death or, God forbid, had already—Suddenly, Ariel zipped down the hall in the opposite direction. “Go ahead. I’ll be right back. I forgot something.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Braelyn somehow unglued the soles of her shoes from the ground and moved to the doorway. She swallowed and peeked in only after she heard Mr. Myers’ rattled breathing.

  He glanced over with watery eyes. “Hello, young lady.” His voice was weak with fatigue, his bony, frail body engulfed by the bed.

  She stepped into the room and offered him what she hoped was a bright smile. “Hi, Mr. Myers.”

  “How’s that young man of yours?”

  “He’s great. Says to tell you hello.” She sat in the empty chair next to his bed and tried to ignore the oxygen tubing and hospice company pamphlets on the bedside table.

  “That’s a fine lad you’re raising there. You should be very proud.”

  She smiled and reached over for his hand. “I am. Thank you.” She glanced again at the hospice papers. They were like the elephant in the room, especially after seeing Christie leaving earlier. “So, how are you?”

  He caught the direction of her momentary glance. “They signed me up this week. Doc says my heart’s failing.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Isn’t there anything they can do?”

  “Oh, sweet thing, I’m old. I’m tired. My heart’s plumb wore out. I take my medicine the doc prescribes, but there’s nothing more can be done. I’m pretty much stuck in this bed now.” He patted her hand, the contrast between her young, supple skin and his wrinkled, nearly translucent flesh depressingly obvious. “Don’t worry. They take good care of me here and I’m not keeling over tonight.”

  She swiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks as Ariel came sweeping into the room. “Sorry about that. I forgot to grab my purse and the leftover sack of ornament glitter to take home. Hey, Mr. Myers! We missed you tonight. How are you feeling this evening?”

  Braelyn offered a weak smile at Ariel’s usual abounding effervescence and glanced from Mr. Myers to her friend.

  But, strangely, the energy in the room, which usually sparkled when Ariel was around, had gone nearly stock-still. Ariel seemed oblivious as she puttered around, pouring Mr. Myers some leftover hot chocolate and digging him out some cookies.

  Braelyn studied Mr. Myers’ face. He’d turned pale and was staring at Ariel as if seeing a ghost. She squeezed his hand. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she whispered, hoping his heart wasn’t giving out on him already.

  Suddenly, Ariel turned and faced him.

  “I dreamed of you,” he said, with more than a hint of awe in his voice. “And now I see it’s true. You’re an angel.”

  Chapter 28

  When she got home from her odd encounters at the nursing home and the treacherous drive on the sleet-iced streets, Braelyn found herself greeted by the tangy and spicy aromas of something cooking in her kitchen.

  She shucked her coat and purse and followed her nose. “Mmm, what have we here?”

  Tristan turned from stirring something on the stove. “Hey, Mom.”

  She walked over and peeked over his shoulder. “Spaghetti?”

  A sweet flush crept up his cheeks. “Yeah. That okay?”

  Oh, it was more than okay. She wanted to smother him in a bear hug and plant kisses all over his face. He’d never taken it upon himself to cook dinner for them before. But, she knew she had to play it cool. She nodded and made her way to the fridge. “Sure. It’s great. Thanks.” She pulled out the tea and Parmesan cheese before facing him again. “So, how was school today?”

  He was bent over removing a loaf of garlic bread from the oven. Her mouth started watering. “It was okay. There’s a letter from the counselor for you on the table.”

  Her eyes automatically shot over to the table. “For me? Why? What is it?”

  Tristan turned to her after shutting off all the burners. “I have no idea, Mom. I didn’t open it.” She could hear the eye rolling in his tone. “It’s probably about the Buddy Program or something.”

  “Oh, right.” She sat and picked up the envelope. She slid it open semi-confidently, hoping that if Tristan were in trouble again they would’ve called her like they usually did. She scanned the short letter and her heart sank.

  Tristan slid a steaming plate in front of her. “What is it?”

  She glanced up at him. Why in the world had they broken the news through a letter? Poor Tristan.

  “What?” he demanded again as he studied her face. “Is it bad? Am I in trouble?” His eyes darted down to the offending piece of paper in her hand. “Let me see.” He snatched it from her and started reading.

  She watched the emotions roll across his features. Fear and anxiety. Disbelief. Hurt. And, finally, anger.

  He threw the paper down. “This is bull! I don’t want another Buddy! The whole thing is stupid anyway. If Michael doesn’t want me anymore, then I just won’t have a damned Buddy!” He all but screamed the last word as he stormed out of the kitchen and slammed into his room.

  Braelyn dropped her head into her hands as her heart ached for her boy. He must feel abandoned by yet another man. What had happened with Michael?

  Three hours later, as she lay staring at the ceiling trying in vain
to sleep, she was no closer to an answer. Tristan had refused to open his door so she’d allowed him his space, but tomorrow was a new day and the beginning of the weekend. Surely, he’d come around and talk to her. At least she hoped so. And, she decided, she’d give Michael a call and ask him what had happened. There had to be a reasonable explanation for him abruptly leaving Tristan and the Buddy program. But, what?

  Her cell phone’s shrill ring from the nightstand startled her. She glanced at the digital clock. Who would be calling after ten? And why did she forget to silence her phone? She picked it up and squinted at the bright LCD display. Gentry’s? Noble?

  She scrambled to her knees and peeked through her blinds. His truck remained parked, dark and silent, in his driveway where it had been all day as far as she could tell.

  She flipped her phone open. “Hello?” she whispered.

  “Miz Campbell?”

  “Michael?” She sank back against her pillows as a million thoughts raced through her mind. Why was he calling now, after he’d already dumped Tristan? A surge of anger knotted in her stomach.

  “I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m so glad I reached you.” The relief in Michael’s voice was palpable.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Noble—”

  Noble? He was calling about Noble when he’d hurt her son so badly? A renewed spurt of fierce protectiveness shot through her. “Wait one minute.” She interrupted him. “What about Tristan?”

  He paused. “Tristan?”

  “Yes.” She sat up straighter. “He brought home a letter from school about the Buddy Program. Weren’t you even going to talk to him before you ditched him?” She hated that she could hear the tears quivering in her voice. “Didn’t you want to be his Buddy anymore?”

  “Goodness, Miz Campbell, I’m sorry. They weren’t supposed to send that until I’d had a chance to talk to him.” He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words with great care. “I didn’t want this. I was told it was a red-tape issue and a higher authority made the decision. And as much as it pains me deeply, I have to believe that in the end, it will be best for Tristan.”