Chapter Three #2
Surreptitiously, he glanced at his wrist again. Now it was at +2 percent. Huh. With a frown, he lifted his gaze back to her. “Every case is different,” he told her. “But this never happens unless it’s close.”
“It…meaning death?”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze, but he nodded.
“Are you keeping the truth from me because you don’t like me?”
“My feelin’s have naught to do with anythin’. I’ve been assigned to ye. T’ help ye muddle through this part. And so ye know, ’twas not my decision. Though even guardians generally get a choice in the matter.”
Her expression flattened. “Your choice would not have been me, is that what you’re saying?”
He looked back at Winston, who was still eating kibble off the floor. “T’ be honest, no.”
Color rose to her pale cheeks. “Dare I ask why not?”
“’Tis no matter to ye now.”
“I beg to differ. I think I have a right to know why you hate me.”
“I dinna hate ye.” Exactly.
“Have I already done something to offend you? Is it my missing shoe? Shoeless women offend you? Or maybe it was my driving skills. Or lack thereof. By the way, I wasn’t drinking.
I was perfectly sober. I remember that much.
I would never… But we’ve hardly known each other a hot minute.
I can’t think what I could have done to—”
“ You did nothing.”
“Then why—?” He was clearly frustrating her. “Are you just generally ill-tempered? Because that seems antithetical to everything angels are supposed to be about.”
This woman. She did amuse him against his will. He contained his smile, though. No point rubbing salt in the wound. “I suppose I am.”
“But there’s more. Isn’t there?”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of kibble crunching and Winston’s soft growls as he ate. “We…might’ve known one another once.”
Taken aback, she said, “Known each other? I don’t recall, and I think I would remember you. In fact, there’s no doubt in my mind. Was it before you became…this?” She gestured at his angel form with her finger.
“’Twas a long time ago,” he admitted, but even that went way outside his sharing boundaries.
“How long ago?”
“We should go if it’s the accident scene you’re wantin’ to see.”
“No, no,” she said. “You started this. Now you have to tell me.”
“I don’t actually. And I’d rather not get into it.”
She blinked at him, her mind still apparently scanning her hard drive to remember him.
There was a flicker of something, he thought, but it was unlikely she’d have a passing glance at such a memory, even in her state of being.
He had no desire to dredge up old wounds with her.
It would only cause both of them pain. And that wasn’t his job.
No matter what, it wasn’t what he’d been sent to do.
He started for the door, but she wasn’t about to go so easily.
“Do you know why I’m so good at my job?” she asked him, still standing in the middle of the room when he looked back.
Her chin was stubbornly up. The look in her eye was more pity than anger.
“I sell things. Real estate. Homes. Lifestyles. I find a property to pair up with the person who belongs with it. Almost anyone can do a halfway decent job at selling real estate. But to excel, to build a company that people put their trust into, one must be able to read people, to get underneath their skin, see past the thing they say they want. To discover the thing they actually need. Understand what they’re not telling me. ”
He didn’t like where this was going.
“I can separate myself from my feelings about a person, whether I like them or not, because that’s my job. You? You’re not the type to suffer fools or hide your feelings or even, maybe, let go of a grudge.”
Connor just stared at her, giving nothing away.
“But I,” she continued, “have nothing to do with that old grudge, whatever it is. I’ll remind you that I am the one out swimming in the deep water here. And that you’re the only thing I have to hang on to. So, I’m asking you to put aside whatever that is and help me. Can you do that?”
“Aye. I said I would. Let’s get on wi’ it.” As long as it would help her move on.
“FYI. I’m appealing the decision.” She pointed upward. “I just want to be clear.”
“Whatever.” She could talk a big game, but in the end, it wouldn’t be her decision.
And for the record, he didn’t appreciate noticing the way the light settled across the soft curve of her cheek and glimmered in her eyes.
He especially resented the way his body reacted to the sight—in direct opposition to the very thing he needed most: to be rid of her.
But sensations were brewing inside him out of nowhere, distracting him from his bitterness. He frowned. His business .
“Fine,” she practically chirped.
“Fine,” he replied. He opened the door with a look back at the cat, who had slunk into the living room behind them. “Sit,” he told him. “Stay.”
Winston found that ray of sunshine to stretch out in, licking his dinner from his lips.
“See you later, Winston.” Emma walked over and held out her hand to Connor. Reluctantly, he slipped his fingers between hers, threading their hands together.
He sucked in a breath at the touch, the feel of her hand in his.
He felt the shock of it again all the way through him, like a bolt of energy.
Connection energy. Energy as familiar to him as the sound of his name coming from her lips.
Pulling away, taking control with his hand on her arm seemed prudent, but he didn’t.
He simply allowed her hand to stay in his, and he took her where she’d said she wanted to go.
*
During the daytime, the road looked nothing like the it did at night.
There was nothing sinister about it aside from the tire tracks that disappeared over the edge just past a curve in the road.
There were no cars going past here now. Only a few cows grazing in a nearby pasture, staring across the road, chewing their cud.
Emma wondered if they’d witnessed what had happened last night.
If they’d heard the sound. Could they see her now? Could they see Connor?
She didn’t know why it mattered, but it seemed if someone, anyone could see her, she was still in the game. She still existed.
Beyond that hill on the other side of the road lay the town of Schooner’s Bay and the Pacific Ocean, with its steep cliffs and rock formations stretching out from the shoreline.
She’d loved that beach growing up—the sounds, the smells of it.
She’d spent many afternoons with her friends, prowling its sandy stretches or hiking atop the high cliffs at the edge of the forest. But she hadn’t done that in forever.
She’d had her first kiss on those cliffs.
With Aaron Pleasure. She smiled, recalling his name.
He’d been teased mercilessly for it, but he wore his name proudly.
His kisses introduced her to a whole world of adolescent pleasure.
Afternoons, they would hike along the cliffside trails and he would identify conifer cones for her from all the different trees.
He’d point out the seabirds she’d never noticed before.
He knew all their names, where they nested, or how far they’d flown across the world to be there.
She’d been impressed by all his nerdy knowledge, attracted to his dimples, among other things.
But most of all, he’d drawn her into a world outside her own small one, peopled by her dysfunctional parents who’d been, at the time, going through a divorce.
She’d even coerced her older sister, Lizzy, along on one of their hikes that summer when she was on a break from law school.
Lizzy and Aaron had talked the whole way about sunken treasure in the shipwrecks off the coast. It would be the first but not the last time Emma had heard about Lizzy’s obsession with the sea.
Lizzy would later marry her long-time boyfriend, Daniel, give up the law, and they would spend the rest of their too-short lives hunting treasure far away from her.
And Aaron? Her first kiss, possibly her first love, would move away at the end of that summer, and she would never see him again.
Funny how things worked out.
One by one, all of those people she cared about would disappear. Pass away. Her parents, on separate coasts; Lizzy and Daniel, halfway around the world. Everyone except Aubrey.
Lately, her life had become a rush from one day to the next, a blur of business meetings, phone calls, and contracts.
At night, she would fall into bed late—alone—and it would take her hours to get to sleep.
The irony that now she couldn’t seem to wake up didn’t escape her.
Maybe it was payback for all the stress.
And vacations? Vacations had become merely rewards for her employees.
Not relaxing for her, as she’d wanted them to be perfect for everyone.
She worked hard to make them perfect, scheduling every last detail to make the women who worked for her feel appreciated.
But who appreciated her? Why did she never take time for herself as well?
She’d been afraid of dying for a long time. Irrationally afraid when she allowed herself to contemplate such things. She couldn’t say why. Maybe because she’d long ago stopped believing in those things her gran believed. In things like angels or crop circles or believing in dreams.
Now here she was, walking with an angel. Her angel. Contemplating the place that had taken her out.
Below, her car had been towed away. The ground was gouged and torn up where it had landed. The memory of watching the EMTs pull her out rushed over her. She sat down hard on the sun-warmed hillside, feeling shaky.
Connor turned back to her. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, rubbing her temples. “A little PTSD is all.”
“PTS—?”
“It’s like déjà vu. Only physical.”