Broken Wings (An Angel Eyes Novel) (7 page)
“Thanks, kiddo.”
And then I watch as his face turns pale.
“Dad, what’s wrong?”
His legs buckle and he stumbles, grabbing a barstool for support. I run to his side and duck under his arm, putting mine around his waist. “Are you going to be sick?”
My dad is not a small man, so when he swoons on his feet my knees buckle at the added weight.
“Let’s sit, Dad. I’m going to lower you to the floor, okay?”
But then he straightens up. “No, I just . . . I thought I heard . . .”
My heart stutters, and I strain my ears, listening for the music, but it’s gone.
“You thought you heard what?”
“Nothing,” he says. “I didn’t hear anything.” He grabs a dish towel from the counter and swipes it across his face, barking a hollow laugh. “Maybe you’re right. Noon might be too early to start drinking.”
“You think?”
“I’m sorry about before. With your boyfriend.” He smiles, but it’s plastic and the corners tremble. “I’m all right, baby. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just . . . I’ll have Olivia drive.”
“Dad, I don’t think you should go. You need to lie down.”
He leans into me and presses his lips to my temple. The alcohol on his breath turns my stomach, but I stand still, let him kiss me.
“I’m fine.”
He turns his back on me, every dish in the cupboards ringing with the slamming of the door.
I
t’s late. Work was rough. Another crew member laid off and double the pictures to process. Jake doesn’t mind the extra work, but watching a friend and coworker plead with their boss not to let him go, to let him stay on—just a few hours a week—was heartrending. The guy’s meager wages are the only thing putting him through college.
It’s been like this all summer—his boss, Phil, laying off one crew member at a time. “Tightening the belt,” he said. Understandable with the economy the way it is, but any hiccup in the schedule means Jake gets called in to cover a shift. The pay sucks, but he doesn’t mind the Photo Depot. He likes Phil, likes the quaint feel of downtown Stratus. Truth be told, he’s never really felt at home like he does here.
But he’s got that feeling again, the one he gets whenever Canaan’s assignment requires a new zip code. It’s a nervous itch that tells him change is coming. And for the first time, he can actually imagine telling Canaan he’d rather not go. That he’d like to stay here, start a life in Stratus. With Brielle.
Canaan would be fine with it—they’ve talked about this
day. But for it to work Jake would have to find a place of his own and a job that paid substantially better than the Photo Depot. But instead of applying to colleges or looking for a better job, Jake spent the last semester of senior year waiting.
And waiting.
And tonight he’d like nothing better than to crawl under the pile of laundry on his bed and sleep, but the fear inside his gut compels him to do just one last thing before turning in. He climbs the steps to the old Miller place—the farmhouse he and Canaan share—and opens the door. Unlocked as always. Shadows swim on the walls and carpet, but the house is mostly dark. He drops his car keys on the kitchen table as he passes and swipes an apple from the bowl. Then he thinks better of it and puts it back. Checking the chest always turns his stomach. Even now he can feel a tight ball of anxiety growing behind his ribs. He’s fairly certain Canaan’s not home, but habit has him knocking on Canaan’s bedroom door. When there’s no answer, he pushes it open and steps inside.
The white bed and black side table, the wrought iron bed frame that twists to the ceiling, the photo of the dove. It’s all there, but Jake sees only the onyx chest at the foot of the bed. He moves toward it, anxious. Hoping.
Canaan’s blinds are open and starlight slips through, painting the room in shades of gray. Beneath the hazy light the chest ebbs, its darkness alive. Jake opens the chest every day, every morning before leaving the house, but tonight he could use a little good news. After the disastrous run-in with Brielle’s dad and a heartsick night at work, he needs something of hope to cling to.
Jake drops to his knees, running a tired hand down his face.
In one swift motion, he leans forward and lifts the lid. And the fear burrows deeper.
Damien’s dagger is still there.
Brielle’s ring is still missing.
He cracks his neck and mutters a desperate, rambling kind of prayer.
He’s so tired of waiting.
He stares at the seven-inch blade, crusted with Brielle’s blood, wishing he could change what he sees.
But he can’t.
He can only wait. And pray.
And hope the Throne Room won’t take away the one person in the world he actually needs. But waiting and praying, hoping even, were much easier to do seven months ago. As the months passed, fear set in. He’s ashamed of it. Of the fear. Because it’s not a fear of demons or death. It’s not a fear of disease or pain.
He fears the Throne Room.
He fears the path his heavenly Father has placed before him.
It’s a fear that he shouldn’t feed. But he does. Every day he opens the chest, looking for the ring, for the hope that there will be a tomorrow for him and Brielle.
But all he finds is death—her death—and the fear digs a little deeper, costs him a little more.
It’s a fear that Brielle can see. And it mortifies him that his cowardice is displayed so openly before her. He lifts the lid back in place and stands.
“Anything?” It’s Canaan, returned from wherever the Throne Room had him today. He’s been leaving Jake behind more often, allowing him to put down roots in Stratus. Jake understands and he’s grateful. One day their time together may cease entirely,
and it’s only right that Jake prepare for that day. But with the silence of the Throne Room and Canaan’s frequent absences, it’s lonelier in this house than it used to be.
“Just the dagger,” Jake says.
He feels his jaw tighten at the word, wishes he could maintain the calm self-control Canaan has mastered. Even now, his Shield’s face is devoid of strain or stress, his brow free of lines. Jake misses the comfort of before, the calm of not worrying about the future. But would he trade that peace for Brielle?
No, he wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
“The rumors still have Damien suffering the pit,” Canaan says. “He and Javan both.”
Jake turns. It’s been awhile since he’s heard anything about the fallen ones who targeted him last year. “And the others? Maka and the Twins?”
Canaan loosens the tie at his neck and leans against the door frame. In a suit and tie, he could be any one of a million other corporate employees home from a hard day at the office.
“I wish I knew. They’re higher in the Prince’s esteem. Information is harder to come by.”
The air conditioner shuts off, and a new level of quiet falls around them.
“The Throne Room is cryptic, Jake. Rarely do things signify exactly what they seem to.”
“A diamond engagement ring isn’t at all cryptic.”
Canaan steps toward him, his silver eyes holding nothing but concern for Jake. “The ring helped us understand Brielle’s role and your future affections for her. It allowed us to act in faith, knowing that one day you two would be one. It served a purpose.”
“And its absence. What purpose does that serve?”
Canaan puts a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe nothing.”
Jake steps past him into the hall. He’s tired. He doesn’t want to argue.
“Jake,” Canaan calls after him. “Keep an eye on Olivia Holt.”
Jake turns back. “Yeah?”
“I asked around today, at the foundation, at her offices downtown. The reactions ranged from bewitched awe to terrified silence. She has a reputation for getting what she wants.”
Jake thinks back to this afternoon, to the look on Brielle’s face when Olivia materialized on her porch. And he remembers something she told him on the way to church, something he wasn’t sure how to process.
“Brielle said the halo responded strangely to Olivia. That it flashed hot all of a sudden. Is that—is that normal?”
“The halo is a mysterious thing, Jake. I don’t understand how or why it does any of the things it does. She said it flashed hot?”
“Her exact words.”
Canaan is quiet. Thinking.
“Olivia was next door today,” Jake says. “With Keith. The halo spooked Brielle pretty bad. I don’t think she likes Olivia much, but Mr. Matthews seems to enjoy her company.”
Canaan chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.
“Sounds about right. Eyes open, Jake. She wants something, and I don’t imagine it’s Keith Matthews.”
K
aylee’s waiting for me on Tuesday when I wrap up my tap class. I’m working to detangle one of my teeny tiny dancers from the stereo cord when I see Kay standing in the doorway. I have to laugh. She’s on the carpeted side staring at the hardwood dance floor like a first-time swimmer about to launch into the deep.
“You can come in, Kay. The water’s fine.”
“This place terrifies me,” she says, watching my students file past her and into the arms of their parents waiting out front.
“Why?”
“Everyone here’s all coordinated and stuff.”
Coordinated
gets air quotes.
“Not everyone,” I say, winking at the little dancer I’ve finally freed from the stereo.
Kay and I leave the studio, crossing the street and heading up Main. We pass The Donut Factory and the Photo Depot. Jake’s inside, his head bent over his work. I’m tempted to feign some sort of dramatic predicament just to pull him away—we’ve done nothing but text since Sunday—but I settle for knocking
on the window and waving. Of course, Kay’s not content with that. She presses her face to the glass, leaving a smear of lip gloss that someone will have to clean up later. Probably Jake. But he laughs at her and smiles at me. His eyes linger, making me reconsider that dramatic predicament idea. But I’ll see him tonight. We have plans. And according to the text he sent me at 3:14 this afternoon, he has that surprise all ready for me.
Kaylee tugs me on. We pass a real estate office and the Auto Body before turning down a side street that will take us up to the community center. I heft my duffel bag higher on my shoulder and let her step in front of me as we approach the center. I love Kaylee dearly, but she hasn’t shut up about the wonderment that is Olivia Holt. I just nod and blink, a realization setting in as we climb the steps to the front door.
Getting rid of Olivia isn’t going to be an easy thing. Her money’s found a home here, the city council is practically falling all over themselves for her time, and closer to home, Kaylee is madly in love with anything and everything the woman touches.
“I have to show you what Liv got donated for your dance classes, but first things first.” Kaylee makes a big sweeping gesture with her arms, and I look up. “Meet Teddy.”
We’re in a foyer of sorts. To the right is Kaylee’s office. To the left are the bathrooms, and there above the entrance to the multipurpose room is what appears to be the head of a dead animal.
I squint into his marble eyes. “What is it, exactly?”
“I don’t really know,” she says. “It’s like a deer or a moose. Maybe a yak. I really have no idea. I bet your dad would know.”
“I bet he would,” I say, tilting my head. “His nose is too wide or something.”
“I know. And the antler thingys are gigantic.”
Our laughter echoes off the walls, and a scissor-wielding scrapbooker pokes her head out of a room to our right.
“Sorry, ladies,” Kaylee says, lowering her voice. “So, Teddy. The mayor had him installed yesterday. Some kind of tribute to the history of the center. I guess he used to hang in the Elks Club that was here before us.”
“He’s an elk!” I say.
She gasps, “He is!”
This time our laughter is silenced by a man in an apron. “Sorry, sorry. How are the muffins turning out, Mr. Hamilton?”
Kaylee pulls me across the basketball court and onto the stage, the same stage I danced on Saturday afternoon.
She makes another mad gesture with her hands. “Aren’t they awesome?” She’s talking about the portable ballet barres lined up in the wings. “I don’t have a clue what to do with them, but Liv says they’ll be helpful for your class.”
I frown at them, at just how much easier they’ll make our volunteer efforts here at the center.
“Oh gosh, Elle. They’ll be helpful, right? Are they all wrong? I should have asked you first.”
I put a hand on her arm, stilling her, stopping the panic. “They’re perfect. They’re just perfect. Tell Olivia thank you.”
That last sentence cost me. I smile bravely for Kay.
“You can tell her yourself. Tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Fourth of July, crazy. We’re doing a picnic thing out at the lake. Liv said you and your dad were coming.”
Liv said? Why is she speaking for my family? I scratch at my nose, irritated. But I’d forgotten tomorrow was the Fourth, and
there are no plans to fall back on. “I didn’t know anything about it,” I say.
“Oh, please say you’ll come! I already talked Delia into closing Jelly’s for the day. And I bought her a bathing suit.”
“Oh my. I’ve never even seen Delia’s legs.”
“Right. It’s time she unleashed them upon the world. So see, I’m invested in this thing—fifty-four dollars—and if you don’t come it’s going to be me and a bunch of old people.”
“Olivia’s not that old, Kay.”
“Please, please, please.”
“Okay. Sure. Of course. I mean, Dad and I usually spend the Fourth together, so if he wants to set off fireworks at the lake, I guess I’m in. I’m just . . . I’m not a huge fan of Olivia.”
“Because she’s canoodling your dad? I totally get that, but I swear you’ll love her. You just have to get to know her. She’s got these ideas on how to secure donations and raise money. She’s a mad scientist, you know? She knows how to push buttons and get folks to cough up cash. And her ideas . . .”
“I get it, Kay. She’s got ideas.”
“Yes! Ideas!”
J
ake’s sitting on the porch swing when I pull into the drive in Mom’s old bug. I slide Slugger into Park and climb out wondering how many more trips down Main she can handle. She’s a 1967 Volkswagon Beetle with a rusted rack on top. Dad’s done everything he can to keep in her shape, but she’s starting to sound a little tired. I pat her hood gently and make my way toward Jake.