Angel Burn (16 page)

“Yeah, I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger and fries,” said Alex. “And coffee.” He shoved his menu back in place.

“Bacon cheeseburger and fries,” the waitress repeated, scribbling it down. “How about you, honey?”

Willow started to respond but stopped, staring at the waitress. “I —”

Looking across at her, Alex could see how tense she was suddenly; her knuckles on the menu were white.

The waitress regarded her with a frown. “Hon? You ready yet?”

Willow seemed to give herself a slight shake. “Um — yeah,” she said, glancing down at her menu. “I’ll have the club sandwich. And a salad with ranch dressing.”

The waitress’s pen moved across the pad. “Coffee?”

“No, just water.”

Willow’s gaze followed the waitress as the woman headed back toward the counter. Catching sight of her profile behind her sunglasses, Alex was taken aback by the conflicted expression on her face.

“What?” he said.

She winced, glancing at him and then the restaurant around them. Looking at the waitress again, she seemed to make up her mind about something and started to slide out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

“What is it?”

She shook her head with a quick grimace. “Nothing. I’ve just  . . .  got to talk to that waitress for a minute.”

Alex watched in confusion as Willow crossed the diner, slim and petite in her jeans and T-shirt. A moment later she was leaning over the counter, talking to the redheaded waitress. She pulled her sunglasses off as she spoke; the waitress’s eyes were saucer-large.

What the hell was going on? Unable to just sit there watching, Alex got up and crossed to the counter, too, propping himself against a red leatherette stool. “Is everything OK?”

“Yes, fine,” murmured the waitress. Her attention was riveted on Willow. “Go on. Please.”

The tips of Willow’s ears were turning red. Her eyes met his; he saw her embarrassment that he had appeared — and then she straightened her shoulders and turned back to the waitress. “Look, I know that you don’t know me and this might be an intrusion, but I really am psychic like I said. If you could just let me hold your hand, I might be able to see something.”

The woman hesitated.
GEORGIA
,
read her name tag. A black waitress with dyed blond hair had been listening, and now she nudged Georgia. “Go on, honey,” she urged. “It might be just what you need.”

“Please?” said Willow. “I really want to help.”

As if she were under a spell, Georgia held out her hand, and Willow took it in her own. She gazed silently down at the counter for a moment; when she spoke, her voice was hushed, almost dreamy. “Your husband died of lung cancer in March,” she said. “I see you nursing him for years before that. You had the spare bedroom at home fixed up, so that he didn’t have to be in the hospital so much.” She looked up. “You loved him more than anything, didn’t you?”

Georgia had gone pale, swaying with shock. “I — oh, my gosh —”

“That’s right!” cried the other waitress. “His name was Dan, and he —”

“No, don’t tell me anything,” interrupted Willow. “Georgia won’t be able to believe it afterward if you tell me anything.” She went silent again, her body very still as she seemed to listen to something within herself.

Alex leaned against the counter, unable to take his eyes off Willow as she continued. “I see pills on a little shelf in your bathroom,” she said slowly. “Diazepam. The doctor gives them to you for stress, and you’ve been hoarding them for months. You’ve researched it on the Internet, and you know just how to do it.”

Tears began streaming down Georgia’s stricken face. She stifled a sob as her friend rubbed her arm.

“Please, please don’t,” Willow entreated, leaning forward. “It’s not the way.”

“I just — I just want to be with Dan again,” choked out Georgia. The other waitress handed her a paper napkin, and she wiped her eyes, smudging her mascara. “I — I miss him so much.”

Willow’s own eyes were soft with compassion as she held Georgia’s hand, her whole being focused intently on the woman. Alex stood without moving as he watched Willow, his thoughts spinning. He didn’t know why he was feeling so floored; all angels were psychic to some degree — this was just another sign of Willow’s half-angel nature.

Except that somehow it felt completely different.

“I know how hard it is,” Willow went on, squeezing Georgia’s hand. “But it’s not your time. I see another path for you, a different path. In a few months, you’re going to take the insurance money and move home again, back to Atlanta, and you’re going to open your own restaurant. It’s something you’ve always wanted to do, but you’ve felt guilty about the money. You shouldn’t. Dan wanted you to have it. It’s his gift to you.”

“Oh, honey!” murmured the black waitress. She put an arm around Georgia’s shoulders. “Can I have a job there?” she teased.

Georgia laughed through her tears, patting the woman’s hand. “You bet, Dora,” she said.

“Anyway, that’s  . . .  all I see for now,” said Willow. “I hope it’s helped.” She started to release her hand.

“Wait!” cried Georgia, tightening her fingers around Willow’s. “Can you — can you see Dan? Does he have a message for me?”

The hope on the woman’s face was so raw that Alex felt a painful twist in his chest. He looked away as memories of Jake gripped him.

“No, I’m not a medium,” said Willow gently. “But he’s around you — I’m sure of it. And I think he’d really want you to be happy again, if you can be.”

Georgia nodded, dabbing at her eyes. “I think — I think maybe I can be now,” she said. “It’s been such a weight. You just don’t know —” Then she broke off, gazing at Willow in awe. “No, I — I guess you
do
know, don’t you?”

Willow gave a small smile of agreement. Watching her, Alex was hit forcibly by the contrast between the elfin beauty of her face and her light-green eyes, which looked so much older than the rest of her. All at once he knew without a doubt that she had seen a lot of things in her life that she hadn’t wanted to see, just as he had  . . .  because that old-before-her-time look was the same that he saw on his own face whenever he glanced in the mirror.

Coming out from behind the counter, Georgia clutched Willow’s hand in both of her own. “How can I ever thank you?” she said. Impulsively, the two women hugged.

“That’s easy,” said Willow with a grin, pulling away first. “Throw away those pills when you get home.”

“She will,” put in Dora. “I’ll make sure of that!”

“Thank you, honey,” said Georgia again, touching Willow’s face. “I mean it. You’ve given me my life back.”

Willow’s cheeks went pink. “I’m glad I could help.”

As Alex and Willow returned to their booth, Willow hooked her sunglasses back on. He stared at her as they slid into their seats, at a loss for words. Glancing at him, she self-consciously tucked a stray blond strand up under the cap. “Sorry,” she muttered. “More freakiness.”

“No, that was —” Alex shook his head, unable to express it. He propped his forearms on the table, studying her. “How did you know?”

Willow regarded him for a long moment, as if trying to work out how sincere he was. Finally, she shrugged. “When she came to our table, I could just feel it. These great waves of sadness. I could tell she was thinking of killing herself.”

Dora appeared, placing Alex’s coffee in front of him. “Your girlfriend sure is a wonder, honey,” she said to him, squeezing Willow’s shoulder. Willow’s smile turned strained at the word “girlfriend.” He could see her wanting to correct the woman and then deciding to let it pass.

As the waitress moved away again, Alex stirred half-and-half into his coffee.

“So  . . .  I guess it was a good thing that the car broke down,” he said at last.

Willow had been taking a sip of water; she gave him a sharp look as she put the brown plastic glass down. For a second he thought she might smile, but she didn’t. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess it was.”

When they got back to the garage, the mechanic was waiting for them, wiping his hands on a rag. “Hey, you were right: it’s the prop shaft,” he said cheerfully. “I’m afraid I don’t have the right bolts in stock for it, though — looks like three of them went flying when it came loose.”

It was almost six o’clock. Alex sighed. “So it won’t be today, then.”

The man shook his head. “No. Afraid not. I’ll make some phone calls tomorrow morning; I might be able to find some at another garage. Otherwise I’ll have to order them — that would mean maybe two, three days before they get here.”

Two or three days. Perfect. Briefly, Alex wondered about just buying another used car. He couldn’t, though; he only had about twenty-five hundred left now from the emergency cash he kept on hand — despite the high wages that the CIA had paid ever since the Invasion, he’d never particularly trusted them — and knew that he needed to save his money. He blew out a breath, glancing at Willow. “Well, we’re sort of stuck here. I mean, we’re just passing through —”

“There’s a motel just up the road,” said the mechanic. “Sorry. I know it’s a pain. Check with me tomorrow morning around ten; I’ll know by then if I have to order the bolts or not.”

Alex nodded slowly. “Yeah, OK.” He glanced at Willow. “Is that all right with you?”

He could see that she had stiffened, even behind her sunglasses. She lifted a shoulder. “I guess it’ll have to be.”

Alex took his bag from the Mustang’s trunk and slung it over his shoulder, then he and Willow started walking in the direction the mechanic had told them. It was sunset now, with red and purple streaks billowing across the sky to the west and a welcome breeze stirring at the heavy air. For several minutes, the only sound was their footsteps on the side of the road and passing cars.

Alex cleared his throat. “Good call on the prop shaft.”

“It was pretty obvious,” said Willow, her voice cool. She was holding her elbows, looking down at the ground as she walked. Alex fell silent. Maybe he wasn’t psychic, but he could tell that she didn’t want to talk to him. They trudged along the road without speaking.

Finally, to his relief, a GoodRest Motel sign appeared, with its familiar blue-and-white lettering. As they neared it, Alex noticed with apprehension how many cars were in the parking lot; it looked like a used-car convention. “Have you got any feelings about this place?” he asked.

Willow’s steps slowed as she gazed at the L-shaped two-story building. “Not really,” she said after a pause. “I think we’ll be OK.”

Alex hesitated, still looking at the full parking lot. Even if Willow thought it seemed all right, they might be stranded here for several days; they needed to do everything they could to protect themselves. “Listen, we’d better share a room,” he said. “I mean, we’ll get two beds, but —”

Willow stopped in her tracks, gaping up at him in horror. “Do
what
?”

He felt his cheeks tinge at her reaction, which irritated him; he knew that what he was suggesting was the only sensible thing. “It just looks less noticeable that way,” he said. “Plus, it’s a lot safer if we stick together, where I can keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t
want
you to keep an eye on me,” she snapped. She stalked off ahead of him with long, angry strides, her slender back poker-straight.

He caught up with her easily. “What do you think we’re even doing here in Boondocksville?” he pointed out. “People are trying to kill you, remember?”

Willow’s mouth tightened, and she fell into an angry silence. “All right,” she said. “Fine.” As they approached the glass door marked
RECEPTION,
Alex started to tell her that he didn’t want this, either, and then bit the words back — he’d sound like he was protesting too much.

Maybe he was.

At the front desk, the clerk shoved a registration card across at him; signing in, Alex showed him some ID — a fake Ohio driver’s license — and paid in cash.

Their room was on the ground floor; neither of them spoke as they walked down the concrete path. When they reached number 112, Alex unlocked the door, swung it open, and groped for the lights. A motel room just like hundreds of others he’d stayed in came into view — the two large double beds, the round table, the TV hanging from the painted concrete wall.

He dropped his bag onto the table; Willow followed him into the room and shut the door behind her. She pulled off her sunglasses and the cap, shaking her hair out and not looking at him. “I’m going to take a shower,” she announced.

Alex nodded. “Yeah, OK. I’ll take one after you.” He knew that he couldn’t blame Willow for hating him and that it was for the best if she did. So why did he suddenly wish that he could go back through time a couple of nights and take back what he’d said?

Willow rooted through her bag and took out a hairbrush. She headed into the bathroom, but was back out in seconds. “There’s no shampoo in there. Do you have some I could use, please?” Her face was pinched with irritation. Alex knew it was from having to ask him for a favor, rather than caring that much about the hotel’s lack of toiletries.

Opening his bag, he pulled out a tube of sports shampoo and handed it over.

“Thanks.” Willow disappeared into the bathroom again and shut the door. A moment later he heard the shower starting up, the water hammering against the tiles.

Alex blew out a breath, rubbing his hand across his face. As he picked up the remote control to turn on the TV, his gaze fell on Willow’s cloth bag, sagging open on the counter. He could see her wallet lying on top — it was purple, with a stitched flower on it. He glanced at the bathroom, hesitating. Feeling like a thief, he drew out the wallet; it smelled faintly of Willow’s perfume. When he opened it, he found a New York State driver’s license for Willow Fields, showing that she was sixteen. Nearly seventeen — her birthday was only a month away, on October 24. He looked at the date in surprise; it was the day after his own. He was exactly a year and a day older than she was. The coincidence was unsettling, stirring through him like the whisper of a butterfly’s wings. In the photo, Willow had her head cocked to one side, her mouth closed in a pursed smile. Her green eyes sparkled, even with the dull, unimaginative camera work of the New York Department of Motor Vehicles.