and got diverted.
“Gosh, I’ve no clue what’s in Nakita’s mind when she takes pictures,” I said. “She just points and clicks. At everything.”
“Yes, well, you used to be the same way,” my dad good-naturedly chided me as I rolled my eyes. His hand on my shoulder made me feel like I belonged, and I took it, tugging him away before he noticed the out-of-state plates. Neck craning, he tried to get a longer look.
“Whatever she’s doing, she needs to keep doing it,” he said, squinting behind him. “All her work has a unique . . . feral quality. It’s as if I’m seeing sorrow, concern, or joy for the very first time through her.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” he said, then he did a double take. “That’s not our local hospital, is it?”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Flustered, I stopped at Nakita’s last entry, then had a mild panic attack. I hadn’t seen this one—didn’t even remember her taking it. It had won top honors according to the little sticker on the auction slip, but that’s not what had me tense. The photograph was of me from the back as I walked down a dark sidewalk, head down and arms over my middle. It was Shoe’s house at night, and there were orbs trailing behind me like bubbles. At least fifty. Crap, had there been guardian angels following me and I never even knew it?
“Um, you want to see mine?” I said, tugging on my dad’s arm to get him to where my mother stood alone before my three entries, her trendy purse over an arm and her heels planted firmly on the scratched mall floor as if mine were the only photographs out here, but he didn’t move, his eyes fixed on Nakita’s black-and-white photograph of me with the angels.
“How did she do that?” he asked, finger hovering over the orbs. “And why? Two photos superimposed, you think?”
“Probably,” I said, becoming more nervous. Had they been following me to evaluate me as a timekeeper? Barnabas seemed to think that for all their small size, guardian angels were more powerful than even the seraphs. Could be. Someone told me once that cherubs sat next to God’s throne, but the more I heard from the “experts” the more I realized we didn’t have a clue.
Slowly my dad’s shoulders slumped and his eyes became sorrowful as he peered at the picture. I hesitated, and then, knowing that he wouldn’t move until he satisfied his curiosity, I dropped back to stand with him and tried to see what he was looking at—not what was behind the glass, but what was in the mind of the person taking the picture.
The black-and-white threw everything into a misty sharpness, and it looked like the weight of the world was on me. I remembered that night. Nakita had perfectly captured my worry, the need to fix what I’d broken. And as I looked at it, that same tiredness seemed to soak into me again. Nakita was good. Really good.
“Has it been that hard?” my dad whispered, turning to me with a soft pain still in his gaze. “I thought you were happy here. If you want to go back with your mother . . .”
“No!” I quickly assured him, giving him a sideways hug and almost spilling my shake again. “I’m happy. I like it here. I like living with you. I feel . . . centered,” I said, using one of his favorite words. “It was just a rough night. You know . . . boyfriends. But we’re okay now.” I glanced at Josh at the food court, then blinked. Barnabas had joined him. “I didn’t even know she took it,” I finished.
My dad was looking at my mother, who was standing before my photographs like they were the
“One hundred percent,” I said fervently, then added, “Just don’t tell Mom, okay? She makes me wear funny clothes.”
He laughed at that, looking at my short skirt, tights, and the top that was so uncoordinated with the rest that it worked. Much of the tension he’d adopted since finding out my mom was in town seemed to evaporate. He’d been looking at me all morning as if he was trying to figure out what was different. I think his subconscious knew I was alive again, and he was trying to find a more reasonable explanation as to what the change was. Smiling, he put an arm over my shoulder and we slowly moved toward my mom. I’d won an honorable mention, and it was at this one that my mother was standing, her pride radiating from her more than her three-hundred-dollar perfume.
“This is wonderful, Madison,” she said, shunning the pen tied to the auction slip to use her own turquoise- inlaid pen to make an outrageous offer. “Still taking shots of daydreams?” she added, referring to my childhood preoccupation of photographing clouds. This one was nothing special, just a photograph to fulfill a class requirement. It didn’t deserve even an honorable mention as far as I was concerned. The one I’d taken of the black wings circling an abandoned house hadn’t even placed.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, giving her equal hug-time so they wouldn’t start arguing. I pressed into her, my eyes closing at the scent of raw silk. Her grip on me seemed a shade too tight, a moment too long, and she seemed concerned when I broke from her and she searched my gaze. She looked the same in her fashionable shoes, her creased slacks, and her silk blouse. Her hair was in the latest conservative cut, and her makeup was perfect. She had huffed as usual at my choice of clothes and Dad’s casual slacks and shirt, but I could tell she was worried about me. The wrinkles around her eyes had broken free of her expensive cream to give her away.
“I can’t believe you came up all the way from Florida for a mall show, Mom,” I said, trying to get her to stop looking at Barnabas and Josh.
Her attention came back to me, and a quick, unsure smile flashed across her. “And miss this? Not going to happen. I didn’t have anything this week but a cancer fund-raiser, and the people running it know better than me what needs to be done.” She put her pen away, carefully ignoring my dad as she moved to the picture with the black wings.
“Did I tell you they had me changing planes in Arizona?” my mother added, shaking her head at the “crows.” “The connecting flight was canceled. I almost got on a flight to San Diego, not Illinois. Hell of a way to run an airline.”
I fidgeted, not knowing what to say. “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” I finally said. “It really means a lot to me.” I slurped the last of my shake, seeing my dad hide a smile as my mom frowned at the rude noise. It was the first time in months that I’d eaten anything in front of him without duress. I was still hungry, too, and I glanced at the nearby food court where Barnabas waited with Josh and a half-eaten plate of fries. Nakita had shown up, standing with her hip cocked and her eyes narrowed. She and Barnabas were arguing. Big surprise.
My mother, ever sensitive to the boys around her one and only daughter, raised her eyebrows at the incongruous trio. Barnabas was eye candy to the max, but it was Josh who was watching me with hopeful eyes, even as he stuffed fries in his mouth. My stomach rumbled. It seemed like it was making up for lost time. At least my bruises didn’t show.
“Hey, um, you guys mind if I go talk to my friends for a minute?” I asked, wanting some of those fries before Josh ate them all.
“Yes, go,” my mother said, frowning suspiciously at Barnabas. “They’re invited to come with us for lunch,” she added, her gaze rising to linger on my amulet.
“I’ll ask.” I was backing up, and I flushed when my dad shook his wrist, then adjusted his watch.
“Reservations at twelve thirty,” my mother added. “I think the van I rented will hold all of us. I’d like to meet your new friends.” She looked at her watch and murmured, “Eleven seventeen, Bill.” Looking up with an exhale, she said to me, “Especially your boyfriends.”
“Who is that other young man talking to Nicki?” she asked.
“It’s Nakita,” I corrected her, growing uncomfortable as Nakita seemed to deflate at something Barnabas said, the reaper’s anger washing away to leave only sadness. Something was going on. Josh, too, looked unhappy.
“And Barnabas isn’t my boyfriend,” I said, my mouth dropping open as Nakita gave Barnabas a hug. “He’s more like . . .” I hesitated, blinking as Nakita turned and walked away, head down and looking miserable. “He’s helped me with a few issues,” I said, my voice preoccupied.
My mother cleared her throat, and I turned, flushing at her unbelieving gaze. “He seems to be quite the Casanova.”
When my mother got it wrong, she really got it wrong. “Yea-a-a-ah,” I said, just wanting to go over and find out what was up. “Um, would you mind if I, uh . . .”
