“You saw that?”
“What? I’m old, so I’m blind?”
“Uh, no.”
“And why does the whole room smell of pine?”
“I think that’s the stuff they use on the floor.”
“Or some cat’s been pissing in the corner.” Spotting the startled face of the bus station attendant peering over the ticket counter, her eyes narrowed. “And just what are you looking at, Missy? Good thing I didn’t have to wait for her help,” she muttered, “I’d be lying here until New Year’s.”
“Mrs. Grey? Do you want to stand up?”
“No. I’d rather sit here in a puddle of slush.”
About to take her hand, Samuel sat back on his heels. “Uh, okay.”
Muttering under her breath, she grabbed his shoulder and hauled herself to her feet. “So, what were you doing?” she demanded as he stood. “Here you are, here you aren’t—I have a weak heart, you know.”
“Had,” he corrected helpfully. “I fixed it.”
“You fixed it all right. Now answer the question: What were you doing?”
“I was trying to go to Toronto. But nothing happened.” His shoulders slumped.
“You really are an angel?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, what’s the message?”
“Well, uh, you see, it’s like this, I uh…”
One foot tapped impatiently. “Angels are the messengers of God. So, what’s the message? Is it Armageddon?”
He checked his pockets. Still no messages. “I’m pretty sure it’s not Armageddon.”
“Pretty sure?” She seemed disappointed.
“Actually, I’m beginning to think I’m, you know, not that kind of an angel.”
“Oh. Then what kind of an angel are you?”
“Just, uh, the kind that…”
“The kind that pops in and out any where they want? Giving poor, helpless grandmothers heart attacks?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young man. You can show a little respect for my age.”
“What? You’re old, so I should respect you?” It slipped out before he could stop it. For some weird reason his mouth seemed to have functioned without his brain being involved.
But Edna Grey only straightened her hat. “Yes,” she said, “that’s it exactly. So why couldn’t you pop?”
“It’s this form. It has…” Mouth open to explain about the genitalia, Samuel met a rheumy gaze, looked deep, and decided he didn’t want to go there. Or anywhere near there actually. “It’s not…I mean, it doesn’t…It’s sort of defining me. It’s keeping me from doing things, and I can’t get rid of it.”
“Tell me about it.”
His constant low level of confusion geared up a notch. “About what?”
“Be old, boy, if you want to be defined by your form.” She sighed, a short, sharp, angry sound. “Old bones, old blood, old body, they keep you from doing most things, and you sure as hell can’t get rid of them. But you know what’s worse?” A mittened finger poked his chest. “The way other people think you can’t do what you’ve always done ’cause you’re old—whether you can or not.” Her hand dropped back to her side. “Don’t get old, boy. And don’t let other people tell you what you can or cannot do.”
“I can’t get old,” he told her. “And I can’t get to Toronto either.”
“Oh, yeah, can’t get old, can’t get to Toronto; that’s a real similar comparison, that is.” Bending, she scooped her purse up off the floor. “Apples and oranges as my sainted mother used to say.”
“Actually she wasn’t.”
Edna Grey shot him an irritated glare as she straightened. “Wasn’t what?”
“Sainted.”
“I certainly hope not.”
“But you said…”
“Never mind what I said. And if you want to get to Toronto so badly, buy a bus ticket.”
“I need a bus ticket to go to Toronto?”
“If you’re going by bus, you do.”
A quick rummage through his pockets produced a cardboard square. “One of these?”
Her brows drew in. “Where did you get that?”
He shrugged. “Need provides.”
“Because you’re an angel?”
“I guess.”
The intercom sputtered to life and spat incomprehensible wordage into the station.
“Your bus is boarding on platform 3.” Samuel pushed her suitcase toward her, carefully, making no sudden moves. His elbow still hurt from the first assault.
“You understand that?”
He nodded again.
“Well, if I didn’t believe you were an angel before, I sure would now. Understanding the gooblety goop that comes out of those speakers would take nothing less than direct intervention from God. Just wait until I tell that Elsa I met a real angel. Her and the way she’s always talking about how she once met Don Ho.”
“Mrs. Grey, your bus!”
“Right.” Lifting the suitcase easily, she stomped off toward the buses, muttering. “Just wait till I tell my daughter I met a real angel. She’s never even met Don Ho.”
He waited until he saw her make her laborious way up the bus steps, refusing to let go of her suitcase, and sighed. “You’re welcome.”
“Look, kid, I don’t care what you think you are and how little sleep you think I’ve had and how much you think I need to drive safely, but if you don’t sit down, I’m going to kick your ass off this bus.”
“But I have a ticket.”
Barry Bryant sighed and rotated the heel of his left hand around his temple. “I don’t care. The harpy behind the ticket counter has already told me I look like hell, so I don’t need your two cents’ worth.”
Samuel leaned forward. “You don’t, you know.”
“I don’t what?”
“Look like Hell.”
“Sit. Down.”
A soldier of the light knew when to obey a direct order. Samuel sat down beside the only person on the bus. “Hi, Nedra.”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m an angel. I’m here to help.”
She stared deep into his eyes, watched the gold flecks overwhelm the brown, lighting up the immediate area in a soft luminescence, and said, “Get lost.”
“Get lost?”
“Yes.” For some strange reason, after a perfectly equitable Christmas Eve, her parents had sent her on her way feeling guilty about their lack of grandchildren. She was facing a twelve-hour shift in a hospital that could pay millions for one piece of high-tech equipment but couldn’t afford to order new bedpans, and she was in no mood to deal with someone who smelled like canned ravioli, a food her rising cholesterol level no longer
