Dream Angel : Heaven Waits (11 page)

I opened my eyes slowly, briefly unfamiliar with my surroundings. In all my years as a flight attendant, and all the successive mornings of waking up someplace different than the day before, this feeling of disorientation should not have startled me. However, on this morning, one thing was pleasantly different. I was not alone. A heat radiated by my side. At first I had not noticed his presence, having forgotten whose bed I had fallen asleep. But then, my mind cleared, and I realized that my angel was sleeping only inches from my side.

Slowly, I rolled over to see my living dream. He had his back to me, and slept with one arm tucked under his pillow. He looked as peaceful as a sleeping child, his shoulders rising and falling in rhythm with his every breath. He wore no shirt, and for a moment I fantasized about what else was missing, and then remembered the promises and realizations of last night.

Slowly, and pausing often to see that I had not disturbed his slumber, I inched closer. I didn't dare breathe as I leaned over him to gaze at his face. To see those pouting lips with a hint of a curl, even present as he slept, made me smile. I longed to wrap my arms around him and cuddle closer, molding my body with his from behind.

Deep in sleep, he shifted slightly on his pillow, and a patch of blue-black hair drifted over his left eye. My hand shook as I reached out to gently brush away the obstacle and unblock my view. He stirred, and his eyes fluttered open like an oyster displaying the pearl gems inside. Slow to come out of his dreams, he glanced around and seemed unfamiliar with his own surroundings. I had never considered that angels would suffer that same confusion.

“I thought angels didn’t sleep,” I whispered, and his head turned to look over his left shoulder, towards my voice.

He inhaled deeply, taking in his first deep breath of the morning, and rolled over. When our bodies touched under the covers, my temperature rose.

“I’m making up for all those years I couldn’t.” He said, his lips shifting into a slow easy smile as he took my hand and lifted my fingers to his mouth for a good morning kiss.

Content, he placed my hand flat against his bare chest. His soft chest hairs felt like silk rose pedals under my touch, and I resisted the urge to lower my nose to his sweetness and inhale his scent.

“Catching up on lost winks?”

“Something, like that,” he yawned and his nose wrinkled so sweetly, I laid a finger to it.

I giggled openly as he looked from my face to my finger and back again. And when a mischievous look flashed in his eyes, I braced myself. His reflexes were fast, and I barely flinched when Elvis shifted his weight and repositioned himself over me. Flat on my back, the weight of his body pressed heavily against my small frame. His belt buckle dug into my stomach, proving he was indeed dressed from the waist down.

“Hasn’t anyone ever taught you how to give a man his proper good mornings?” He asked, still grinning from ear to ear.

It's true; I enjoyed the round-and-a-round nature of our teasing games. Flirting was all I was allowed to enjoy, but there was one problem. Elvis played to win! One could be sure there’d be no mercy, and cheating was never completely off the table.

“I know how to greet
my
man in the morning, yes.” I played my part perfectly.

“Well, then?” His smile shined over me.

“You’re not
my
man.” I said, and his only response was the shifting of his gaze to my lips. My game plan quickly distorted. “Y-you’re my, uh… angel and all, but,”

“You talk too much," he droned, "just kiss me.”

He asked for it, I thought while reaching up to wrap both hands around his neck and pulling him to my lips. I kept my eyes open long enough to see his rising in stunned surprise, his complaint muffled by my lips. And when he jerked back, licking at his bottom lip, I let loose a burst of laugher.

“A-ha, a-ha, a-ha…” He mimicked.

“I always wanted a crazy stage-side kiss,” I laughed harder.

“You…,” was all I heard him say before I felt his teeth nibbling on the side of my neck.

I screamed, and my squeals mixed with his outright laughter. He held my hands firmly over my head with one hand while tickling me with his other. Pinned under him, there was no escaping, even if I had wanted to. As my body went limp, exhausted from the tear-shedding laughter, Elvis chuckled victoriously and relaxed his hold.

When our humor subsided, all was quiet in the room, apart from our labored breathing.

“You’re silly,” he heaved.

Panting nose to nose, we each struggled to catch our breath. And though my watery eyes blurred his beautiful features, I could sense his lips were just a kiss away. Without thought, I turned my head and lifted my mouth to his. He drew in a breath of surprise, and then his eyes drifted close.

Elvis loved to kiss. He kissed with the eagerness of a teenager, and all the patience of a man. His lips were supple and soft like the South’s finest spun cotton. And I made good use of his tendency to linger, shifting my lips and attempting to enjoy every scrumptious curve of his full mouth.

As usual, he pulled away first.

“Better?” I purred, enjoying the look of melting self control in his eyes.

“Hmm, almost, perfect.” His smile was broad and dazzling, but I frowned anyway.

“You have to leave room for improvement, baby. It’s better that way.” He placed a quick peck to my nose and then slid off the bed.

Barefoot, shirtless and wearing only the pair of trousers he had on from the night before, he strolled across the room.

“We need to get on the road.” He ran his hand through his tousled hair. “Your Daddy is waiting.”

I opened my mouth to speak.

“No arguments now.” He pointed to my abandoned room as he walked passed, headed to the bathroom, and then slammed the door behind him in one smooth motion.

I knew it was silly to pout, but I couldn't help it. I kicked at the bed sheets, flinging them off of me. When that didn’t relieve all my frustration, I thrashed against the mattress until I tired.

***

The drive from Alabama to Georgia was less than 300 miles. Amazingly, Elvis managed it in less than three hours, driving as if on autopilot.

When the towering skyscrapers of downtown Atlanta came into view, my hesitations about returning home began to melt. A sense of peace rushed over me. Maybe I had finally accepted God’s plan for me, or maybe Elvis’ laid-back demeanor those last hundred miles had rubbed off, I cannot say. But on this day, as we passed the city, headed for the more urban side of Atlanta, my excitement grew. The feeling was warm and welcoming as if I was finally, in the truest meaning of the word, coming home.

Elvis eased the Escalade off the freeway and into my neighborhood. Georgia’s graceful live oak trees — iconic of the old south — lined my street, their evergreen branches seconding as a canopy over head. Through the rain-splattered car window, I admired each familiar yard, still brown from the winter freeze. And as we turned the last corner, my heart fluttered over the sight of my white brick beauty. It was good to be home.

Neither of us spoke as he turned the sleek Cadillac into my driveway and parked. We stepped out into a light mist, and automatically fell into our roles. Elvis raced to the back of the car to fetch my bags, while I ran to unlock the front door. We moved so easily in each other’s company, as though this could have been our lives in some other realm of time. I had just placed the key inside the lock, when I heard my name.

“Ms. Samantha.” Mrs. Jefferson, my elderly neighbor, called out to me while waving a hand full of clutched items in the air.

Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson had lived in this neighborhood for more than fifty years. Well in their eighties, and with all of their children living outside Atlanta, Mrs. Jefferson had all but taking me in as her own. The admiration was mutual.

“What have you got there, Mrs. Jefferson?” My upbringing did not allow me to call her by her first name.

I left the door unlocked for Elvis and stepped down from my porch. Elvis glanced up from the trunk of the car.

“Some mail darlin’. I thought it not safe to leave it stacking up in your mail box.” She wobbled precariously, but with determination, toward me.

“Thank you, ma’am… please, I’ll come to you.”

Mrs. Jefferson did not have the best of vision, but I did not want her getting a good look at the dream I was parading into my home.

“I can walk. I’m 80, not dead child,” she fussed.

We met half way, neither of us shielding ourselves from the rain. I took the mail from her hand.

“Oh, and before I forget, this note was left on your door this morning. I thought I better get it, least it blow away,” she said while shoving her hand into the side pockets of her long dress and pulling out a folded piece of paper.

The familiarity of the hand writing caught my eye, but I couldn’t right away place it.

“I see you have a friend with you today, Sam.”

I heard her speak, but I was busy examining the folded white note with the blue inked word “Samantha” smeared from rain down the front.

“Hello there young man,” Mrs. Jefferson said to Elvis, not waiting for an introduction.

Elvis had reached the front door and paused. “Ma’am,” He nodded his head, his hands full of bags, before gently nudging the door open with his foot and entering my home.

“Oh, he’s a handsome fella alright,” she squinted but I was not too worried.

“Yes, well…” I stuttered, resisting the urge to tear open the note and read it right in front of her.

“Child, I’m not totally blind. I know a hunk of a man when I see me one!” She said, and then added, “even if he is a little young.”

My attention flickered, and I slowly looked up to her grinning face. A heat surged up my neck and warmed my face.

“I’m sorry, come again ma’am.” I said, and leaned in closer.

“Oh child, that boy looks like he just broke loose from his mama’s apron strings. I bet he’s spirited, too! Those young ones always are.” She turned and with a wave of her hand, promptly marched back to her house.

The rain dripped down my head while Mrs. Jefferson’s step quickened with surprising stability as she raced to get out of the rain.

“Don’t you worry, your secret is safe with me,” she called over her shoulder.

I smiled. Great, first I’m accosting the elderly and now I’m cradle robbing. What’s next? I shook my head.

Shoving the stack of mail inside my jacket, along with the note, I ran across the lawn to shelter. I bounded up the painted white cement stairs, skipping the last step, and in reaching for the brass antique door knob, I paused. I looked to my left, and then to the right, unnerved by what I imagined were the eyes of the world watching me, or worse. Welcome home, I thought and then with a deep breath, I stepped through the threshold.

Right away, I scanned the room, half expecting something further to be out of place. Everything appeared just as I had left it, neat and orderly. I noticed my bags lay abandoned near the phone station. And in lifting my gaze, a blinking red light announced a message awaited me on the phone. It was probably Heather, I told myself, and elected to check it later.

With Elvis nowhere in sight, I could hardly wait to open the note. I was taking off my jacket while unfolding the paper, all at the same time.

Unsigned, it read:
I must see you

A mix of fear and fascination swelled. In my mind, there was only one person who would have left such a desperate note. But Steve didn’t know where I lived, and we had just arrived, I rationalized as I flipped the note, front to back and then face forward again.

“Samantha?” Elvis’ baritone called out.

I folded the paper in to a wad and shoved it deep into my pockets. Running my hands through my hair, I pulled back my shoulders and headed down the hall. I was just about to pass my office when I spotted him and came to a sudden halt. There he stood, in the only light available — the daylight that seeped through the crack in my binds. He had his back to me, and he appeared unusually fascinated with my white bare walls.

“Are you redecorating?” He asked as he bent over to pick up a framed photo of himself, neatly stacked by his feet.

My insides curled into a knot.

“No.” I entered the room, mindful of the note that was still clutched in my hand and conveniently buried inside my pocket. “When you left, I took down your pictures.”

I stood at his side, but he didn’t acknowledge me. He was focused on the vibrant young image of himself, captivated by a time in his life when he held so much in the palms of his hands.

“I-I just couldn’t look at these beautiful photos every day not knowing if I’d ever see you again.” I said, and to be sure I had his attention, I reached out and gently touched to his shoulder.

When he looked up, his gaze was piercing.

“You’re stronger than you think, baby.” He said with a concentrated look that suggested he knew a secret. And when I said nothing in response, he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Surprisingly, I’m not bad with a hammer.” He waved the photo my way with a playful smile that made me chuckle.

“I may take you up on that, one day,” I said and as I reached for the photo, a beep sounded from my home computer.

Elvis spun around, towards the sound, and I silently thanked the Lord for changing the subject.

“That’s a letter, or rather email.” I pointed at my obsessively organized desk.

“This generation and all its gadgets,” Elvis said with his hand over his heart.

“It’s pretty handy.”

Walking over to my desk, I took a seat. I gave the mouse a little shake and the computer screen lit up. My wallpaper was a lovely photo of Elvis, and I noticed his face lit up when he saw it.

“I see I didn’t get taken off of everything,” he said as he sat comfortably to the corner of my desk.

“I hadn’t gotten around to it yet,” I smiled, and he glared at me sideways.

He flipped his hand over, and motioned for me to proceed. A little yellow envelope blinked at the bottom of my screen. I moved the curser over it and with a click, up popped my unread mail. ‘N.B.N headed your way’, the letter head read. My eyes widened.