When Angels Cry (14 page)

“Damn.”  A bubble of blood appeared at the tip
.  T
hen it swelled and ran toward his palm.  He thrust his finger into his mouth, waiting.  Once the bleeding
had
stopped, he turned his attention again to the vase.  Before he’d finished, he’d heard the clock chime six times. 

After he returned the glue to the drawer, he picked up the vase and carried it upstairs to a deserted bedroom down the hall from Kaylee’s.  As he set it in the dresser, he stared one last time at the beautiful artwork he’d managed to piece together, so seamlessly even he could not tell it had ever been broken.  He stepped into the hall and clos
ed
the door behind him.  He was halfway back to Kaylee’s bedroom, however, when a thought occurred to him and he retraced his steps.  Better, he thought, to leave the door open as she had left it.  Satisfied, he turned down the hall.

Dawn ebbed through the weave of the curtains as Bastian stood in the doorway
and watched Kaylee sleep. 
Her chest rose and fell evenly with each breath, hinting that she still slept peacefully. 

Of all the things he’d expected to happen in his life, he certainly hadn’t counted on Kaylee. How could he have known she would change him so completely?

Kaylee shivered and moaned in her sleep.  Her eyelids fluttered open and she squinted at him.  “Bastian?”

“I’m here.  Go back to sleep.” 
He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.  He slipped his legs beneath the comforter and lay next to her, drawing the blankets over
them
both
as he molded his body to hers.  A moment later, Bastian himself drifted into a peaceful slumber.

Chapter Nine

It took two days for the snow to melt, and Kaylee didn’t wonder why, considering the drifts
.
  During those days
,
Bastian didn’t ask about the future, and Kaylee didn’t mention it
,
either.  They dwelt in the present, in the moments in which they reveled in each other’s bodies and the taste of sweat on skin that seemed not to separate the
m but instead m
erge them.

Four days after Bastian
had
arrived, Kaylee stole from the bed and peered outside, checking for new snow that would compromise safety.  Instead of snow, the unexpected shift in temperatures had left yellowed lawns and wet asphalt.  She wrapped her arms around her mid-section, trying to stop trembling
,
but did not return to her warm bed.  Kaylee turned and watched Bastian as he slept.  A few strands of his dark hair stood on end, and fresh stubble roughened his cheeks.  Even now, she knew he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen.  She’d known that the day he’d first walked into the soup kitchen.  He’d held out his hands for a hot meal, but his eyes
—his
eyes had refused to ask for anything
.  T
hey wouldn’t even meet hers.  She’d thought it had been about her.  Now she knew better.

Kaylee pulled a pair of jeans and a sweater from the closet and headed toward the bathroom.  After showering, she looked
in
the mirror, trying to get a glimpse of her reflection but found she had to wipe the fog from the glass first.  She looked gaunt
.  D
ark circles underscored her eyes.  With a touch of foundation, she tried to hide the flaws time and illness had written in
to
her skin.  Once she
’d
finished, she swept her hair into a pony, carefully teasing her bangs over the bandage on her forehead. 

Satisfied, she dressed quickly and jotted a short note to Bastian, telling him she would return soon.  Kaylee propped the note by the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, grabbed a jacket
,
and headed to the soup kitchen.

Inside the red Mercedes, Kaylee ignored the cold, improvised a little humming tune, and tapped her fingertips in time with the melody on the steering wheel.  She glanced at the clock: 10:30.  Damn--she was already fifteen minutes late.  Kaylee parked next to Rosie’s Jeep and hurried.  The other girls had already started on the stew and cornbread.  The scent of cinnamon filled her, and she realized they must have put cinnamon rolls in to bake for des
s
ert.

A tall blonde turned toward her.  Ignoring the weighted stare, Kaylee pulled out an apron.  Her fingers fumbled, but she somehow managed to tie the strings.  Snatching up a handful of carrots from the counter, she began slicing. 

“So, there you are.
  We were wondering if you were sick.  It’s not like you to be late, and you didn’t show up last week at all.”
  The blonde had her hands on her hips, a familiar stance.  There was a running joke among the girls that she wouldn’t know what else to do if she couldn’t put her hands there.  “Probably use them on someone,” one of them had suggested among hoots of laughter.

“Sorry about that, Jenny.”  Kaylee took a deep breath, offering no explanation.

“What happened?”  Jenny
stepped closer and peered at the bandage on her forehead.  Her eyes narrowed and the frown slackened a little.

“I had a run in with my dresser.  It won.” 
Kaylee stopped slicing and absently touched the bandage, wondering if she would have to wear it much longer.

Jenny did not comment
but
instead resumed cutting vegetables. 
Rosie, a
squat
, older,
African-American woman leaned over the counter and scanned the crowd that had begun to gather.  Although it was at least an hour before the meal would be ready, most of them just came inside early to get warm.  She shook her head.

“Prince Charming wasn’t here last week, and it doesn’t look like he’s come today
,
either.
  Tsk
-tsk
…our poor
Kayle
e
ain’t gonna know what to do without him, are you
,
girl?”
She stepped to the refrigerator for some celery and returned to the counter. 

“I’m sure he has a name,” Kaylee snapped, chopping faster.

“Sure he does, but since you won’t ask for it, we’ll just have to keep calling him Prince Charming.
  Maybe he had a run-in with his dresser, too
—or
maybe Kaylee kidnapped him.
”  Rosie hefted out the stew pot and lifted it to the stove.  Laughter erupted from all the girls.

Inhaling sharply, Kaylee burst into a coughing fit that almost doubled her over.  The laughter stopped abruptly
,
replaced with looks of concern.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you
can’t breathe
and swallow at the same time?  Are you all right?” 
Jenny set her knife on the counter and thumped Kaylee on the back.  The coughing subsided.

“Fine,” she croaked. 
Tears pricked Kaylee’s eyes and she blinked, trying to clear them.

“Yeah,”
Rosie
quipped, “you’s just choked up about not seeing your man, that’s all.”  She
dumped the chopped meat in the pot. 

“He wasn’t
‘
my man
’
in the first place.”  Ka
ylee returned to the carrots and began slicing savagely. 

“Might have been if you’d given him a smile or two, like I told you.” 
Rosie walked toward her and grabbed a handful of the carrots. 

“Did you ever notice he didn’t seem to fit in ‘round here?  There was something different about that one.”
  Becky
, another of her friends,
dumped a bowl of sliced celery into the
pot
.

Rosie chuckled.  “Yeah--he was gorgeous.  I’d say that’s different all right.”  All the women burst into laughter, and Kaylee flushed.

Becky smacked her gun and smoothed a crease in her apron. 
“No, it
didn’t have nothing to do with his looks
.  H
e didn’t seem to see anybody, not really.  He could look right through you. And when he left, he had this way of saying goodbye with his body, tilting his head to the floor, like his spirit already left and his body was simply following.  Sure made me wonder what was going on in that head of his and why he seemed so damned sad.”
 

Kaylee shrugged.  “Beats me, and since he’s not hanging around here anymore, we can’t rightly ask him, can we?
  Maybe he figured out a way to get back on his feet, and that’s why he’s not here.
” 
Kaylee shrugged. 
She dumped the
rest of the
carrots into the stew
and
hastily chopped more.  Damn, but they were nosy
.

“Girl, you ain’t foolin’ nobody.  We all know you’re gonna miss him.” 
Rosie folded her arms across her chest and laughed. 

Kaylee felt a flush heating her cheeks.  “
Really? 
Maybe you guys know more about this than I do.  I don’t recall saying much about him.”

“You didn’t have to.
  Your eyes said it.
”  Becky poured
the
celery into the pot.  Jenny watched the two of them, her head moving back and forth as each of them spoke.

“There’s nothing wrong with watching out for someone else’s well being.” 
Kaylee gritted her teeth.  This was getting old
,
and she was getting tired. 

“Oh, is that what you been watching?
  I thought it was his ass and the way it spread out them tight Wranglers.” 
  Rosie grabbed two yellow onions from the refrigerator and waved one toward Kaylee.  More laughter. Howls.

Kaylee ignored them and kept chopping, feeling so damned transparent.

* * *

As the clock chimed
once
,
Bastian forced his eyes open.   H
e rubbed his face
, blinking t
o clear the haze of sleep and peer
ing
at the clock on the nightstand.  He couldn’t believe he’d actually slept until
one,
b
ut the clock didn’t lie.

“Kaylee?”  Sunlight poured through the window, spilling over Kaylee’s empty side of the bed.  Bastian touched her pillow, wondering where she
’d
gone.
 
Blinking, Basti
a
n sat up, half-expecting Kaylee to step from the closet or the bathroom.  No Kaylee.  Bastian threw back the covers, listening, and at last climbed out of bed.  Cold air prickled his skin.  Shivering, he grabbed his boxers
and w
ith a deft tug jerked them to his waist.

Bastian stepped to the window, enjoying the feel of the carpet between his toes.  He peered outside to find the snow had melted, leaving dry asphalt.  His breath barely fogged the glass.

Where was she?

Bastian touched his hair and found it standing upright
.  H
e tried to pat it into place, but it refused.  Brushing his fingers across his cheek reminded him how badly he needed a shave.  He was tempted to walk out of the bedroom in just his boxers but stopped as he remembered Kaylee’s mother’s voice on the answering machine.  All he  needed was to find her here.  That woman would take one look at him--and the proverbial shit would hit the fan.

He plucked his jeans from the floor and tugged them on.  Barefoot, Bastian crept out into the hall to the landing and started down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

“Kaylee?”

Silence.

“Kaylee?” he called again, louder.  “Where are you?”

More silence.  Bastian frowned as he reached the bottom of the stairs where the carpet abruptly ended in tile.  The weather had warmed, but the tile
still
numbed his feet.

“Kaylee--where the hell are you?”  Bastian tried to keep his tone even, but worry had crept in.  He strode through the living room, wondering why, if she had gone somewhere, she hadn’t woken him.  Was she hurt?  His heart sped up
and h
is strides lengthened toward the kitchen.  Upon entering, he spotted a folded note propped next to the fruit bowl on the table.

Bastian sat and unfolded Kaylee’s note, still dwelling on her absence.  Had he never pulled Kaylee from the water, he would’ve simply gone to the soup kitchen and never noticed her absence.   He’d never have known what it was like to love her,
or even
love at all.   His life would have gone on--or would it?  Maybe he would have pulled the trigger after all.

Bastian clenched his jaw.  At one time, he’d thought he could kill himself, but now
—now
he didn’t have a clue.  He tried to remember Kaylee’s voice when she
’d
told him.  “I have cancer, Bastian.”  Her mouth formed a straight line, so indifferent
and
cold.  Perhaps he
’d
pulled her from the icy water and warmed her body but at that moment,
had been unable to
warm her spirit.

The words didn’t sound right, not with her voice.  Nothing about death sounded right, not when it came to Kaylee.  She shouldn’t be dying.

“God,” he whispered
. 
“
W
hy give her cancer and sentence me to a long life?  You never asked either of us about who wanted what.” 
Bastian cradled his head in his hands as he leaned on the cold table, wondering about the latest cosmic screw
-
up as he threaded his fingers through his hair.  The room echoed slightly at the hus
k
ed rush of his voice.   He laughed hollowly
—a
much louder sound,
raucous
and
bitter.

Angry.

Bastian closed his eyes and thought about how much the gun had weighed in his palm.  A pound
? 
two?   The metal had felt so damn
ed
unforgiving.  But there was the weightlessness of Kaylee’s hand in his, her skin soft
and
cool.  He thought of the gentle squeeze of her fingers and how it felt to squeeze them back.  That was when he
’d
kn
o
w
n
God had answered him.  Kaylee was his answer.  The question didn’t matter.

Bastian still sat at the table when he heard the front door open.