Fallen Angel (7 page)

She started walking back down the beach as he said, "Sarah, I know everything."

She whirled around toward him, as angry as she could ever remember being. She felt like the top of her head was going to explode.

"Oh, really?" she said. "Just what
everything
do you think you know?" She was very close to tears.

He put his hands lightly on her shoulders. "I know about Gaby and James. I know it all."

She shrugged off his hands. "Yeah, well, I imagine that's pretty common knowledge in quite a few places. It wouldn't be that hard to find out. That doesn't make you an angel."

"What about the feathers?"

That stopped her. She hadn't told
anyone
about that. It was her own personal mythology, her own way of convincing herself that there was something running the world, something larger than herself. She never
really
believed it, she sort of knew she was fooling herself, but as long as no one else knew, where was the harm?

Her eyes narrowed. "What
about
the feathers?" she asked.

"Why don't you tell me," he said. "What do you remember?"

"I remember . . ." She took a deep breath. "I remember walking down the street and a feather fell down through the air and I held out my hand and caught it."

"Yes."

"What do you mean, 'yes'? You mean that was you?"

"Yes."

"And you followed me here, from Chicago?"

"I don't have to follow you, precisely. I just think about you, and poof."

"
Poof
?" She was beginning to smile again.

"Poof. So what happened then?" They started to walk together, down the beach, side by side.

"About the feather, you mean?"

"Yes."

She thought for a moment. "I started seeing them everywhere. Every time I was worried or upset."

"And how did it make you feel?" he asked.

"Well, it made me feel like everything was going to be all right, that no matter what happened, everything was going to be okay."

"Good. That was my intention." He smiled at her.

She stopped, stunned. "My God. You
are
an angel!" She started to smile at him, then she thought of another question. "So if there
are
guardian angels, where was
James'
guardian angel? Where was Gaby's!?" Her voice was rising to a shout again. "Weren't
they
worthy of guardian angels? Who was taking care of
them
? Where were
their
guardian angels? Tell me that!"

He looked at her sadly. "I don't know. I don't know everything. I only know about you."

10.

She sank down on the sand and stared out at the ocean. Zach squatted beside her. "Sarah, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I only wanted to help."

"So far you haven't been very helpful," she said, not looking at him.

"I know. I'm sorry. What can I do now to make it better?"

She still didn't look in his direction. "Just leave me alone, okay? Just go away and leave me alone. I don't need a guardian angel, I don't want one, I don't need you, I don't need anything. Please, just go away."

She sat there on the sand for a long time, and when she finally turned around, he was gone.

* * *

It was late by the time she got to the store, but no one seemed to have noticed that the store didn't get opened at its usual time. Except Sophie--she met Sarah at the door with a disgruntled look and an accusatory meow that said, "See? I was right! Even when you remember to buy cat food, you never feed me on time!" She wound around Sarah's ankles as the walked to the office, nearly tripping Sarah in the doorway in her rush to get to the food bowl. She stood there, tail waving, while Sarah dropped her bag and found the cat food, then immediately attacked the bowl once it was filled.

Sarah sat and watched Sophie eat. She didn't want to think about anything, especially not Zach. An angel. Who was he fooling? Not her. As much as she would like to believe that there was someone watching out for her, as much as she maybe
did
believe that, she didn't believe that that someone was going to show up in person, or camp out on her doorstep. That was just
too
freaky. Crazy. And that's what he must be--crazy.

She had two or three customers buying newspapers and browsing, but no huge influx of business. She spent the time between customers sitting at the counter doodling on a pad--random spirals, something that looked like strings of pearls, and the occasional angel wing.

Jason came in at noon in a flurry of good cheer, bearing a sack of submarine sandwiches he'd picked up on the way. Sophie jumped up on the counter to get her share of his sandwich, and Sarah retreated to the office, where she turned on the computer and pulled up the Dead Letter Office website, where she'd been visiting more and more often lately. She followed her usual procedure of opening up the letter page, but as she sat, fingers poised over the keys, she suddenly thought,
What if he knows about this?
and she shut the page without typing anything.

* * *

"Jason?" she asked.

"Hm?" He was sprawled in one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner reading a textbook and making an occasional note on a pad he was holding underneath his chin.

"What would you think if someone said they were an angel?"

"Like what kind of a someone?" He sat up, and the pad dropped to the floor, along with the pen he'd been balancing on top of it.

"I don't know. Just, you know . . . someone."

"Someone just walks up to you and says, 'Hey, I'm an angel'? I'd say they're probably crazy at worst and delusional at best." He leaned over and picked up the pad and pen, and sat them on top of his book on the floor. "What's going on, Sarah?"

"Oh, nothing. It's no big deal. Forget about it. Listen--why don't you go on and get out of here. There's nothing happening here tonight, you might as well take advantage of it."

"You sure?" He was already picking up his things and moving toward the back of the counter where he'd stowed his backpack. "You sure you're okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine. I'll close up. You're opening tomorrow, right?"

"Yup. Okay, if you really don't mind, I'm outta here."

She smiled at him. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

She took the long way home that night, walking along the beach with her sandals stowed in her tote bag. There was just a sliver of moon, not enough to really see where she was going, so she walked slowly, being careful where she stepped. The shorebirds were still active, running ahead of the tide on their sticklike legs, then running back when the water receded, picking up the tiny shellfish left behind in the sand.

She hardly noticed where she was going, and she walked farther than she intended--far beyond where she would normally turn off to go home. Behind her was a big high-rise hotel: she'd ended up on somebody's private beach. She dropped her bag on the sand and sack onto an empty cabana lounge chair. The hotel had taken in the cushions and left the wooden chairs in tidy rows along the waterfront. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but she didn't notice. She just sat there and looked out into the black night over the ocean.

Was it possible that he really
was
an angel, or was it more likely he was just crazy? Or worse--was he bothering her for some other reason? She couldn't imagine what it would be, but imagining any number of scenarios was easier than believing in angels that came to earth and walked around and talked . . .

She hadn't brought a sweater with her, and it was getting cold, so she eventually roused herself and headed for home. She'd think about it tomorrow. Or tonight, probably, if it ended up being one of those nights when she couldn't sleep.

It was, of course. She tried and tried to sleep, counting sheep, taking deep breaths, trying first one position and then another, to the everlasting annoyance of Dinah, who eventually retreated to a chair in the corner of the bedroom to avoid the thrashing limbs.
Poor Dinah
, Sarah thought.
She has to put up with me every night.

* * *

The next day dawned hot and bright, and she must have slept at least a
few
hours, because she didn't feel bad at all despite the restless night. The next few days were busy in the store, and she almost forgot about Zach. She hadn't seen him since that day on the beach, and she convinced herself that when she had refused to believe him, he'd simply gone away to bother someone else.

"Good riddance," she thought, and put him out of her mind. She didn't think about how it was she could do that--put him out of her mind--when she couldn't put James and Gaby out of her mind. Well, certainly they were
much
more important in her life than he--the "angel"--was, but still, she never wondered at how easy it was to forget such a unique thing happening in her life.

Still, forget him she did, and things got back to normal, or as normal as things ever were in her life now. She worked, then she went home, ate dinner, and didn't sleep. She spent long hours in the middle of the night, talking to James and Gabrielle on the computer, sending her letters out into the void to be broken up into so many fragments of neutrons. Protons? Something like that anyway--they were scattered to the wind and the elements in some manner, she had no doubt. And maybe they reached their destinations. Maybe they didn't. It didn't matter much, writing them was the important part.

11.

Then one evening Jason insisted that she go home early, saying that he would close up. He thought she needed to take some time off; she’d been working every day for weeks without a day to herself. She kind of liked it that way. It helped keep the bad memories at bay, and if she was tired, she could count on getting at least a
little
sleep.

“
Jason, it’s okay,” she said. “I can close up. I’m in no hurry to get home.”

“
Then why don’t you go get something to eat or something? You don’t have to go home, just get out of here for a few hours. I’ll feed Sophie before I take off, I’ll lock the money in the safe, and I’ll lock the doors—you know I’ve done it before.”

“
I know . . .” She looked around at the store. It almost seemed like she’d been living there rather than at home. She seldom came in early—Jason opened up most days—but she nearly always closed. She slipped out for a few minutes to grab something quick to eat, then ate at her desk, doing paperwork or reading. She had no social life whatsoever—not that she wanted one—she spent her days and evenings either working or going to or returning
from
work. Somehow, having a meal out
did
sound appealing.

“
Well . . . okay.” She gathered up her sweater and purse. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked Jason one more time.

“
Absolutely! Have a nice dinner, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Feeling like a kid let out of school early, she smiled at him and walked out the door, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. Where to go? Something nicer than fast food or the deli, but she wasn’t really up for a “real” sit-down dinner someplace with tablecloths and candles . . .

There was a little restaurant in the next block where she’d eaten a few times. More of a bar, really—dark, with dark wooden tables and wooden floors. There
were
candles on the tables, she remembered, but definitely no tablecloths. She could eat alone there without feeling self-conscious, and it
would
be nice to sit down somewhere and let someone else wait on her for a change.

The restaurant was crowded, and there weren’t any tables immediately available. The hostess offered a seat at the bar, but she’d never felt comfortable sitting at a bar, particularly alone, so she said she didn’t mind waiting. She did, really; she
hated
waiting, but she’d stay awhile and see if something opened up. If not, she’d just go home and heat up a can of soup like she did every other night.

As she stood in the foyer, trying to look both alert and uninterested in anything going on around her, her eyes gradually became accustomed to the darkened room and she saw someone familiar in a booth in the back. It looked like Zach, the “angel,” and as she recognized him, he raised a hand to beckon her over. Her first thought was dismay. She’d been at least somewhat happy to take the evening off and have a quiet dinner alone, but having to make small talk with a casual acquaintance, and someone that she suspected was at least slightly insane at that, wasn’t the least bit appealing.