When Angels Cry

  Earlier, when he’d been cooking, he’d spotted a tube of Super Glue in one of her junk drawers. He moved to that drawer now, pulled it open, and found the tube. Carrying the glue and the bag back to the table, he sat and carefully emptied the bag, spreading out the pieces out, arranging them by size and shape. After he had sorted them, he scrutinized the different patterns, trying to find broken edges that fit together. Luckily, there were lots of large pieces and just a few tiny ones. Still, he would be at this for a while.

  Down the hall, he heard the grandfather clock chime three. Bastian reached for one of the larger pieces, and his fingers fumbled one of the others, slicing into his ring finger.

  “Damn.” A bubble of blood appeared at the tip. Then it swelled and ran toward his palm. He thrust his finger into his mouth, waiting. Once the bleeding had stopped, he turned his attention again to the vase. Before he’d finished, he’d heard the clock chime six times.

  After he returned the glue to the drawer, he picked up the vase and carried it upstairs to a deserted bedroom down the hall from Kaylee’s. As he set it in the dresser, he stared one last time at the beautiful artwork he’d managed to piece together, so seamlessly even he could not tell it had ever been broken. He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. He was halfway back to Kaylee’s bedroom, however, when a thought occurred to him and he retraced his steps. Better, he thought, to leave the door open as she had left it. Satisfied, he turned down the hall.

  Dawn ebbed through the weave of the curtains as Bastian stood in the doorway and watched Kaylee sleep. Her chest rose and fell evenly with each breath, hinting that she still slept peacefully.

  Of all the things he’d expected to happen in his life, he certainly hadn’t counted on Kaylee. How could he have known she would change him so completely?

  Kaylee shivered and moaned in her sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open and she squinted at him. “Bastian?”

  “I’m here. Go back to sleep.” He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He slipped his legs beneath the comforter and lay next to her, drawing the blankets over them both as he molded his body to hers. A moment later, Bastian himself drifted into a peaceful slumber.

  Chapter Nine

  It took two days for the snow to melt, and Kaylee didn’t wonder why, considering the drifts. During those days, Bastian didn’t ask about the future, and Kaylee didn’t mention it, either. They dwelt in the present, in the moments in which they reveled in each other’s bodies and the taste of sweat on skin that seemed not to separate them but instead merge them.

  Four days after Bastian had arrived, Kaylee stole from the bed and peered outside, checking for new snow that would compromise safety. Instead of snow, the unexpected shift in temperatures had left yellowed lawns and wet asphalt. She wrapped her arms around her mid-section, trying to stop trembling, but did not return to her warm bed. Kaylee turned and watched Bastian as he slept. A few strands of his dark hair stood on end, and fresh stubble roughened his cheeks. Even now, she knew he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. She’d known that the day he’d first walked into the soup kitchen. He’d held out his hands for a hot meal, but his eyes—his eyes had refused to ask for anything. They wouldn’t even meet hers. She’d thought it had been about her. Now she knew better.

  Kaylee pulled a pair of jeans and a sweater from the closet and headed toward the bathroom. After showering, she looked in the mirror, trying to get a glimpse of her reflection but found she had to wipe the fog from the glass first. She looked gaunt. Dark circles underscored her eyes. With a touch of foundation, she tried to hide the flaws time and illness had written into her skin. Once she’d finished, she swept her hair into a pony, carefully teasing her bangs over the bandage on her forehead.

  Satisfied, she dressed quickly and jotted a short note to Bastian, telling him she would return soon. Kaylee propped the note by the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, grabbed a jacket, and headed to the soup kitchen.

  Inside the red Mercedes, Kaylee ignored the cold, improvised a little humming tune, and tapped her fingertips in time with the melody on the steering wheel. She glanced at the clock: 10:30. Damn--she was already fifteen minutes late. Kaylee parked next to Rosie’s Jeep and hurried. The other girls had already started on the stew and cornbread. The scent of cinnamon filled her, and she realized they must have put cinnamon rolls in to bake for dessert.

  A tall blonde turned toward her. Ignoring the weighted stare, Kaylee pulled out an apron. Her fingers fumbled, but she somehow managed to tie the strings. Snatching up a handful of carrots from the counter, she began slicing.

  “So, there you are. We were wondering if you were sick. It’s not like you to be late, and you didn’t show up last week at all.” The blonde had her hands on her hips, a familiar stance. There was a running joke among the girls that she wouldn’t know what else to do if she couldn’t put her hands there. “Probably use them on someone,” one of them had suggested among hoots of laughter.

  “Sorry about that, Jenny.” Kaylee took a deep breath, offering no explanation.

  “What happened?” Jenny stepped closer and peered at the bandage on her forehead. Her eyes narrowed and the frown slackened a little.

  “I had a run in with my dresser. It won.” Kaylee stopped slicing and absently touched the bandage, wondering if she would have to wear it much longer.

  Jenny did not comment but instead resumed cutting vegetables. Rosie, a squat, older, African-American woman leaned over the counter and scanned the crowd that had begun to gather. Although it was at least an hour before the meal would be ready, most of them just came inside early to get warm. She shook her head.

  “Prince Charming wasn’t here last week, and it doesn’t look like he’s come today, either. Tsk-tsk…our poor Kaylee ain’t gonna know what to do without him, are you, girl?” She stepped to the refrigerator for some celery and returned to the counter.

  “I’m sure he has a name,” Kaylee snapped, chopping faster.

  “Sure he does, but since you won’t ask for it, we’ll just have to keep calling him Prince Charming. Maybe he had a run-in with his dresser, too—or maybe Kaylee kidnapped him.” Rosie hefted out the stew pot and lifted it to the stove. Laughter erupted from all the girls.

  Inhaling sharply, Kaylee burst into a coughing fit that almost doubled her over. The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced with looks of concern.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t breathe and swallow at the same time? Are you all right?” Jenny set her knife on the counter and thumped Kaylee on the back. The coughing subsided.

  “Fine,” she croaked. Tears pricked Kaylee’s eyes and she blinked, trying to clear them.

  “Yeah,” Rosie quipped, “you’s just choked up about not seeing your man, that’s all.” She dumped the chopped meat in the pot.

  “He wasn’t ‘my man’ in the first place.” Kaylee returned to the carrots and began slicing savagely.

  “Might have been if you’d given him a smile or two, like I told you.” Rosie walked toward her and grabbed a handful of the carrots.

  “Did you ever notice he didn’t seem to fit in ‘round here? There was something different about that one.” Becky, another of her friends, dumped a bowl of sliced celery into the pot.

  Rosie chuckled. “Yeah--he was gorgeous. I’d say that’s different all right.” All the women burst into laughter, and Kaylee flushed.

  Becky smacked her gun and smoothed a crease in her apron. “No, it didn’t have nothing to do with his looks. He didn’t seem to see anybody, not really. He could look right through you. And when he left, he had this way of saying goodbye with his body, tilting his head to the floor, like his spirit already left and his body was simply following. Sure made me wonder what was going on in that head of his and why he seemed so damned sad.”

  Kaylee shrugged. “Beats me, and since he’s not hanging around here anymore, we can’t rightly ask him, can we? Maybe he figured out a way to get back on his feet, and that’
s why he’s not here.” Kaylee shrugged. She dumped the rest of the carrots into the stew and hastily chopped more. Damn, but they were nosy.

  “Girl, you ain’t foolin’ nobody. We all know you’re gonna miss him.” Rosie folded her arms across her chest and laughed.

  Kaylee felt a flush heating her cheeks. “Really? Maybe you guys know more about this than I do. I don’t recall saying much about him.”

  “You didn’t have to. Your eyes said it.” Becky poured the celery into the pot. Jenny watched the two of them, her head moving back and forth as each of them spoke.

  “There’s nothing wrong with watching out for someone else’s well being.” Kaylee gritted her teeth. This was getting old, and she was getting tired.

  “Oh, is that what you been watching? I thought it was his ass and the way it spread out them tight Wranglers.” Rosie grabbed two yellow onions from the refrigerator and waved one toward Kaylee. More laughter. Howls.

  Kaylee ignored them and kept chopping, feeling so damned transparent.

  * * *

  As the clock chimed once, Bastian forced his eyes open. He rubbed his face, blinking to clear the haze of sleep and peering at the clock on the nightstand. He couldn’t believe he’d actually slept until one, but the clock didn’t lie.

  “Kaylee?” Sunlight poured through the window, spilling over Kaylee’s empty side of the bed. Bastian touched her pillow, wondering where she’d gone. Blinking, Bastian sat up, half-expecting Kaylee to step from the closet or the bathroom. No Kaylee. Bastian threw back the covers, listening, and at last climbed out of bed. Cold air prickled his skin. Shivering, he grabbed his boxers and with a deft tug jerked them to his waist.

  Bastian stepped to the window, enjoying the feel of the carpet between his toes. He peered outside to find the snow had melted, leaving dry asphalt. His breath barely fogged the glass.

  Where was she?

  Bastian touched his hair and found it standing upright. He tried to pat it into place, but it refused. Brushing his fingers across his cheek reminded him how badly he needed a shave. He was tempted to walk out of the bedroom in just his boxers but stopped as he remembered Kaylee’s mother’s voice on the answering machine. All he needed was to find her here. That woman would take one look at him--and the proverbial shit would hit the fan.

  He plucked his jeans from the floor and tugged them on. Barefoot, Bastian crept out into the hall to the landing and started down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

  “Kaylee?”

  Silence.

  “Kaylee?” he called again, louder. “Where are you?”

  More silence. Bastian frowned as he reached the bottom of the stairs where the carpet abruptly ended in tile. The weather had warmed, but the tile still numbed his feet.

  “Kaylee--where the hell are you?” Bastian tried to keep his tone even, but worry had crept in. He strode through the living room, wondering why, if she had gone somewhere, she hadn’t woken him. Was she hurt? His heart sped up and his strides lengthened toward the kitchen. Upon entering, he spotted a folded note propped next to the fruit bowl on the table.

  Bastian sat and unfolded Kaylee’s note, still dwelling on her absence. Had he never pulled Kaylee from the water, he would’ve simply gone to the soup kitchen and never noticed her absence. He’d never have known what it was like to love her, or even love at all. His life would have gone on--or would it? Maybe he would have pulled the trigger after all.

  Bastian clenched his jaw. At one time, he’d thought he could kill himself, but now—now he didn’t have a clue. He tried to remember Kaylee’s voice when she’d told him. “I have cancer, Bastian.” Her mouth formed a straight line, so indifferent and cold. Perhaps he’d pulled her from the icy water and warmed her body but at that moment, had been unable to warm her spirit.

  The words didn’t sound right, not with her voice. Nothing about death sounded right, not when it came to Kaylee. She shouldn’t be dying.

  “God,” he whispered. “Why give her cancer and sentence me to a long life? You never asked either of us about who wanted what.” Bastian cradled his head in his hands as he leaned on the cold table, wondering about the latest cosmic screw-up as he threaded his fingers through his hair. The room echoed slightly at the husked rush of his voice. He laughed hollowly—a much louder sound, raucous and bitter.

  Angry.

  Bastian closed his eyes and thought about how much the gun had weighed in his palm. A pound? two? The metal had felt so damned unforgiving. But there was the weightlessness of Kaylee’s hand in his, her skin soft and cool. He thought of the gentle squeeze of her fingers and how it felt to squeeze them back. That was when he’d known God had answered him. Kaylee was his answer. The question didn’t matter.

  Bastian still sat at the table when he heard the front door open.

  “Kaylee?” A woman called.

  Her mother.

  “Oh, shit.” Bastian jumped out of the chair and darted down the hallway. Hurrying toward the stairs, he wondered whether he could make it before the woman found him.

  “Kaylee, how many times have I told you not to leave this door unlocked?” The voice called.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  “Stop where you are. I have a Taser. What are you doing in my daughter’s house?” she growled. “Turn around so I can see you.”

  “I was waiting for Kaylee to get back from the soup kitchen.” Bastian turned slowly and came face-to-face with a short, red-headed woman dressed in a black Versace suit. True to her word, she held a Taser trained on him. Bastian lifted his hands in a posture of surrender.

  “I don’t believe that. Kaylee would never let someone of your…breeding… in this house. Besides, she doesn’t go to a soup kitchen.” Her finger perched nervously on Taser’s power button.

  “There’s a note….” Bastian headed toward the kitchen.

  His right side exploded in searing pain as he doubled over, collapsing. Every muscle throbbed in constricted agony. He could hear himself groaning as he curled into a fetal position. As he lay there, he was vaguely aware of Kaylee’s mother pulling out her cell phone and calling the police.

  “Yes, my name is Denna Renard. I am at my daughter’s house at 20035 Renquest Lane, and a man has broken into her home.” She paused. “No, I’m fine,” she said. “He’s not going anywhere.” Another pause. “Thank you.” She ended the call and put the phone in her purse, the gloss of her pale pink nail polish shining on long, manicured nails, highlighting the movement of her fingers.

  “I told you not to move,” she snapped.

  “I didn’t break in,” he managed in a raspy voice. “I was trying to go to the kitchen to show you the note Kaylee left for me.” Bastian took a deep breath, wishing to hell his muscles would stop contracting. It hurt even to breathe.

  Denna shook her head. “As if I’d believe a stupid note. Do I look that ignorant?”

  Bastian wanted to answer that question, but what he wanted to say would only make her madder, if that were possible. She strode to him, reached down, and pulled out the Taser tips which made Bastian groan in agony. In the distance, sirens screeched toward them. He’d never seen the inside of a jail cell, but he had no doubt this woman would give him the opportunity.

  A moment later, the front door opened. Bastian groaned, half-expecting to find the police bending over him with handcuffs. Instead, he saw Kaylee dart to him.

  “Mother, what in the hell have you done this time?” she yelled. “Why is he on the ground?”

  “Actually, I think a better question is who he is. What is he doing here? He looks like the sort who would take everything you have, and we can’t allow that.” She pulled a compact out of her purse and applied fresh powder to her cheeks.

  Kaylee touched Bastian’s face. “I’m so sorry about this. Are you all right?”

  “Peachy,” Bastian managed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down the sides of his face. “I didn’t have time to offend your mother before she zapped me and called
the police. She’s convicted me of breaking and entering.”

  “Did you have to use the Taser on him? What did he do? Look at you the wrong way? I invited him to stay. You have no right to treat him like this. Did you even ask why he was here?” Kaylee glared at her mother. Angry tears flooded her eyes.

  Two cops appeared in the doorway. “Is that the intruder?” The taller man pointed at Bastian and pulled the handcuffs from his belt.

  “Yes, that’s him,” Denna replied, setting her purse on the floor.

  “You won’t need those,” Kaylee said, pointing to the handcuffs. She stood between Bastian and the police. “There’s been a mistake. I’m Kaylee Renard, and I live here. My mother came by to check on the house, but she didn’t know I had a friend staying with me. He didn't break in. I gave him my permission to be here. I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.” She pointed at Bastian. As she looked at his pale face, she winced.

  “You sure about that, miss?” the other cop asked, bracing his hands on his hips, close to the cuffs as though he actually expected Bastian to suddenly do something that required their use.

  “Quite,” Kaylee nodded.

  The two officers looked at one another before leaving. After they had gone, Denna folded her arms across her chest.

  “I demand to know what is going on.”

  Kaylee leaned over Bastian. “Can you stand?”

  “We’ll find out. Nothing like having the shit shocked out of you.” He sat up. Kaylee held his arm, steadying him.

  “Did you hear me?” Denna snapped. “I don’t like being ignored.”

  “You ready to try standing?” Kaylee asked, placing his arm around her neck and preparing to support him.

  “Yeah,” he said. Together, they managed to get Bastian upright, but he had to lean heavily on Kaylee.

  “Answer me, Kaylee.”

  “You don’t like being ignored? Well, I don’t like you coming into this house and acting like it’s okay to treat a guest like a common thief.” Kaylee glowered at her mother. She and Bastian slowly made their way across the room.