Earth Angel (19 page)

“I wish she’d help me with my energy healing, though,” Dara said. “Has she ever done any healing on you? She’s amazing. It’s like she opens up this space where you can breathe…and then the power of her energy slams you to the ground.”

No, Abby hadn’t felt any slamming when Gwynne healed her ear infection. The slamming came later, when Gwynne told her she didn’t want her touching her—which was not a particularly healing experience. So yes, her ear didn’t hurt anymore. Now it was the inside of her chest that hurt.

* * *

Gwynne pulled off the side of the road not far from the house where she grew up and tramped through pale winter weeds down to the river that flowed unnoticed under the white noise of the busy road. The water moved peacefully, relentlessly on its way. There was no sign that anyone had died here.

She picked her way down the steep, muddy bank, holding her arms out for balance, trying not to slip and land on her ass. This was the spot. Under the bridge. From here, she couldn’t see the railing overhead anymore, only chattering sparrows who flew around the support beams building a nest.

The river was deceptively deep. Not that that mattered when the water was as cold as it had been in January. Her mother should have had more sense than to run onto the ice and try to save Heather on her own. She should have known the ice wouldn’t hold. She was just like Abby, wanting to rush in and help without worrying whether it was safe.

No, not like Abby. Her mother was caught up in a frenzy of panic and wasn’t thinking straight. Maternal instinct had taken over. She must have been terrified.

Abby didn’t have the excuse of impulse or panic. She was calm, she was not terrified, she was trying to be logical—and letting logic lose badly to rationalization.

What Elle was asking her to do was dangerous. Irresponsible. Crazy. Not that angelic thought processes always made sense, but this was outrageous even for them. Couldn’t Abby see that? How could she even consider doing what they asked?

Gwynne kicked the heel of her sneaker into the mud. This was why she couldn’t date her. She needed to be with someone grounded and down-to-earth. Someone who wouldn’t make her feel like
she
was the practical one. Someone who didn’t talk to angels.

Unfortunately those down-to-earth types quickly lost patience with her once they figured out she spent most of her time, when she wasn’t hanging out with angels or helping sick people go into spontaneous remission, staring off into space getting sidetracked by luminescent grids and vortexes of color that no one else could see. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t make it work. She’d try again. She’d meet someone, she’d be so charming that they’d overlook her habit of talking to invisible beings, and she’d forget all about Abby Vogel and live happily ever after.

Because she was not going to stand by and watch Abby self-destruct.

Chapter Thirteen

There was something to be said for not letting people know what you were capable of. Look at Abby sitting there behind her harp, wisely saying nothing—no one pestered
her
for tips on how to sense angels. No, they pestered Gwynne.

Gwynne planted her elbows on the spa’s appointment desk and cupped her chin in her hands and glared at Dara. She was glaring at everyone today, wishing she didn’t work in the same space as Abby.

“Don’t try so hard,” she told Dara, trying to think of something helpful to say. How did you teach someone to do something that came naturally? But Dara wanted it so badly. “Allow the angels to reveal themselves. It’s the same with healings. Don’t reach for the energy. Surrender into it. You strip away the noise and what’s left is…nothing. That’s when the energy starts to flow. Beyond that, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Dara keyed that bit of dubious wisdom into her notes. “But…”

“I don’t know how to explain it any better.”

“But…”

“And what I do is pointless, anyway.” Her so-called abilities weren’t as exciting as Dara seemed to think. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I need a new career. I can’t keep doing massage forever.”

“It doesn’t have to be energy healing,” Gwynne said with what she thought was extreme reasonableness. There were a million other jobs Dara could be trained to do.

“I wouldn’t mind having your job, if you ever decide to go back to being a healer.”

“I’m not going back to being a healer.”

“How can you say that?” Dara protested. “You’re so good.”

Fortunately, she was spared from having to answer because Hank lumbered in with a stack of glossy brochures and wavered between handing them to Gwynne and clutching them uncertainly. Finally she settled on placing them on the edge of the desk and sliding them forward.

“Aisha wants to know if you’ll display these for her.”

Gwynne scanned the image of Aisha, standing out with her smoothly shaved head and her camouflage-print bikini, flanked by students doing pushups. Looked like she was offering her beach boot camp again this year. Aisha already had a successful career as a dentist, but had decided she liked to unwind from her day by yelling at students to haul ass. Supposedly she was friendly and gentle as a dentist, though. Go figure.

“I heard you guys broke up,” Gwynne said. “Is that just a vicious rumor, or is it true?”

“It’s true.”

“I’m so sorry.” Gwynne came around from behind her desk and gave her a hug, which was nothing like hugging Abby.

No. No thinking about hugging Abby. No thinking about kissing Abby. No thinking about…

“Want me to say mean things about her?” Gwynne said. “Like Aisha really, really, really doesn’t deserve you?”

Hank shook her head mutely.

“How about like why is she making you run her errands for her? Dropping off these brochures?”

“It’s okay, Gwynne.”

“What’s your favorite bra of hers?”

Hank choked. “You are not calling her the black satin bra, you hear?”

“Okay, but only because I don’t want to confuse people and make them think she’s
my
ex. I have enough exes around here.”

Gwynne glanced guiltily in Abby’s direction, but Abby was tuning a harp string, tightening the pin with her special wrench, and didn’t look up. They may not have slept together, but after all the fantasizing she’d done, it almost felt like they had. She’d never felt that way after just one kiss.

Gwynne realized she still had her arms around Hank and released her. Hank plopped down on the nearest sofa and nearly landed in Dara Sullivan’s lap.

“Excuse me,” Hank said, mustering the energy to move only a few inches away before collapsing on the sofa cushions.

“I’m Dara, by the way,” Dara told Hank’s slumped form. “Would you like me to do some energy healing on you?”

Hank grunted. “You believe in that psychic crap Gwynne does?”

Dara leaned over her. “It’s not crap.”

Was that her hand on Hank’s thigh? Okay, yeah, now it was on her shin. This should be interesting.

“You should try it,” Dara said.

“Will it get my ex-girlfriend back?”

Dara jerked away. “No,” she said stiffly.

“Then what good is it?”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Sorry.” Hank sat up abruptly, showing more life than she had since she’d walked in. “I’m sure you’re amazing. I’m probably missing out, right?”

Dara didn’t bite. “Actually, I’m not that good. At psychic healing, I mean. I’m trying to get Gwynne to teach me.”

Gwynne snatched the brochures from her desk in the vain hope that might keep her from being dragged into the conversation. She shuffled a few things on the display rack of local attractions to make room, then shuffled them a different way. Bored, she took a closer look at the beach boot camp brochure and noticed Hank was one of the students in the picture. Turning around, she made the mistake of glancing in Abby’s direction and saw her smirk. Like Abby knew exactly what she was doing, messing around with the display rack when it did not need help.

“Why would you want to be psychic?” Hank was asking Dara.

“Who wouldn’t?” Dara said.

“It’s a waste of time.”

“It’s part of my spiritual path,” Dara said. “I don’t consider that to be a waste of time.”

“If you want to be spiritual, just be a decent person,” Hank said.

“I am a decent person,” Dara said. “Thanks for the unhelpful advice.”

“You don’t need to be psychic to be spiritual,” Hank insisted. “It’s a distraction. Like…” She trailed off, like she couldn’t decide on the perfect disparaging analogy. “Like…like having a hot body. You work and train and push yourself to get a great body—or in your case, ESP—and then what? So you have a great body. Or you see angels or ghosts or whatever. So what? All those hours of work, and on the inside you’re still the same old sorry excuse for a human being.”

Dara cleared her throat and Gwynne held her breath. Not thinking about hot-body beach boot camp babe Aisha, now were we?

Hank seemed to realize what she’d implied about Dara because she cleared her throat too. “Not that you’re a…you know. No offense.”

“I’ve heard worse,” Dara sniffed.

“What I’m trying to say—badly—is do the work where it counts. You don’t need to drink Gwynne’s Kool-Aid like a girly girl and chase the shiny glitter.”

“Psychic abilities are not glitter,” Dara said. “They bring you closer to the nature of reality.”

“Not in my book. You think Gwynne here understands the nature of reality?”

“Hey,” Gwynne protested weakly. “I do you a favor and let you display your ex’s brochures, and this is the thanks I get?”

She’d have to talk to Hank later, not because she couldn’t handle the insults, but because she’d appreciate it if she watched her cracks about girly girls and glitter when Abby was within earshot. Hank didn’t know how sparkly Abby’s costumes could be, and she didn’t want Abby to be hurt.

But hey, if Hank could convince Dara that her obsession with all things psychic was unhealthy, she’d tell her to knock it off with the glitter analogies and afterward she’d buy her dinner. Heck, she’d buy her flowers.

When Hank left, Dara rose from her seat and made a beeline for Aisha’s brochure. She fished it from the rack and turned her back to Gwynne to stare at it, slouching over it like she needed privacy. “Her name is Hank?” she asked, not looking up.

“Yeah, I think it’s really Henrietta,” Gwynne said. “But she refuses to confirm or deny.”

“Hank could be her real name,” Dara said.

“Could be.”

“It’s cute. Is she on a spiritual path, do you think?”

“I’m sure you could find out,” Gwynne said.

“She’s single,” Abby volunteered. She winked at Gwynne.

Gwynne’s throat tightened. Abby was so beautiful. And so not for her.

It was sweet of her to try to steer Dara away from her and toward someone new, but wasn’t Dara already involved with someone? Not that
that
relationship was working if Dara could still proposition Gwynne on a regular basis. Sure, she was joking, but underneath the flip attitude she was dead serious, and she made it obvious it wouldn’t take much for her to break up with her mystery woman. Maybe Abby was right to push her into Hank’s rebounding arms. She couldn’t quite see the two of them hitting it off, but she’d be happy to be proven wrong. Thrilled. She’d buy
both
of them flowers.

* * *

In the spa’s lounge the next afternoon, Gwynne watched Kira crouch in front of her rabbits’ pet carrier and make an awkward attempt to talk to them through their jail bars. Kira really was trying. Which was sweet, because it was clear from her stilted words that animals were not her thing. Gwynne squatted next to her to coach her on the fine points of rabbit conversation, but instead of keeping an eye on the rabbits or on Kira—who was, after all, her boss—she caught herself glancing in Abby’s direction again and again.

Abby looked so intent as she leaned over her harp playing scales, her hands reaching for the strings. Gwynne shivered, remembering how it felt to be in her arms. Was she always like that when she embraced a woman she liked? Focused and sure, giving you her full attention?

Giving
them
her full attention, Gwynne corrected herself. Someone else. Not her. Because Abby might possibly, maybe, be an angel, and another frickin’ angel was the last thing she needed right now.

“They look so desperate chewing on the bars of their cage,” Kira observed. “Should we let them out?”

Kira. She needed to focus on Kira. She opened the carrier and picked up Nimbus, who was occasionally better behaved with strangers than his brother was, and deposited him in Kira’s arms. “He likes it if you pet him on the forehead.”

Kira was hesitant at first. While she worked on getting the hang of it, Gwynne got Peter the Fifteenth out of the carrier and scratched his chin so he wouldn’t get jealous.

“That’s it,” Gwynne encouraged her, congratulating herself because she had managed not to glance in Abby’s direction for at least thirty seconds.

“He’s soft,” Kira said.

After a few strokes she’d had enough and put him on the floor in front of the open door of his carrier. Nimbus stared inside, nose quivering with interest.

“He’ll go in on his own, right?” Kira didn’t look like she wanted to touch him again to give him a boost.

“Maybe,” Gwynne said. The boys were trained, but only to a point.

Nimbus turned his head, his nose picking up speed. If she didn’t have Peter in her arms, she’d—

Too late. Nimbus zigzagged away from the safety of his carrier toward the treatment rooms.

Megan chose that moment to emerge from her massage room. She froze in the doorway, caught in a stare-down with the rabbit, then swiftly shut the door behind her. Nimbus rammed his head at the crack under her door, optimistic as always that he could squeeze himself into any space he wanted to, no matter how small. Megan double-checked that the door to her room was securely closed, the latch engaged.

“Somebunny wants to be your friend,” Gwynne said cheerfully, hoping to avert a meltdown.

Megan rolled her eyes. “You are so weird.”

“But you love me anyway.”