Summer Of My Secret Angel (39 page)

His breathing stopped, his body tensed.
Almost as if he expected something important to happen.

“What?” I demanded.

He relaxed—on the surface. But his hollow
eyes and his tight grip on my hand told me he struggled to hide
deep disappointment. He buried his face in my hair. “Nothing, love.
It’s nothing.”

With my cheek nestled against his chest,
minutes ticked by like seconds. The rhythmical skimming of his
fingers on my neck lulled me to a state of half sleep. The warm
scent of wild wind was all I noticed as his chest rose and fell
steadily. I would have fallen asleep if my mother hadn’t woken with
a gurgling cough.

Before I knew what had happened, I sprang to
her side and grabbed her hand. “Mom, I’m here.” Unfortunately, the
worry I tried to hide from her echoed clearly in my voice.

The strong squeeze of her hand gave me some
confidence. “I need a sip of water. Can you get me a fresh
glass?”

Her lips were dry like sandpaper, and it
didn’t help that she licked them with a tongue just as parched. I
made it to the kitchen and back in less than ten seconds, although
I left a trail of water after me. My hand placed behind my mother’s
head, I helped her drink in slow sips.

When she’d had enough, she opened her arms
for me. Happily, I dived into her embrace.

“Thank you so much, baby.”

Fear gripped me as I realized she wasn’t
speaking about me getting her a drink. My head on her shoulder, she
asked me to summon my aunt.

Fear changed to panic. I shot up. “Why? Are
you feeling worse?”

“No, dear.” She gave me a strong and
confident smile. “I forgot to tell her where my life insurance is,
and now would be a good moment to talk to her. I’m feeling just
fine.”

Did she really, or was this Julian’s angel
powers giving her strength? Her hand on my cheek felt warmer than
before. But with the color returning to her cheeks, she looked a
whole lot better.

“I would send Julian,” she said, “but I’m
afraid I need his help in here. So could you get Marie for me?”

To my questioning glance, Julian replied
with a nod and walked toward me. I stood, uncertain if I really
should leave my mother.

Strands of my hair ran through his fingers.
He pulled my head against his chest and planted a gentle kiss on my
brow. “It’s okay,” he promised.

So I slipped into my boots and hurried
toward the vineyard. A few hundred feet ahead, I spotted Marie and
Albert, both bent over the small sprinkler that stuck out from the
ground. They were too far to shout, so I scurried on, my thoughts
lingering in my mother’s room.

What were she and Julian talking about now
that I was outside? Mom didn’t seem scared at all today, although
we both felt it was going to be over soon. Maybe she was asking
Julian about life on the other side. Getting prepared.

I stopped dead, and with my feet, my heart
stopped, too. The world spun around me in an endless carousel.
Eerie underwater noises bubbled in my ears.

How could I have been so stupid? My mom
wanted me out of the room so I wouldn’t have to see what was going
to happen. She could have sent Julian, but she needed him with her.
To escort her to the other side.

God, no
!

“Jona?” Marie blurted. “Is your mother
feeling worse?”

But I had no time to reply. I whirled
around, needing to get back inside as quickly as possible. But
invisible cords slowed my movements. The first few steps seemed to
take an eternity while my breaths erupted in painful spasms.

“Julian, don’t!” I croaked, although I
wasn’t sure if I even said it out loud. In my mind I yelled his
name over and over. He had to hear me!
Please.
God couldn’t
take my mother today. Not now, when I wasn’t with her. When I
hadn’t said goodbye.

“Jona! What is it?” The shouts from behind
me couldn’t make me wait.

The house suddenly appeared as if it was a
mile away. It would take me hours to get there at this rate.

And then I broke into a run. My loose boots
pounded on the path, kicking pebbles to all sides. Marie’s cry grew
fainter.

My heart pounded a frantic beat in my ears
when I finally reached the house. It was a long way through the
hallway to my mother’s room. The door stood ajar, and I slammed
against it.

“Don’t! Please, don’t!” I choked. My mind
swarmed with panic. I gasped for air, stumbling farther into the
room.

Caught by strong hands, I glanced up at
Julian. I sucked in a breath at the sight of him. His eyes were the
only thing I recognized about him. His casual clothes gone, he was
dressed in white light, a long cloak swaying around his legs. The
pair of wings sprouting from his shoulder blades hovered two feet
above the ground, spreading so wide they almost brushed opposite
walls.

The angel took me into his arms and leaned
his forehead against mine. His wings enclosed our embrace into a
ball of white light.

My nose dripped. The first rush of tears
burned like hellfire. Salty streams ran over my lips. “Please
wait!” My voice hoarse and shaky, I clutched the front of his cloak
as I begged. Stopping him from taking my mother was all I could
think of. “Let her stay with me. Let her live. I don’t want to lose
both of you. Give me a few more hours. A few more days. Don’t leave
me, Julian!”

A trail of vapor traced the movement of his
hands as he reached up to brush back my hair. “It’s impossible.”
His tone was soft, yet it left no room for negotiations. “Look at
her. She’s ready. It’s time.”

His wings lowered to grant me a glance at my
mother, her eyes wide and happy. She gazed in our direction, but
she only focused on Julian. The angel in white light.

A part of my heart splintered and remained
with him as I broke free from his hold and inched toward my
mother.

I was right beside her as she finally tilted
her head toward me and smiled. “Jona, you came back?” She sounded
far away and surprised.

“Yes, Mom. I came to stop you.”

The warmth of her hand seeped into my palm.
“To stop me? From what?”

“From leaving,” I sobbed, wiping my nose
with the back of my free hand.

“Why would you do that?” Her innocent,
confused gaze matched her childlike tone.

“Can’t you see the beautiful place over
there?” she crooned. “They are calling me. It’s an invitation. I
would be a fool not to go.”

“She’s already glimpsing Heaven.” A shiver
skittered along my arms at Julian’s announcement behind me. “It’s
time to let go.”

But I wasn’t ready. Unable to make myself
speak, I cradled my mother’s defenseless body against my chest.
Lungs tight, I shook with fear.

Her gaze cleared, warmed even. “Let me go,
dear child.”

“No. No! Never!” Over the crook of my arm
wrapped around my mother’s shoulders, I glowered at Julian who was
coming closer. “You won’t take her anywhere!”

One silver tear glistened in his eye,
shining with the light of a star. He blinked, and it was gone. “I
wish I didn’t have to, but it’s not up to me.”

Half of the room glowed with his presence as
he sank to my side. He pressed his palm to my brow. His touch
dragged a storm of memories out of my mind. Each of them flashed
before me then vaporized into a void.

I fought against the pull, jerked my head
from side to side. I screamed at him. “Please, Julian! Don’t do
this. Leave me this one precious thing!”

But just like my heart, my mind was left
empty. And in the next instant, the spell was over. I slouched
alone in the room, holding my dead mother.

1. DELUSIONS
   

THE BIRDS CHIRPED an unearthly happy song in
the crown of the maple tree next to the patio. Between the new
green leaves, the sun struggled to shine through. It played a
befuddling game of light and shadow on my closed eyes. A fresh
peachy smell emanated from the cushion of the deck chair. The fact
that the patio furniture was out of winter storage and Marie had
laundered the cushions gave further proof that spring was winning
over the cold winter months.

With the skirt of the dress tugged over my
bent legs, I hugged my knees, pressing my cheek on them.
Yellow
. Marie had smiled and said the color would be good
for my depression when she had seen me coming downstairs that
Sunday morning.

But I didn’t see how it changed anything. I
might as well have worn my usual black cloths that went so well
with my mental state.

After my mother’s death, the world had not
been the same vivid place for me. Like a vortex, sadness had drawn
me under with no intention of setting me free. Her funeral seemed
to have closed a chapter in my life. A very painful one, with many
twists and an unexpected turn at the end. But I couldn’t find the
will and strength to start a new one.

Quinn had come to attend the sad ceremony.
He’d just finished reading a passage from the bible for me when I
had finally choked into sobs in the church.

After a long conversation with Aunt Marie
and Uncle Albert, Quinn had offered to take me back to England with
him when all the formalities of the death were settled. Albert even
promised that he and Marie would pay the rent of a flat and the
tuition should I choose to study at the University of London.

But I’d declined their generous offer.

Under tears, I’d begged them to let me stay
in their house instead. How else would I be able to bring fresh
lilies and roses to my mother at her grave every few days?

There was no discussion necessary, no
further pleading. Marie had folded me into her loving arms and
welcomed me as the member of their family that I had been in their
hearts from the very day of my arrival.

So I stayed.

From the window in my room, I’d watched the
summer give way to a colorful fall and snow cover the vineyards
with a thick white blanket. Permanently red from crying too much,
my nose burned at the slightest touch. And when my eyes finally
dried and not a single tear would come anymore, my mind seemed to
shut down, too.

Once, Marie had tried to talk me into seeing
a psychotherapist.
You are walking around the house like a
zombie.
But I wouldn’t go see the shrink. Not for the grief
inside me. Nor for the delusions when those set in.

It had started with dreams. Dreams of a face
I couldn’t get a clear view of. Night after night, I saw the same
shining blue eyes, and each morning when I woke, I yearned to find
them, searching the crowded market like a lost child each time we
went to town.

Over the weeks, the fine features of a
boyish face formed around the eyes and became clearer. But I
couldn’t recall the face from my memories. So why would I keep
dreaming of a man I didn’t know?

Unfortunately, my artistic skills were
nonexistent, or else I would have captured the face in a drawing.
In fact, I had tried, but what came out was more like a cartoon
Garfield than the fine lines of a gorgeous man. Not someone Marie
or Albert could help me identify when I showed them the messy
sketch.

Thinking of their perplexed gazes as they
doubtlessly questioned my sanity, I winced and shifted in the deck
chair. Marie came over with a glass of lemonade and placed the
drink on the table.

“Here,
chérie
,” she said to me in
French. “If you don’t want to eat breakfast again, then you should
at least drink some juice.”

During the last half year I’d made good
progress in learning the language. And how could I not, when my
aunt and uncle refused to talk to me in English? They’d decided the
best way for me to learn was to hear French frequently, more often
than just once a week in the course they had signed me up for.

“
Merci
,”
I replied, accepting
the drink.

She sat down on my lounge chair in front of
my legs and touched the seam of the three layers of my skirt. “That
dress suits you so well. You should wear it more often.”

“I don’t feel good in it,” I said. The dress
placed on a hanger outside my wardrobe had really startled me this
morning. Especially since Marie never walked into my room
uninvited. A habit of both my aunt and uncle that I appreciated.
“You shouldn’t have picked it out for me today,” I added.

A confused smile tugged on her lips, and she
glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “What are you talking
about? I never pick outfits for you to wear, you know that.”

“But you placed the hanger on my wardrobe
door,” I replied, suddenly not so sure. “How else could it have
gotten there?”

How indeed
?

“Maybe you put it there before you went to
bed last night?”

“When have I ever chosen to wear a color
like this?” I arched a brow and lifted the top layer of the skirt
demonstratively. “I don’t even know why this is still in my
wardrobe. I thought I’d given all the fancy clothes back to you
ages ago.”

Marie cupped my chin, searching my face with
compassionate eyes. For the flash of a second her mind was
transparent. I dreaded her next words.

“Is this like the piano playing in the
middle of the night?”

Hell yeah, it was. And just because none of
them had heard the music at night, it didn’t mean that no one had
played the damn piano. My song. “Hallelujah
.
” The melody
that had been stuck in my head since I was a child.

After I found the parlor empty that first
night and screamed my head off, Marie had made me a cup of warm
milk with honey and tucked me back into bed. “So soon after your
mother’s death, it’s only natural that your mind plays tricks on
you sometimes. Everything will get better in time,” she’d assured
me.

If only.

The music kept playing in my mind. And I
knew it could only be
there
—in my mind—because I started to
lock the lid over the piano keys in the evening and took the small
brass key up to my room. The metal felt hot in my palm when I lay
in bed, tense and anxious that something was seriously wrong with
my brain, while the softest melody played downstairs.