“Well, yes, education is a big part of that, and we want to encourage all our students to attend college, of course, especially a bright, clearly gifted girl like yourself. But every person has their own special path, whether that leads to college or not.” I look down at my hands. “I don’t really know what I want to do, career-wise.” She gives an exaggerated, encouraging nod. “Perfectly okay. Lots of students don’t at this point. Have you done any looking around, college visits or surfing the university websites?”
“Not much.” Or at all.
“I think maybe that would be a good place to start,” Ms. Baxter says. “Why don’t you check out some of the brochures I have posted outside and make a list of five colleges that appeal to you and why. Then I can help you get started on applications.”
“Thank you so much.” Mom stands up and shakes Ms. Baxter’s hand.
“You’ve got a special young lady here,” says Ms. Baxter. I try not to roll my eyes. “I know she’s going to do something remarkable with her life.” I nod awkwardly, and we get out of there.
“She’s right though, you know, in spite of the cheesy lines,” Mom says as we walk out to the parking lot. “You’re going to do remarkable things.”
“Sure,” I answer. I want to believe her, but I don’t. All I see when I examine my life these days is a messed- up purpose and a not-so-distant future where somebody important to me is going to die.
“You want to drive?” I ask her as a change of topic.
“No, you go ahead.” She digs around in her purse for her big Audrey Hepburn — style sunglasses, which, paired with the scarf she’s wrapped around her head and her long, sleek trench coat, make her look like a movie star.
“So, what’s going on?” she asks. “I feel like something’s bothering you, something more than the college stuff. Which will all work itself out, Clara, not to worry.” I hate it when she tells me not to worry. It’s usually when I have a pretty darn good reason to worry. It seems like that’s all I can do right now: worry about whose grave I’m going to in this new vision, worry that whoever it is died because of something I did or am supposed to do, worry that the sorrow attacks I’ve been having lately mean that Samjeeza is hanging around just waiting for the perfect moment to kill somebody I love.
“It’s nothing major,” I say.
We get into the car. I slide the key into the ignition. But then I stop.
“Mom, what happened between you and Samjeeza?”
She doesn’t even look rattled by my question, which surprises me. Then she answers it, which floors me even more. “It was a long time ago,” she says. “He and I were. . friends.”
“You were friends with a Black Wing.”
“I didn’t know he was a Black Wing at first. I thought he was a regular angel.” I can’t imagine mistaking Samjeeza for a regular angel. Not that I’ve met any regular angels.
“Right. Are you friends with lots of angels?” I ask sarcastically.
“A few.”
“A few,” I repeat. How can she keep blowing my mind like this? I mean, really — she knows
“Not many.”
“Angela thinks Samjeeza’s some kind of leader,” I tell her.
“Ah,” Mom says, nodding.
“Yeah.”
“That much is true. He was the leader of the Watchers, a long time ago.” Wow. She is actually telling me this.
“And what do the Watchers do, exactly?” I ask. “Other than, I assume, watch stuff.”
“The Watchers gave up heaven so they could be with human women,” she says.
“I take it God doesn’t dig the idea of angels hooking up with humans.”
“It’s not that God doesn’t like it,” she explains. “It’s that angels don’t live in linear time like you and I do, which makes having a relationship with a human woman nearly impossible, since that would require the angel to stay grounded in the same time for a sustained period.” Oh. The time stuff again.
“It’s difficult for us to fully understand how they live, moving between the different planes of existence, through space and time. Angels don’t simply sit around on clouds looking down at us. They are constantly at work.”
“Married to the job, huh?” I quip.
A flicker of a smile passes over her face. “Exactly.”
“And the Watchers did what? Quit?”
“Yes. And Samjeeza was the first to put in his two-week notice, so to speak.”
“And then what happened?”
“The Watchers married human women, had children, and for a while, everything was fine.
I imagine they felt some sorrow, being away from heaven, but it was manageable. They were happy. But they never truly belonged on earth, and their children lived a long time and kept multiplying, until there were more Nephilim than humans on the earth. Which became a problem.”
I think about Angela’s story from
