Read Dream Angel : Heaven Waits Online
Authors: Patricia Garber
Dream Angel : Heaven Waits
Copyright © 2011 by Patricia Garber
E-Book Published by Jungle Room Press
Print Edition also available
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011922070
ISBN-13: 978-0615446516 (Jungle Room Press)
ISBN-10: 0615446515
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. The characters are all either fictious or used in a fictious manner. Names, incidents and places are combined with the author’s imagination for entertainment only.
This book is not authorized or endorsed by the Estate of Elvis Presley or by the estate of any other person.
This book was printed in the United States of America.
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To all who love unconditionally.
Dear reader.
Thank you for taking this journey with me. I realize it may not be the same spiritual awakening for you as it has been for me, but I hope that God reaches out to you while you read, uplifting you in a way that is meant especially for you.
When I started Eternal Flame, back in 2007, I was unaware that my story would take me down a road that would require I come face to face with a few demons of my own. I won’t bore you with the details, but if one lives long enough events can happen that allow “hate” to fester. Therefore, I was completely caught off guard when Eternal Flame ended up being about “Forgiveness”. Coincidence? I doubt it.
And like Eternal Flame, I began to write Dream Angel with no idea where I was going. When I got to the end, it became very clear that God had once again snuck in a surprise. Dream Angel is about obedience, of which I lack. It’s about patience, of which I have very little. And to my surprise I even managed to skim over the always taunting sin of “Idol” worship. Even as I write this, I’m shaking my head, and disbelieving that I suffer from such a thing. I know who God is. I know who Elvis Presley is. Even Elvis knew who he was.
“Elvis you’re the King!” One fan might say.
“No, honey, Jesus Christ is King.” He always replied.
Simple, I say. Well maybe, and maybe not. I admit in writing these books I have put my work first. My attendance went down at church, and devotional time was few and far between. Though I may have been absent in mind, God was never far from my heart. He’s a constant for me. I’ve felt him close by. Often, he’s just over my shoulder. Some days he’s cheering while others I imagine he can only shake his head. I’m not perfect. And, it wasn’t until the end of Dream Angel that I even realized my purpose in writing this book.
What was God’s point, you might ask. Mostly, that I needed to get out of my own way, and stop tripping over all of those self-placed obstacles. The truth behind this realization felt as if God had thumped me on the side of my head, a wake-up-tap so to speak. The Almighty had done it again. Again, I’d written about all those humanistic short comings that also applied to me! Again, “I” was learning lessons.
In telling you this, I can also honestly tell you I truly do love Elvis Presley, the man. No, I didn’t know him. He didn’t know me, at least not in this life. But I’ve spent thirty six years of my life adoring him. He was like a father figure to me when I was eight, and had none. He was my first crush at thirteen when I felt I was too tom-boyish to even qualify as cute. He was my first love, though I didn’t know what love was. And now, he’s my buddy and my friend. (All non fans may now roll their eyes. It’s Ok. You have my permission.) Elvis might even be clapping in heaven right now — or possibly laughing — as I admit in public that I may have a “wee” bit of a problem. (I’m still shaking my head). But there are worse things I could be than an Elvis addict who probably won’t benefit from a twelve step program. And even with all my quirks, God loves me, and that makes me smile.
I want to thank all my friends, home and abroad, that have supported me since Eternal Flame. I also want to thank my family — especially my mother and sister — for encouraging me when I wanted to throw in the towel and loving me no matter what. You are all such a blessing in my life. Many thanks to the three editors who helped me at some point during this project; I hope your glimpse into the Elvis-world didn’t have you running for the hills. We are a crazy bunch but you could never meet a nicer, gentler, group of people.
To my very patient husband, Marc, who knows I love him with all my heart (Yes, he’s read the book and yes, we’re still married). You’re always there by my side, and I’m always thankful. And to my God, who’s been so patient with this crazy child stumbling around in the dark. I love you most.
Finally, and most sincerely, I want to thank Elvis fans around the world. When you’re sure you’re a little “different” from everyone else, it helps to look around in the asylum and see a friendly face. Thank you for being my friend. We are many and we are proud!
“Let’s pretend he just didn’t go,” together.
God Bless.
Someone once said, “If you truly love someone, you should be willing to set him free.” As far back as I can remember, I have never been good at letting go. No matter the object of my affection, if I loved it, it should be mine forever.
I can recall being six years old and tearfully refusing to climb into bed one cold, fall night. My night-time bear and protector from the prowling monsters that lived in my closet, Mr. Jigs, had gone missing. I cried for more than a month.
My parents searched for another button-nosed friend that would soothe me, but no substitute offered comfort. How could just any stuffed animal, plushy soft and fully intact possibly be seasoned enough to ward off whatever lurked in my room after the lights went out?
At the time, the loss to me felt as big a burden on my young soul as I could ever withstand. Of course, my age blissfully sheltered me from even suspecting that a much greater loss was on the horizon that would rock the very foundation on which I was raised.
One would think that after nearly thirty years of Godly upbringing, the daughter of a Baptist minister would have been prepared for the unavoidable moment when a loved one passes on. However, my faith was tested and, sadly, failed when my mother succumbed to a merciless cancer.
My strong will quickly turned to a wilted spirit, and an anger ignited in me so intensely that my soul was gradually engulfed with rising flames of bitterness. A wall of darkness surrounded me. I became an exaggerated version of that scared little girl. No childhood bear was strong enough to fight off the adult-sized demons that threatened me.
Over time, I crafted a wall around my heart. Each brick was strategically placed. The barrier had a purpose. Like an imaginary friend, it gave me comfort, and I grew accustomed to its lingering presence. I needed it. At least that was what I believed before God sent me a blue-eyed handsome angel who had a tender way with women.
Like an earthquake, this angel shook the stone walls around my heart. He reminded me that our ability to love someone else more than we love ourselves is what makes us unique in this sometimes disheartening world.
I was happy for the first time in two years. Like a flower enjoying the first warm rays of sun after long spring rains, I had opened up. To love so freely was pure bliss, and I thought that surely this love would never leave. After all it was not a love of the earthly kind, but of a heavenly nature. God would allow me this love that he himself gave. And I held tight to my dream with clinched hands, refusing to consider that one day, just like my mother, my angel of love would have to leave.
Did not a poet say that love, once departed, may return? And, if he did, could he then be mine forever? I had to find out.
Even through the fog of deep sleep, I sensed his presence in my room.
He’s here
. The thought did as much to warm me as did the comforter that covered me. Outside, a bitter midnight chill spread unmercifully across the South. Memphis was gripped by a prevailing winter storm. I imagined sparkling diamonds made of frost blanketing the landscape like a magnificent piece of art.
Though Memphis was far from my Atlanta home, I was nowhere near homesick. Even here in this strange hotel room, I lay as cozy as a baby, my heart fluttering with anticipation, and a smile across my face. “Good things come to patient little girls,” an angel had once told me. Since then I had become good at counterfeit patience, hoping to score points for the effort alone.
Maybe tonight was my lucky night?
As an aged wall heater hummed just below the window, the soft and temperate air ruffled around me. Strands of chestnut hair stirred gently over my face as a warm waft passed over me, teasingly carrying his sweet bouquet. Restlessness plagued my body. My mind drifted on a cloud of euphoria, interrupted only when a chair gently creaked.
Soft footsteps approached over the worn carpet, igniting a shiver down my spine. I marveled how a man of his essence could have nearly imperceptible footsteps.
He reached my bedside in three short strides.
I held my breath while butterflies lifted into wild flight patterns inside my stomach, and my heartbeat pulsed inside my ears. My thoughts were scattered, and the minutes passed in torturous anticipation before the bed stirred as he sat down. Ignoring my sham of slumber, he moved closer, and familiar hands shifted under the covers to touch me. His warm silky fingers, caressing me from behind, triggered a firestorm across my skin. My breathing quickly became erratic, and I was shuddering while also melting against his sturdy frame. The warmth from his body was infinitely better than any crackling fire on a bitter winter’s day.
“Faker.” His soft Mississippi drawl tickled my ear as he nuzzled the nape of my neck. He paused to evaluate my reaction, and then placed a kiss as light as a feather across my bare shoulder.
“You playin’ shy now, honey?” He spoke in that butter-melts-in-your-mouth way that always escalated my desire.
Unable to withstand the teasing any longer, I rolled over into his waiting arms. The dark of night failed to hide his iconic features. His high cheek bones, flared nose, and square jaw were visual perfections, but of all his qualities it was his eyes that hypnotized me. Like deep mystic blue pools, they were set ablaze with a rousing fervor I had seen before. I never tired of getting lost in them.
I gathered myself closer and lay my head to his chest with a satisfied moan that mixed with his own exhalation, “I’ve missed you.” I sighed, inhaling his masculine scent deeper into my lungs.
His spicy aroma tantalized my senses. He was as soothing to my spirit as a hot bubble bath, and I never felt happier than when lying in his arms, passing the time in slow, blissful moments of serenity. Too soon, he tenderly pushed me away and looked down into my eyes. I smiled in that bashful way that he enjoyed, and I was rewarded with that famous lopsided grin.
“There’s my baby girl.”
“Hi.” I replied softly.
“Hi, yourself,” he chuckled.
“How did you get in here?” I teased.
“I’m an angel, remember?” He grinned and laid his palm against my flushed cheek, skimming his thumb over my mouth.
My lips trembled as he watched me closely, and I knew by his smirk that he was enjoying the eagerness in my eyes. Subconsciously, I wet my lips, and when I thought I could not wait one moment more, his lips were finally on mine.
Instantaneously, I was lost to lips as soft as silk and a kiss as sweet as the richest cream. His mouth was measured and purposeful. He held me where he wanted, and his lips played about mine, a taste here, and a soft touch there. He stirred me slowly, so gently. His every move was calculated perfection, and I melted further into his arms. When he knew our moment was at hand, he shifted his mouth over mine, sinking deeper and enriching our kiss. I opened to him fully, and the salty-sweet taste of him fell to my tongue evoking my moans of pleasure.
A wave of ecstasy swelled. The white-capped waters teeter at the top and promising satisfaction. As my whole body tensed, expecting a flood of delight, his lips suddenly stilled. He pulled back ever so slightly, and the urge to pull him back raged, but I held firm. Through hooded eyes, his gaze smoldered. And, while I licked at his flavor left behind on my lips, his mouth curled in that heart-melting way as he gave me a slow, sly look.
In a single motion, he rolled us as one until I was on my back, and letting out a shriek that was quickly silenced by his mouth crushing down to my own. Where he once was patient he was now demanding. He tugged at me, his kiss varying from fervent to tender and then back again until I was like butter under him. The more I gave, the more he wanted. And, when his practiced hands moved smoothly down my torso to flirt with the soft skin of my inner thigh, I was already whimpering his name into the night.
Mystified, he pulled his lips away.
“Say it again,” he whispered a kiss away.
I blinked up in to his smoldering eyes, and even in the dim light I could see him smirking.
“Say it… just once.” He raised one dark eyebrow.
I was still breathing heavily, and he kept his pillow-soft lips tantalizingly just above mine. The taste of him lingered on my tongue like a savored treat. My mouth parted for that first syllable of his delicious name, but the second syllable never followed. Without warning, the unwelcoming alarm I had set on my cell phone shrieked from across the room.
Over me, my lover’s eyes widened, and, like shattered glass, his perfect features broke in to tiny particles.
I sat straight up in bed so fast that a muscle in my neck cramped with displeasure. I flung my arms outward in a desperate attempt to keep him from leaving, while shielding my eyes as a painfully intense light hit them. I turned to my left and then to my right before plopping backward into the bed with a heavy sigh. Like a ghost in the night, he was gone. The dreams were happening more frequently now, but that didn’t mean waking from them was getting any easier.
When the phone shifted from alarm to an actual ring, I leaned across the damp sheets to the bedside table.
“Hello!” I exclaimed breathlessly.
“Samantha?”
“Heather.” I inhaled a slow soothing breath.
“Did I interrupt something? You sound breathless.”
“No, no I was only… sleeping.”
“It sounds as if I caught you doing something far more exciting than sleeping.” She chuckled.
“You startled me from a dream, that’s all.” I yawned.
“Ah, one of
those
dreams.” Heather giggled that all-knowing laugh that made me blush, especially when she was right.
“Was there a point to this call?”
“There was, but I’ve plum forgotten about it now. So, who was he?”
In a flash, I could see Elvis’ face smirking over me.
“Nobody.”
“Uh-huh. Would that nobody happen to be that famous angel of yours?”
I was silent.
“Sam, he isn’t coming back.” Heather’s voice softened.
My thoughts drifted gently to that unforgettable last evening when my angel revealed that he was a man after all, weak in the flesh, tempted and wanting.
“Samantha Lynn Bennett, are you listening to me?”
I snapped back to attention.
“I know what I should be doing, but yet here I am.”
“Exactly. Why are you in Memphis?”
“It’s his birthday.” I was beginning to regret having shared my destination on her voice mail before I left Atlanta yesterday morning.
“He doesn’t celebrate birthdays anymore, Samantha. He’s dead.”
The shock value of “dead” slowly sunk in.
“I needed to be near him. Look… I have to go. I’m late to meet Steve.” I hung up on her abruptly and wished I hadn’t.
Heather knew nothing about Steve. In fact, I knew very little about him myself. The way we met was unexpected and could have been a scene straight out of a Nora Ephron movie. But, I was no Meg Ryan, and I wasn’t looking for the likes of Tom Hanks. I wanted my angel, and I knew where to find him.
My first stop when I arrived in Memphis was Graceland, to pay my respects. After all, the date was January 8, where else would I be? It was nighttime and unbelievably cold, too cold to be outside, but there we were the last two die-hard fans of the day to leave the estate. Even though we only spoke briefly through chattering teeth, something about him intrigued me. We shared a warming cup of coco that night, and without hesitation, I accepted his invitation to meet for morning coffee.
On one hand, I looked forward to a friendly face, someone who understood my love for a man I had never met. Or so Steve assumed. Another part of me, my much less confident side, hoped a certain angel would be watching.
How does one attract an angel’s attention? Since his departure from my life, this question had been haunting every hour of my day. I could find no definitive answer. There were no written instructions for me to follow, and the Bible spoke sparingly of such things. I found myself relying on my own humanistic ideas which, of course, meant my plan was flawed from the start.
***
With only thirty minutes before I was to meet Steve at the café across from Graceland, I jumped into the shower and raced to get ready. The legacy of my childhood upbringing to literally and unfailingly be at church on time was that as an adult, I could not tolerate lateness. As I rushed about the room like a madwoman, trying not to be haphazard and waste the little time I had, my cell phone insistently rang with the sound of “Treat Me Nice.”
Heather was persistent, I’d give her that. I would have explained my plans to her, but she would only worry. I let the first, second and third calls all go to voice mail.
Racing the clock, I made a mental note to change my ring tone to something more reflective of my current mood. I considered “Hurt,” and then just as quickly tossed that idea aside. “The Sound of Your Cry” popped in to my mind. Better? No, the song I had was upbeat, and I could use all the help I could get.
I loved my angel. Was that not an acceptable excuse for chasing after him? After all, it was he who so abruptly left me, confused and literally alone in a bed smelling of his savory cologne. And, I wasn’t the type of woman who took men to her bed, even if they were Elvis Presley. I prided myself in being a good girl. Now, who was I? If God would only tell me how this was all supposed to work, this loving of angels, my life would be much easier. But so far, God wasn’t speaking. Or maybe it was I that was not listening? Nothing was clear.
What if God was silent for a reason?
My mind spun around that question like a caged hamster on its wheel. Did he expect me to let Elvis go after all we’ve been through? Even the words “letting go” felt as thick on my tongue as a mouthful of cotton.
No
, I defiantly shook my head at nobody in particular. It wasn’t time to let go. Not yet.
In two fluid and familiar movements, I unpinned my long chestnut hair and quickly tied it back into the default time-saver: a ponytail. I paused to look at my reflection in the mirror. My oval features and defined cheek bones were hauntingly familiar, a walking reflection of my mother. And upon looking closer, my blue eyes sparkled with a new look, one of death-defying determination. This woman before me, throwing caution to the wind, was such a stranger to me the mere sight of her stopped me in my own tracks.
I reached for my purse, wondering if it was a sin to want what God himself had given me. While nibbling nervously on my bottom lip, I suddenly smiled. No, I won’t think of it today. Happily, I decided to side with Scarlett O’Hara.
