In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1 (4 page)

The barmaid is a middle-aged woman wearing heavy makeup, dressed in too-tight jeans and a too-tight shirt. She saunters over, eyeing Henri, her belly peeking out as she pushes her large breasts out.

“Whatcha havin’ handsome?“ She asks, her false eyelashes almost touching her penciled in brows.

We place our orders and within a few minutes she brings our drinks, placing mine heavily on the table. I pick up my glass, grateful for the distraction. Taking a long pull from the straw, I cough on the cheap, sweet flavor. Damn woman must have poured in the entire bottle of bottom-shelf.

I glance around at the other patrons. There is a surprising number of people considering it is barely clock out time. Norm is sitting in the back, his eyes darting around the room when I see him. I didn’t even know Norm came here. His presence is a bit unnerving. Like running into your boss outside of work. They simply don’t belong here, in life, where you live.

“You seem to like it here. It’s quiet.” Henri is the first to break the silence that has started to settle. He glances around the bar as if to emphasize his statement, a poor choice considering our location. Henri is stalling, no doubt trying to figure out how to broach the subject of my mother. He tears off small pieces of the cocktail napkin under his drink, rolling them into little balls and stacking them on the table. For some reason, I find this nervous movement fascinating. Probably because it was what he had done when we were younger, and my father took us to the BBQ restaurant in the small town near where we grew up.

“The beach is beautiful,” he says, clarifying he meant the actual town, not the dive bar where we sit. Henri’s unease flows off of him in torrents. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

After Henri had left, I had what Daddy called, a mini-mental meltdown. Food no longer was of any interest. I couldn’t sleep or concentrate. I lost weight rapidly until I looked almost anorexic. But the part that had everyone concerned, was I refused to speak. Especially not to Emily. It was as if their betrayal had burned my tongue and left me mute. I couldn’t put a voice to the depth of pain that they had inflicted so I chose not to talk at all.

This lasted for almost six months. Thankfully no one pushed me. Daddy sent me to see a few different psychiatrists. Dr. Gregory helped the most. We would sit in his office and he would tell me stories he read in magazines. Gossip column stuff, what movie star married what musician, and so on. I wonder if my father knows he was paying all that money for my weekly lessons in pop culture, 2001 edition.

What had ended up helping the most was the camera Daddy gave me. I could capture life around me and tell the stories that way. I spent most of my time in the old mill, where I had set up my darkroom. Daddy didn’t say a word when I came home with bright orange extension cords and ran them out to the mill, converting my childhood playhouse. Between the bad wiring and chemicals, it’s amazing the place didn’t go up in smoke.

I shake my head and return my thoughts to Henri. “What does Abigail want from me?”

“She wants to see you.” Henri is everything I knew he would be and he is inches away. So close I can touch his warm skin. I hope no one can hear the sound of my heart breaking, all over again. The glass cracks, shattering, as the pieces I had taped together fall.

“We have covered this. I don’t want to see her,” I say. My throat feels tight. The hurt is this living, breathing monster, sitting next to me, clawing at my chest.

“I know Char, but, well, there isn’t really much time.” I grip the bottom of my uniform to keep from reaching across table and slapping him. He doesn’t get to call me that, not ever. It is reserved solely for people who care for me. People who don’t leave.

Emily flashes in my mind.

It is his fault. It is my fault.

“Why didn’t she come here? Since she feels it’s necessary to see me after all these years.” My anger is breaking through. I want to cage it back up, not wanting to show how it still hurts, but it is growing.

“Abigail asked me to come here, to convince you to come for a visit. She can’t travel here; she’s too sick. She desperately wants to see you.”

“She sure didn’t think it was vital to visit me when I was in the hospital. So why now? Because she’s dying?”

“No Char, she wants to see you to explain. She...” He presses his fingers to his eyes. “I tried to visit you in the hospital. I attempted to call you. No one would let me talk you.”

The pain that rings in his voice is acute. He has suffered as much as I have. He wears it like a cloak and if anything, it makes everything so much worse. I don’t want him to hurt. Not really. I don’t want to witness it either. No matter how many times I have cursed his name.

“I tried calling you after I left, for months. Stephen would never let me talk to you. I begged Nanny. She wouldn’t cave.” Henri reaches his hand out to grab mine. I pull away, like the jerk I am. He sighs and puts his hands back in his lap. “Ashur found out and told me to never call again. Even Abigail wouldn’t allow me. It was like my life there never existed.”

This is the last thing I expected to hear. I imagined him stealing my mother and riding off into the sunset, living in a winery, getting the hugs that were meant for me.

“No one ever told me Henri.” I hate the pain in his voice. “I knew my mother called but no one said you did.”

“After Emily...”

“I don’t want to talk about, Emily,” I say, cutting him off.

He sighs loudly. “I'm sorry.” Henri grabs his drink, emptying it in one long pull. If it is anything like mine, this is probably a bad idea. His mouth turns down, showing a twinge of disgust. His eyes scan the room and land on the bartender. No doubt placing the blame on him.

“Your mother ... ” he begins again.

“I don't want to talk about her either, Henri.”

“Well, that’s why I'm here, Char. To talk about your mother.”

“So what does Abigail expect me to do? Go to France?” I look at him with my best ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ face. He chooses to ignore it.

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s not happening.” I stand to leave. Henri’s hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. Then I feel it. His pain. It grabs at me, thick and deep. Not only does he wear it, but it has absorbed into his skin, gotten under it, and welded to his bones. I sit back down and yank my wrist away.

“I’m sorry Henri. I can’t.” There is a small part of me that wants to help. Abigail has sent him to fetch me and I am not cooperating. There is still the younger version of me that wants my mother. But I can’t see her. Not now, not after all this time and all this hurt. Her time has passed.

“There are things that you don’t understand.” He is still watching me, his eyes focused. “Abigail has concerns. She wants to explain some things.”

“Some things?”

“There are circumstances around why she left. Why she had to leave. Why I had to leave.” He sits forward again and puts his arms on the Formica table.

“Why couldn’t she just tell me when she left, Henri?”

“It’s hard to explain, Charlotte. Then, when it was time to tell you, Emily...” He can’t say it. Her name hangs in the air, thick in the space between us.

My eyes focus back on my drink. The small square ice clinks in the glass as I stir the straw around. “Why don’t you just tell me, Henri? You seem to know already.”

“I can’t, Char. It’s not my place.”

What I really want to do is stand up and leave. Tell him to leave me alone and let it all go. But, me being who I am, know that I can’t. I have asked myself for almost half my life why she left us. I already figured Henri had been sent away because of our little romance. Even though I had chalked up my mother’s leaving to her being a terrible person, it always rang out false.

“How long does she have, Henri?”

“Three, maybe four months.” He refuses to meet my eyes. He always met my eyes.

I nod. None of what he’s saying feels real. My mother was a strong and healthy woman. It is other people who get sick. This happens to other families. We have already suffered enough.

“Will you see her, Charlotte?”

“Let me think about it,” is all I will give him. Part of me already knows I will go.

“OK,” he nods, “I’ll stay in town for a few days.”

There is nothing left to say. He has come and delivered his message as asked. I stand to leave, ready to be alone and process what he has said. Not that he has said anything new, only that if I want answers, I will have to go with him.

“Can I see you tomorrow? Dinner?” His request surprises me, though it shouldn’t have. We had a history, put aside our puppy love, we had been friends. Best friends sounds juvenile, like, as an adult, we would have a more grown up term for such a close relationship, but that is what we had been since the day he had stepped into my life.

“Sure, Henri.”

Chapter
Five

Janice looks like she’s going to throttle me the second I walk through the lobby doors. I didn’t call her last night like I should have. Instead, I went home and spent the night on my couch, eating take-out, and watching old reruns. I still can’t grasp everything Henri has told me. It is like I read it somewhere, and none of it is real.

“Girl, I was going to call you last night. You’re lucky I didn’t drive over there.” Her voice is deep, but she isn’t really mad. “Well, go on, who is that gorgeous hunk of man named Henri?” She says his name in an exaggerated tone and fake French accent.

Who is Henri? My childhood sweetheart, my family. “He is an old friend,” I say. Not an outright lie.

“There is no way a girl that looks like you was just friends with a man that looks like that,” she says, incredulously. “I can tell by the way he was looking at you, he was more than a friend.”

“OK, yeah, we had a thing, but it was twelve years ago.”

“I knew it. So why is he here? What bad news did he give you?” Jan asks. She is strumming her freshly painted nails on the counter. Pale peach, like her lip gloss. It is too early, and my head hurts, I cringe every time her nails hit the Formica.

“How do you know he had bad news?” I rub my face with my hands. How had I missed how easy Janice figured people out?

“Charlotte, you showed up here a mess five years ago, all secrets and no past. You were leaving something behind you didn’t want to mess with.” Janice is way more perceptive than I give her credit for. “Besides, men don’t show up after - what’d you say? twelve years? - just to say hello. Especially ones who you used to be in a relationship with. So taking all that into account, it’s obvious that you were close enough that he knew your family and that somethin’ is wrong.”

I am at a loss for words. She had me pegged from the beginning. After contemplating a few lies, I decide the truth was best. She will apparently see right through anything else. “My mother is sick. Cancer. She only has a few months left.”

“Oh my lord, you poor girl. I’m taking a guess you haven’t seen her in a long time, at least since you came here.”

“Longer.” I suddenly want to tell Janice everything. To unload the years of hurt, but instead, keep it simple. “I haven’t seen her in twelve years. She’s in France for treatment. She’s asking that I go there to see her.”

“And you’re not sure if you want to go,” Janice says. “I’m going to tell you from experience, if you don’t go see your momma, and she passes, you will spend the rest of your life regretting it. However bad she was, she’s still your momma.”

“I’m just scared.” My honesty shocks even me.

Janice is silent for a moment. “Life is scary and horribly tragic. Go to your momma, spend the time she has left with her. Whatever happened, it doesn’t matter anymore, sweetie.”

Janice stops her agitated strumming and walks around the counter. Her embrace is warm. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed it. I sink into her and press my eyes closed.

She is right of course. None of what happened all those years ago does matter. It is done. My mother is sick and dying and wants to make amends. Granted it is too many years late, but it is still being offered. I would be cruel and selfish to refuse her.

“Just remember to pack your razor, that man is gorgeous!”

------------

After I tell Sally I will be leaving for a few weeks, I head out to help Janice make beds and handout fresh towels to the tourists that stayed the night. Most are already packing things up and making their way to the beach. Bright sun hats, sarongs, and walkers; a strange combination. I stop to help a woman with her beach bag and guide her down the ramp behind the hotel. Poor thing is going to be finding sand in her walker for weeks.

It is already too hot, even though it’s not even ten in the morning. I walk back to the motel, wiping sweat from my forehead, and find Janice in conversation with Norm. He looks wild-eyed and frazzled even for him. He sees me walking towards them and starts my way.

“Charlotte, who was that man yesterday?” His tone is hard. I am surprised at how upset he seems. His hands rub together in front of him, like he’s trying to stay warm.

“He is an old friend,” I respond. “Are you all right Norm?”

“You need to keep away from him.”

The smell of booze hits my nose, and I step back. Norm has demons, even more so than others I’m sure. War will do that to a man. He has witnessed more evil than I could ever dream of.

“He has fire inside him Charlotte. I can see it burning.” Norm steps forward, too close, but I remain still. I have never seen him like this, I didn’t even think he drank.

“It’s all right, Norm.” I can’t think of what else to say. His pupils are dilated, and I wonder if he’s taking his medication.

“The devil is trying to get his claws in you.” His voice raises. “I had a dream about you last night.”

“Norm, honey, Charlotte is just fine,” Jan says.

I hold up my hand to stop her. “What was your dream?”

“The devil had you tied up in his entrails.” He mutters something under his breath. “He’s going to devour you.”

“It’s all right, Norm,” I say, again. I reach out to touch his arm, but he pushes me away, too hard, and I stumble.

“No, no, no.” He steps back and runs his finger in his hair. “I’ve seen men like his before. In my platoon. They cover up their evil with gentle words and a soft touch.”

“He is not like that,” I say to him. My stomach twists.

“Don’t go.” His breath is on my face. “That man is caustic, and he’ll leave you burned.”

I step away and glance to Janice. Her eyebrows are turned down, her eyes darting from me to Norm. He backs up and mutters something under his breath, then walks away. His door slams behind him when he enters his room.

“What the hell was that?” Janice asks. Her eyes are wide and just as shocked as I by his behavior. “How’d he know you were leaving?”

“You didn’t tell him?” I ask.

“No, he came runnin’ outta his room, all crazy talk, wanting to know where you were.”

I glance back to his door. The curtains in his room rustle. “He must have heard Henri and I talking yesterday,” I tell her. “He was at the bar.”

Janice makes a sour face. “I have never before seen that man drink. Somethings got him all twisted up inside.”

I have always been open minded. Hell, I can feel people’s emotions when I shake their hand. So if someone tells me they saw something in a dream, I don’t take it lightly. The one thing I am sure of, is Norm has never been so upset. I know nightmares. They stem from someplace dark, from shadows that are very real.

I walk away and try to leave our weird conversation in the parking lot. Janice and I continue to clean rooms and after we have finished, we hide in the last unoccupied room and eat snacks from the vending machine. We may, or may not, have watched a few movies this way over the last five years.

Three hours later, I am walking back to my house. Sally sent me home after I gave her a check for two month's rent and promised to keep in touch. Clouds are forming, giant thunderheads, and I wonder if today will be the day the heat finally breaks. The weathermen don’t say it, but it feels like we are headed into a severe drought. The last one we had in Florida, hundreds of acres of state parks burned. It was so bad, ash fell from the sky, carried hundreds of miles by the wind. Thick pieces stuck to cars and dry patches of lawns. It was an eerie sight, standing on the beach, the scent of burning wood, flakes, like snow, falling around your feet.

My mind goes back to Norm and his warnings. His words have left a sick knot in my stomach, and I can’t seem to shake it. Norm has always been a tad on the strange side, but quiet. Nothing like what I witnessed this morning.

My phone rings and I pull it from my purse. The number is blocked, but I know it is Henri. My stomach lurches into my throat, and I answer the call.

“Are we on for dinner this evening?” He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. Straight to the point.

“Yes,” I say.

“Good. I will be by at seven to pick you up.” He sounds different than he did yesterday. More... open. “Wear flip flops.”

He hangs up without another word, and I am left staring at my phone, not sure what he has planned.

---------

I stand in front of the mirror in my room and look down at my toes. The nails are now what the bottle of polish told me is Convertible Pink. It is a fitting name. The color reminds me of the Barbie dolls I played with as a child. They ran off with Ken, fleeing in a flimsy pink, plastic car. The pretty halter dress I wear is turquoise and matches my large chandelier earrings. My eyes go back to my feet and the brown slip-on sandals they are in. Not exactly flip flops, but close enough.

My hair is pulled back loose and braided to the side. It falls over my shoulder, the ends curling. My skin is darker with more freckles than I used to have. Usually, I wear no makeup, having been given the gift of flawless skin and long black lashes. But this dinner is special and I want to look nice. Like I haven’t spent the last five years wallowing in pity, working in a cheap motel, depriving myself of luxuries and people in self-loathing. I trace my eyes in a charcoal liner and add a hint of silvery blue shadow. It makes my eyes shine brighter, though, I’m not about to admit, it is for Henri’s benefit.

After a close inspection, I figure I’ll pass. The sedentary life of a hermit has added a few extra pounds, giving me curves that I have never had before. My nose is long, longer than I like, my cheeks high, my jaw strong but feminine. Emily said once we looked like Grace Kelly. Emily exaggerated all the time.

With a deep breath, I sit on the couch to wait. My insides are knotted, and the palms of my hands are sweating. I grab the hem of the dress and count backwards from twenty, trying to rid myself of the craving for a cigarette. A knock at the door almost sends me through the roof. I have to calm down.

Henri stands on my porch, smiling, when I open the door. He is dressed casually, in gray slacks and a white button up shirt. The sleeves are rolled up over his arms, the first few buttons are undone, revealing his smooth chest. I suck in a breath. Somehow in twenty-four hours, he has become even more beautiful. My chest tightens and the pain of seeing him is almost unbearable. The pulse in my neck feels thick, and my voice has disappeared.

“You look lovely, Char,” he says and looks down to my feet. My eyes follow his, and my toes wiggle. He grins, that same one, and takes my hand, leading me to the SUV.

-----------

The restaurant he has picked is small and sits further north towards the tourist trap. We are seated by a thin girl that looks barely old enough to be working. She is fumbling with the menus and dinnerware, all flustered by Henri.

Poor thing.
I smile knowingly at her. I’m pretty flustered myself. He has that effect on women. Maybe Norm was right, and he sold his soul to the devil for that smile and golden skin.

Soft music plays in the background and the candle on our table flickers between us. I keep my eyes on the flame, trying to distract myself. Too many thoughts and memories are flashing in my head. I can’t seem to get a hold of myself. We rode in silence to the restaurant, and it has followed us in from the car.

“So tell me Henri, what is it that you do for a living?” I ask, desperate for conversation.

“Genetic research.”

I choke on my water. He could have told me he was an astronaut, and I would have been less shocked. Over the years, though I’d never admit it because of how sad and desperate it is, I Googled him. I Facebook crept, and back when MySpace was the thing, I clicked through every Henri on the site. Nothing, it was as if he vanished.

“Don’t look so surprised. Stephen is the one who sparked my interest. When you and Emily weren’t tormenting me, Stephen would show me what he was working on,” Henri says laughing. It’s deep and throaty and I melt a little.

“We didn’t torment you,” I say. I can’t picture Henri, this version, or the skinnier, younger one, in a lab coat looking into a microscope. In reality, I shouldn’t be surprised.

Daddy works for the state university doing genetic research in the agricultural department. He heads a small research facility only an hour’s drive from the plantation. His work involves the genetic modification of plants and animals, creating new disease resistant versions. He had worked with his father in the same department up until my grandfather’s death a few years ago.

Emily and I had grown up knowing of his work, but never really talking about it. Even as we grew older and went off to school, our father didn’t bother to share his research, much less try to get us involved. This always hurt me. I loved to learn anything and everything. But then, I didn’t know he already recruited Henri to carry on his legacy. Henri admired, or more accurately, worshiped my father. Henri following Daddy in the science field shouldn’t be a surprise, yet it is.

“Yes, you did. You two were terrible.” He smiles at some private memory he holds. It is strange to think this man that sits across the table, has his own version of life, one that involves me.