He hunched over his knees, willing himself to focus on her voice—but it was gone. Birds flying overhead, bristling vegetation, scuttling creatures of some sort. He was alone with his pain. His Giver had punished him well. He was as helpless as a human.
He felt his lungs release his breath and vaguely wondered at the cloying wetness seeping into the right side of his nose and mouth; but by the time the cat found him, he was settling into a blackness so deep that even pain could not reach him.
Finally
I felt like a little kid as I drenched my third pancake in warm maple syrup. Heaven. Anybody who uses the fake stuff is missing out. How long had it been since I’d eaten?
“These are spectacular!”
“You’ve said that like four times already.” Eileen’s grin was even wider this time, though.
“I know, Snoopy! Happy Mother’s Day to me!”
“Good food perked you right up.” Adam observed as he shoveled in another huge bite.
Something had, no doubt. “How’s the arm, Snoopy?” I teased. Luckily, the scratches had turned out to be quickly fading welts.
“Mom! How long are you going to keep that up?”
“Until it sinks in, Snoopy.”
“This could take a while. You might need more names.” Adam waggled his fork at me. “Just for variety.”
“True. How about Miss Snoopsalot?”
“Or Snooptastic Girl . . . ”
“The teenage super-heroine! Able to hear through solid walls!”
“Ha-ha.” Eileen’s pout was classic.
“Faster than a run-on sentence!”
“You’re just being dorks now.” She dropped her fork on the plate with a peevish clatter.
“What did you say, Snooperific? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.” I cupped my hand around my ear for effect and Adam snickered.
“Stop it! It’s your fault I had to eavesdrop!”
“Whoa. Huh?”
Even Adam paused, mid-bite, and raised his eyebrows.
“You promised!” she fumed. “After Sal disappeared, you promised you wouldn’t keep things from me but you keep . . . doing it . . . ” Her mini-rant stalled as horror and shame caught up with her mouth.
“Aunt Sally didn’t disappear, Eileen. I told you she had to move for work. Don’t be so melodramatic.” Had I pulled that off? My voice was the right mix of testy and dismissive . . . wasn’t it? “Let me see your wrist. Is it itching?”
“Yeah . . . I’m sorry, Mom.” Eileen bowed her head over her arm as we pretended to study the marks. By mutual consent, we allowed ourselves a breath to prepare for whatever Adam might say, but after a strained second of silence, Eileen peeked up at him.
Damn. Damn, damn, damn. I couldn’t see her face, but the mere fact that both of them were silent was a guarantee that when I looked up, I was going to regret what I saw in his eyes.
Oh, yeah, it was bad. He looked . . . cracked. Like an ancient statue with a stress fracture fissuring from temple to jaw. One wrong tap and he’d shatter.
Eileen locked her fingers around my wrist. “Adam . . . ?” I could barely hear her voice, but his eyes shifted to hers. “Don’t . . . please?”
I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I watched confusion and then a sad awareness labor across his stone features. They looked at each other for a long moment, a private conversation, and then my daughter reached out her other hand, slowly pulling Adam’s forgotten fork from his grasp and wrapping her thin fingers around his calloused palm. I didn’t need my angels to see there was more to this scene than a child trying to fix a mistake, but I sure missed them.
I freed my wrist to take her hand in mine. I loved her so much, the little trouble-maker. So much. We had to tell him. I had to tell him. He would believe me, and I had to believe that Sal would keep my child safe. My eyes closed in a little prayer as I drew in a long slow breath.
Sal? Please. We need to tell him.
Angels? Please?
I could feel Adam’s energy across the table, waiting, and opened my eyes.
Was that movement? Near his shoulder? I blinked and shifted my focus, and a glorious speck of orange light flared. I gasped and pawed his free hand.
“Angel!”
Eileen gave a little cry. “Really? Where?!” I pointed towards the window at a spot just past Adam’s shoulder and she threw herself at me. “I knew it! I knew they weren’t gone for good!” She nearly strangled me in her hug, but I was too happy to need oxygen.
“Isn’t this great?” She was talking to Adam, and as if feeding off her enthusiasm, the wondrous little orb began pulsing like a frantic heartbeat.
But Adam still didn’t speak. Instead he watched me, looking sad and angry and broken and . . . happy? Instantly, I was conscious of my hand clasping his, and pulled it back to my side of the table. How could one person feel so many things at once?
This is how, Lila.
His angels were back, too—or had never left—and the vibrant, swirling host was agitated. Gone was the rhythmic tidal pull that had been between us. Now they moved in frenetic dashes, to and fro, white sparks zipping towards me and away, circling and charging.
“Adam . . . ?” I searched for a way to connect with him, even as Eileen took my right hand again for reassurance. The angels’ light brightened, and he sighed.
“That’s . . . I’m glad.” He moved his hand closer to mine, and his index finger grazed the tip of my thumb. Just the lightest of touches, nothing really, but the angels . . . erupted. A shimmering cloud of minute white energies burst into being and merged with his. My face heated as I watched them joyously vibrate and pulse, their ecstasy obvious, before they settled into the slow ebb and flow I was used to, a current of tiny stars between our planetary bodies.
“What do you see?”
