Angel Wings (7 page)

Jessibelle loved the dress. She turned to look for Gabe to see what he thought of it. And realized he wasn’t there anymore.

The unexpected disappointment stung. Her purse sat on the blue velour chair where she’d put it when she’d first entered the dressing room. But Gabe was gone, like he’d never been there.

The saleslady wrapped the dress in tissue and placed it in a large box. Jessibelle paid for it, amazed by how little it cost. She thanked the saleslady who beamed and thanked her back. “I hope you have a wonderful time at the wedding, dear. You look beautiful.”

Five minutes later, Jessibelle sat on the bus with her package in her arms thinking about Gabe, and trying not to. She made a mental list of things she had to do tonight. Wednesday night, already. The week was slipping away and she hadn’t even opened her Spanish workbook.

Plus she had laundry to do. And she had to think of something to make for supper. And maybe she should phone Hanna, to tell her she’d found a dress.

Good idea. And—now that she had her dress—she didn’t need Gabe anymore. Except . . . what had he said?
We have three things to do to get ready for the wedding
.

Joy filled her and the possibilities of spring surrounded her. They had two more things to do.

On second thought, she chided herself, who cared if they had two more things to do? She was happy. Right now. She didn’t need anyone to make her happy—she was happy. Period. She felt like putting on her dress and twirling.

But first, she had to get off this bus and get home.

About fifteen minutes later, she reached her apartment building. Fumbling in her purse, she tried to find her keys and not drop her package.

“Oh, hello, dear,” Mrs. Hartfield said. She wore her pale blue raincoat and carried her huge red purse. “Shopping? Here, let me.” Mrs. Hartfield unlocked the building door and they rode up the elevator together. Mrs. Hartfield told Jessibelle how her grandson could hold his head up now and blow smile bubbles. She was still talking about the baby when they reached the end of their hall.

“Let me open the door for you.” Mrs. Hartfield took Jessibelle’s keys. “What did you buy?”

“A dress to go to a wedding.”

“A wedding! How exciting! You must show me!”

Late afternoon sunshine filled the living room as Jessibelle opened the box and held up her dress.

“Oh!” Mrs. Hartfield clasped her hands over her heart.

Feeling happy and pretty and—she would have said in love except she wasn’t in love, not anymore—Jessibelle held the dress up in front of herself and spun in a circle.

“Oooo,” Mrs. Hartfield said, looking in the box and lifting a piece of tissue paper. “These look precious!”

Jessibelle set her dress on the couch and looked in the box—at the lacy froth of red panties. A shade of red that perfectly matched her dress. How had he—?

“Oh my,” Mrs. Hartfield exclaimed again. She held up a red sandal by its strap. “Simply lovely, dear. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

· · · · ·

When Mrs. Hartfield left, Jessibelle hung the dress in her closet, put the panties in her drawer and tried on the sandals.

They fit perfectly. Of course, they would. Since an angel had picked them out for her.

She took a few steps, testing them, and discovered that she felt surprisingly stable in the high heels. Then, she smelled food.

The rich aroma of spaghetti sauce if she was not mistaken. She left her bedroom and headed down the hall, pausing as she entered the living room. From here, she could see her grandmother’s table. It had been bare when she’d come into the apartment. Now it was set with her Serendipity china, yellow candles and white roses.

Gabe walked out of the galley kitchen and stood next to the table. He still wore the black dress shirt and the black dress pants he’d worn at the
Jolie Femme
. His gaze swept over her.

“Like the shoes?”

“Yes,” she answered, remembering she was still wearing them. They felt feather light on her feet.

“Do you like spaghetti?”

She inhaled the tempting smells, realizing she was hungry. “Yes.”

“And a Merlot to go with it?”

More wine? After last night? She checked herself, and realized that no traces of wine damage remained.

Yes,” she said for the third time.

He held out a chair for her and helped her to sit. Afternoon light gave way to the beginning shades of sunset as the colors bathed the room in warmth and magic.

Gabe poured the wine. “To a successful shopping trip,” he said, holding up his glass in a toast to her.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Very successful.” She clinked his glass and felt the wonderment of her situation.

“Did you like the panties?”

A dizzy bashfulness caressed her skin. Not real embarrassment, something else. Something personal, almost intimate. “I—ah . . .”

“Not sure?” Playfulness etched his face. “You can model them for me, if you’d like.”

She felt her face flush. “You’re very helpful.”

“I aim to please.”

They ate their pasta and drank their wine and bantered about the orange haired saleslady. And soon, their meal was finished.

A sense of peace wrapped around her as the evening moved inexorably forward. She twirled the remnants of her wine in the glass, watching the light play over the liquid. “What’s next?” she asked him.

“Next?”

“In the list of three things we have to do for the wedding?”

“You’re getting right into this, aren’t you?”

“Why not? I’ve come this far.”

“Yes, you have,” he said, watching her, with a pleased expression on his face. Music started to play on her sound system. A CD she didn’t know she owned.

“You don’t own it,” he said. “It’s mine.”

It was a ballad, with the beat of a waltz. Something magical and mysterious. And yet, it was familiar, and welcoming.

“Next,” he said, “I teach you to dance.”

Dance? Unease swept through her. “Me? I can’t dance.”

Gabe drained his wine glass then got up from his chair. “And so—the lesson.” He moved to stand next to her.

A touch of panic spoiled her mood. “You mean, to dance at the wedding? I don’t want to.” And then, feeling the inevitability of it, she said, “Do I have to?”

He held out his hand. She waited a beat and then put hers inside his palm, feeling a connection between them. A flow of energy that tugged and pulled like a magnet.

“You’ll be elegant and beautiful and everyone will want to dance with you,” he said. “Including Rodney.”

“I don’t want to dance with Rodney,” she told him, feeling the strangeness of Rodney’s name as she said it.

He led her into the living room. “You have to.”

“Why?”

“To get him completely out of your system.”

Soft light from the candles on the dining room table provided the only light. Beyond the glass of the big living room window, night had come.

All thoughts of Rodney faded as Gabe touched her waist in the traditional waltz position. He held her at arm’s length as they moved together to the sound of the music. The melody wove around them, light and full of promise, creating a magic that swirled through her head and tingled her skin as she effortlessly followed Gabe’s lead.

When the song finished, he released her, letting his hands fall to his sides. Jessibelle immediately felt the loss of his touch. At the same time, she understood how much of the dance was him—his movements, his lead. “You did most of that,” she told him.

“I am an excellent partner,” he said. “But no matter who you partner with, you will dance like that. And now, once more.”

He held out his hand again, and she put her hand in his again, and the melody changed.

“You can also dance like this.” He snugged her close to his chest, fitting her against him, until they were like one person moving to the rhythm of the music.

“This is still a waltz?”

“Yes, Jessi, it is, but with a difference.”

A difference? What did he mean, a difference? Did he mean the heat? The closeness? The wanting to wrap herself around him and always have him there?

He leaned down, his cheek pressing her cheek as he held her captive in his embrace. Captive, and yet, it felt like being home.

“I love the smell of your perfume.”

Light flooded her senses. His words made her feel special and beautiful, and his closeness made her feel overpowered. “I’m not wearing perfume,” she said.

“Then I love the smell of you.”

Suddenly the apartment buzzer sounded and they broke apart. Jessibelle felt like she was falling through the air and crashing to the ground.

“Didn’t see that coming,” Gabe said, as he moved toward the window.

The buzzer sounded again, more insistent this time.

“Better answer it,” he told her.

Jessibelle crossed over to the door to answer the buzzer, feeling slightly unsteady in her new shoes.

“Jessibelle?” Hanna’s voice came over the intercom. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

· · · · ·

With a sense of resignation, Jessibelle touched the button to let her used-to-be Best Friend enter the building.

Something about touching that button invoked a memory. She had let Hanna in this way, many times, before Hanna had met Rodney. And now something had changed.

Somehow in the last three days, Hanna had regained her position of Best Friend, like the Rodney incident had never happened.

Did Gabe have something to do with that?

She turned to look at him, and couldn’t see him. He wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen or near the dining room table. Probably he’d disappeared again—but she knew he’d be back.

Waiting by the door, Jessibelle shifted in her sandals, practicing moving in them, liking the feel of them. She twirled in a circle, like she had in the dance. And, finally, she could understand the attraction of dancing.

But would dancing with someone else be like dancing with Gabe? Even if she could dance as well as she had tonight?

A quick rap sounded on the door and Jessibelle stopped twirling. She opened the door for Hanna—who charged into the apartment.

“I’m so glad you’re home. I was afraid you’d be at your Spanish class.”

“That’s on Mondays.”

“Mondays, right. And today is Wednesday.” Hanna marched into the living room. “But I never know what you’re doing. Not anymore. Have you noticed that?”

“Noticed what?” Jessibelle asked as she followed her friend.

Hanna stopped in the middle of the room and spun around. “That we don’t do nearly as many things together anymore?”

“Well, yes,” Jessibelle stumbled on the words. “But—”

“But—?”

“You have Rodney.”

“I know!” Hanna spoke loudly, like she’d just figured that out. “Yesterday? When we were shopping for your dress?” She paced over to the dark living room window. “I had so much fun I forgot all about him.”

Beyond the window, across the bay, the lighthouse flashed its familiar beacon over the water. “That’s all right,” Jessibelle told her friend, wanting to reassure her. “I mean—”

“But when I got home—” Hanna threw up her arms in a gesture of futility.

“Yes?”

“He was upset!” She stomped her foot and stormed back across the room. “Because I was doing something without him! Can you believe that?” She turned and stood with her hands on her hips. “He was acting all hurt that I hadn’t watched television with him—that stupid car racing his cousin does. And when I told him I’d been shopping with you, he said I should not be spending time with you.”

“He did?” Rodney was more stupid than Jessibelle remembered.

“You know how I said I was only having my sisters in the wedding party?” Hanna was pacing again.

Now what? Jessibelle tried to keep up with Hanna. “Yes. You told me you wanted—”

Hanna stopped mid stride, whirled around and pointed at Jessibelle. “I wanted
you
in the wedding party. But Rodney said you would feel uncomfortable being my Maid of Honor.” Hanna paused, catching her breath. And then, “Were you?”

“Pardon?”

“Were you, I mean, would you have been uncomfortable? Being my Maid of Honor?”

“Well . . .”

“Tell me.” Hanna folded her arms.

“Sort of,” Jessibelle answered. “I guess.” Her confession floundered, and then took strength. “Yes,” she said, finally owning it. “At first. But . . .” The idea sunk in, at last. “But not anymore.”

Hanna blinked and her arms fell to her sides. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Absolutely, completely, utterly.

“That’s what I thought,” Hanna said, and she flopped down on the couch. “But Rodney keeps telling me you’re not over him.”

She had not been over him. Not until today.