When Angels Cry (12 page)

An unexpected smile flashed across Bastian’s face.  “Does that mean you’re planning on keeping me?”

Kaylee looked at her plate.  “Well, I don’t know.  I’ve got the hots for this new art teacher.
”
 

“I didn’t say I’d take the job.”

“You didn’t say you wouldn’t, either.  At least think about it?”

“What choice do I have?  If don’t agree, you’ll remind me about it
often
, right?”

“Mmm-hmm.
  It’s all part of my wicked plan.
”  Kaylee picked up her plate and winked at him. 

As Kaylee stood and moved to the sink to begin scraping the leftover food into the garbage disposal, the telephone rang.  Kaylee stared at her hands and put her plate in the sink.  Two rings.

“Aren’t you going to answer?”

Shrugging, Kaylee replied.  “Why?  It’s just my mother.”

Bastian picked up his own plate.  “Yes.  She's worried about you, remember?”

“We can’t have that, now can we?”  Kaylee sauntered to the phone and picked up the receiver as it rang for the third time.  “Hello?”  She paused, and Bastian could hear a woman’s voice broadcast from the receiver.  “I’m fine, Mother, really.”  A lengthy pause.  “I’ve had lots of errands to run, and the weather has been somewhat uncooperative.  It’s been snowing like crazy, and I’ve been trying to get the studio ready for next week’s opening.”  Kaylee carried the cordless to the table and sat.  “How’s Paris?”  Kaylee rolled her eyes and looked imploringly at Bastian.  “Mmm.  When will you be home?” 

Bastian sat next to Kaylee, and
she
rested her feet in his lap.  Her eyes suddenly widened.  “In a couple of days?
  I thought your business might take longer.  I guess I’ll see you soon.  Bye.
”   She rubbed her temples as though a headache had blossomed between them. 

“I would try to spare you the horror of meeting my mother so soon, but she’ll be flying home in two days.”
Kaylee mashed the button that disconnected the call.
She stood, walked to the phone cradle, and replaced the receiver. 

“You sound less than thrilled.”

Kaylee folded her arms across her chest. 
“Just wait until you meet her. 
You’ll
be just as thrilled.”
   
 

“She’s your mother, Kaylee.  You can’t blame her for missing you.”
Bastian walked to the sink and began loading the dishwasher. 

“Be that as it may, I’m going to enjoy my next couple days of freedom.  Do you want to watch a movie?” 
While Bastian arranged dishes in the racks, Kaylee stared at the seat of his jeans, drawn tight across his butt.

“Sure.” 
Bastian poured detergent into the slot, closed the door, and started the machine.  He slid his arm around her and gently stroked her back as they left the kitchen.

“The DVD’s are in there.  Pick out what you want to watch.” 
Kaylee pointed to a wooden cabinet to the left.  She sat on the couch and drew the
afghan
around her, liking the
feel of it
on her bare feet.

Bastian opened the door and scanned the alphabetized selections.  After a few moments, he found a romantic comedy that seemed innocuous enough, pulled it out, and slipped it into the player.  Then he turned on the big screen TV.

The movie started, and Bastian sat on the couch
. 
Kaylee rested her head in his lap.  Snuggling against him, Kaylee turned toward the television and watched the familiar opening scene to
While You Were Sleeping.

Kaylee smiled. 
“This is one of my favorites.  What made you pick it?”

“The Boy Scout handbook stresses the importance of making women laugh.”

Kaylee shook her head.  “It doesn’t say anything of the sort.”

“It damned well should,” Bastian retorted
.  “Maybe if we had an instruction manual for women, we wouldn’t spend so much time in total confusion.”  He
rubb
ed
his fingers against the arm of the couch.

“Oh, yes, you would.  It’s a guy thing.” 
Kaylee yawned
, stretching
her arms over her head.

“
Really?
  Well, I’m not confused right now.  I know exactly where to touch you to make you squeal.”
  He trickled his fingertips over her tummy and laughed as she tried to grab his hands.  He kept tickling until Kaylee gasped for breath, then he brought his hands to his face, balled them into fists, and pretended to rub his eyes.

“Aww, Kaywee can’t breeff.  Pooor Kaywee.”

As she fought to catch her breath, Kaylee balled one of her own hands into a fist and punched Bastian’s abdomen.

“Hey
,
what was that for? You should be ashamed of yourself, hitting a confused male like that.  How do you expect me to figure out how to deal with women?  Besides, aren’t you supposed to be watching that?” 
He pointed at the television. 

“So are you.”  She grabbed his arm and lowered it to hold his hand.  The conversation lapsed, and they watched the movie.  Bastian absently stroked her hair.

Closing his eyes, Bastian reveled in the bliss of Kaylee lying in his lap.  He encircled her hand and memorized the feel of her fingers against his palm. He thought of her floral perfume and the slightly salty taste of her skin.  He remembered the softness of her earlobe when he had nibbled it last, and as he clung to those sensations, he was swept away by the ordinary miracle he’d been offered in Kaylee.

Together they cuddled, watching the movie
,
until it finally ended.  Bastian looked at Kaylee.  Her eyes were closed
,
and her chest rose and fell evenly, suggesting sleep.  Her left hand, fingers curled underneath, rested on his knee.  Feeling a need to stretch, he stole from beneath
her
and stood.  He laid her head on a pillow and watched as her hair fell like a dark halo around her head, emphasizing her pale skin.  Staring
into
her oval face, he noticed her long, thick eyelashes as they fluttered.  Shivering, Kaylee moaned softly.
 
Bastian pulled the
afghan
to Kaylee’s chin and molded it around her lithe body.  Glancing at the clock, he realized it was almost 10 p.m., and he walked to the kitchen where he sat at the table and eyed the telephone.

“You’d do well to leave it alone,” he muttered, pulling out his wallet.  He rifled through the papers and pictures there until he spotted a small photo, its corners bent by time and wear.  Pulling it free, he looked at the image
of him
and his sister sitting together on a park bench on an August afternoon.  Bastian closed his eyes.

The late afternoon sunlight had warmed his bronze skin that day
.  T
anned so deeply, he’d looked
almost
Hispanic.  That late in the summer, the sun wouldn’t have darkened his tan more because it couldn’t, not after countless hours spent in the swimming pool and
taking
long trail hikes with his Boy Scout troop.  But even as Angie had smiled, Bastian had frowned.

August had
had
its moments of wrath, and that afternoon the sun had blazed as he and Angie had sat on the bench so their father could take a picture.  His father had argued with the camera for a moment, trying to zoom in on their faces, but it had refused to cooperate at such close range.

“Damned camera,” he’d
growled
.  He’d adjusted the lens and coerced it into action, and Bastian had heard the click and whir of the shutter
as
the film advanced.  He’d always hated having his picture taken. 

“It’s hot,” he’d complained. 
Sweat had beaded on his temples, and Bastian had rubbed his forehead with his left hand.  Perspiration beaded under his shirt, and he
’d
wondered how long it would be until a spot of moisture soaked through.

“We’d get through this more quickly if you’d smile,” his father had retorted.

“How’s this?”
Bastian had obliged, pasting on a fake grin.

“Damn it, Bastian
.  You look like a jackass.  Can’t you do anything right?
” his father had snarled, glaring over the camera.  Bastian’s smile had died as the camera whirred again, forever capturing that moment. 

“I don’t feel like taking pictures,” he’d snapped
,
standing
.

“I said smile, dam
m
it and I meant it.” 
His father had strode to him, grabbed his shirt, and shoved him onto the bench.  Bastian had landed awkwardly, bruising his leg.  Despite the pain, he
’d
smiled vacantly as though he’d already left. 
And h
e would soon.  Somehow, someway, he’d get the hell out of there and never come back.

“We’re going to dinner in an hour.  You’d better be back home in enough time to clean up because you need to look presentable, not like you just climbed out of a sandbox.” 
Satisfied, his father had turned away. 
He’d walked away then, leaving Angie and Bastian in the park with their bikes.

“I hate him
.  God, how I hate
that man
,” Bastian had said, glowering at his father’s retreating back.

Angie had touched his shoulder. 
“He doesn’t mean any of it.
  That’s just the way he is.
”  

“I can’t do anything right with him.  Even my smile is wrong, Angie.
 
I wonder which fancy restaurant we’ll be going to this time
and
who
m
we’re going to have to impress while he pretends he actually likes me.
  One day I’m going to leave
—and
I won’t look back.” 
He’d picked up his bike. 
As he’d straddled the
seat
he’d felt the pain burning in his leg.

“You won’t have any money or anywhere to go.
 
Besides, I’d really miss you.  I know we fight like cats and dogs sometimes, but I’d still miss you.” 
Angie, too, had straddled her bike. 
As she’d spoken, she’d stared at the ground.  Her hand had trembled as she’d touched her hair, pushing a wayward strand behind her ear.

The grandfather clock struck. Bastian blinked and found himself back in Kaylee’s kitchen.  He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands.

“Do you miss me, Angie?  Do you ever even think of me these days?”  He raked his hands through his hair and then, after a moment, forced himself to the telephone.  His hand shook as he thought about calling.  What would he say?  He couldn’t just comment on the weather.

He picked up the receiver, listened for a dial tone
,
  and started thumbing buttons.  One ring
.  T
wo rings. 

“Hello?”  A woman’s voice greeted him.

Bastian opened his mouth to speak .  He stared off into space as a silence held him prisoner.  Angie.

“Hello?”

More silence.  Bastian clenched his eyes shut as tears burned them. 

“Bastian--is that you?” She asked.  “Please say something.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it refused to go.  “Bastian?” she said again.

H
e unwound his fingers and hung up, staring at the receiver
.
H
e could still hear Angie’s voice.  He leaned on the counter and pressed his fingers into the
Formica
, comforted by the fact that it didn’t give in to his pressure.  At least some things were as solid as they seemed.  He lowered his head and tried to forget what could not be forgotten.

“God, I miss her,” Bastian said softly.   

“Who do you miss?”

Bastian whirled and found Kaylee standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.  As she rested her head, her face was pale, as though she didn’t feel well.  Her hands softly pressed on the doorway molding.

“Are you all right?”  He stepped away from the phone, feeling a flush burning his cheeks.

“I’m fine.”  Kaylee pointed to the phone.  “Who do you miss?”  She repeated.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 
Bastian shoved his hands in his pockets and paced around the room.  The last thing he wanted to talk about was his family.  The less said, the better.

“You were on the phone.  After you hung up, you said, ‘I really miss her.’  Who in the hell are you talking about, and who were you calling?  Maybe it’s not exactly my business, but if I’m holding you up from som
ewhere you’d rather be….”  Kaylee folded her arms across her chest.

“It’s not what you think, Kaylee.”  Bastian stopped walking and stared at her.  If only his memory were as blank as the white plaster above.  He wished he could go back and do things the right way, not the way he’d done them.  Maybe his father hadn’t deserved more than Bastian had given him, but Angie, his sister, sure as hell
had
.  He’d taken the coward’s way out without calling and letting her know she
hadn’t been
forgotten.