Sentinel of Heaven (11 page)

“I wanted to
come, but they barely touched the parts of me I needed them to touch.  I wanted
to feel desired, but all they lusted after were the scars, the old wounds.  Not
the girl attached to them.

“I guess I
have
been lonely, all these years.  Maybe I never knew because that's how it's
always been:  Moira against the world.  Everyone else comes through and they go
right out again.  And you will too, when you've healed.  That's just how life
is.

“I suppose I
don't think about it because if I start looking for reasons to live I'll get
discouraged and go out and lay down in Potter's Field myself.  Just wait for
the birds and the dirt to have me, because what is it for?  Why struggle so
hard if there's nothing at the core worth the fight? 

“Some people
continue to live only because they have no imagination for any alternatives. 
So why do I?”

Leo reached
out and touched her shoulder; she lay her hand over his as she navigated the
old country roads.

“I shouldn't
be telling you this.  It's not yours to burden you with.”

She fell
silent, wondering what his life was like.  Where does an angel live?  Were
there others there, more like him?  Were there women, too?  Did they read and
watch movies and fall in love?  Did they have day jobs they hated?  Did they
sing hymns and play harps all day?

She looked
down at his other arm, laying across his lap – the one covered in scars that
crisscrossed almost to his shoulder.  No, probably a miss on the hymn-singing,
although she figured a broken harp-string could get vicious...

Was someone
out there looking for him now, a family that missed him?  Was there a seraphic
little wife wringing a little apron, waiting for his return?  With little
cherub children with his blue-sky eyes clinging around her knees?

Oh Christ,
Moira – turn the knife clockwise next time.

You don't want
him to belong to anyone else other than whatever sent him reeling into your
grandmother's rose-bush, sent him into your house and your existence, larger
than life and a thousand times more precious.  You want him to be yours
forever.

He's not been
here two days, you great fool, and already thinking of a time in the future
without him in it sucks at your mind like the gaping hole in the gum where a
healthy tooth used to be.

Put it
aside,
she willed herself, turning in at the old willow by the mailbox. 
Put
it aside, put it down.  People come and people go, even the winged ones. 
Treasure every second you are given.

When they
pulled in behind the house, Leo bounded out of his side of the car and circled
around to hers, almost pulling the door out of her hand in his rush to sweep
her up in his arms.  He was bending almost in half to try to hold her, then
finally gave up and knelt in the mud from last night's bath.

“Leo!”

He kept his
arms closed around her, searching her face.

“Leo, you can
let go.  I just get a little morose sometimes; it's not a big deal.  Nothing's
going to happen to me, I promise.” 
Not while you're here,
she thought
but didn't say.  You didn't put that weight on a man, as a Capable Woman.

He shook her
frame once, his expression frustrated.

“And what
would you say if you could, mm?” she answered him softly.  “Let it go,
dearheart.  It's not yours to carry.  Just let it go.”

He sighed and
leaned his forehead against hers.  She reached up to pull the tie-back out of
his hair and slide it around her wrist, fluffing out his mane to fall around
her again.

“My friend,
I'm glad to have you here,” she whispered. 
Never mind the hole that will
be left when you go, or how newly aware of it I will be.

She wasn't
sure which one of them started the kiss but he wasn't backing away and she gave
herself into it wholeheartedly.  He kissed like breathing – a gentle rocking exchange,
back and forth, that enervated the whole body and made it feel refreshed.  He
was a bottomless well; she could fall into the bliss of his touch and just
float forever, never reaching the end.

And every time
she thought he would pull away and release her he would drift back only to
return for more, hungry for it as a child would hunger for watermelon on a
summer day.  Her breath was coming short and quick.

Surely
this means nothing,
her mind protested desperately.

She was the
one to break it in the end, arching her neck and turning her head with a purely
spiritual pain no amount of pills would soothe.  She saw the haze of pleasure
in his eyes fade and the old sadness set in again.  He disengaged and stood
with some reluctance, then schooled his face into implacability and pointed
over his back.

“Your wings? 
Sure, you can let them out now.”

With a sound
like ripping sailcloth the two feathered appendages exploded out of his
shoulders to either side.  Despite herself she broke down into giggles; he quirked
a half-smile at her.

“You looked
like a Navy life-raft,” she said, and her giggles turned into full-on
laughter.  The fact she was pretty sure he had no idea how a boat related in
any way to his wings only made it more hilarious.

He let her
carry on, folding his wings back and stepping toward the trunk, waiting for her
to unlock it.

Usually on any
other Laundry Day she'd be dragging the sacks up her back porch steps,
exhausted and agonized, filled with a welter of emotions and all of them
negative.  Today she watched Leo skip up her stairs as fresh as a yearling
colt, bending for a moment to brush the mud off his pants and soles before
opening the back door.

Maybe I
should get a mat for the back porch for him to wipe his feet,
she thought. 
I don't think he'll ever go about in shoes, and would I ever want him to? 
It'd be about the same as clipping his pinions.

He set the
bags by her bed and moved out of the way back into the kitchen, opening the
fridge and cabinets as he went about making her a lunch.  Since her back was
still cooperating she was able to refill her dresser and hang up her nicer
clothes, instead of having to wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow
will be going-back-to-work day and I don't want to think about that, therefore
I will not think about it, because it will be tomorrow.

When she
wandered back into the kitchen at last and sat down, he set a glass of water
and a plate in front of her with great fanfare.  Sandwiches; they looked okay
on the outside but she couldn't remember what sandwich material she actually
had in her fridge... A moment of cautious research revealed the contents: whole
wheat bread that wasn't yet too stale, turkey, bacon (she assumed from his
breakfast-making yesterday), a little smear of mayo, and a slice of provolone
on each.  Sliced diagonally, even.

“Dear God,
this looks perfect.  How in the world did you know what I like on my
sandwiches?”

He touched the
side of his head and shrugged:  I don't know how, I just do.  He sat on the
floor again to watch her partake, a ritual she was starting to get used to.

“I should
clean that fridge out soon,” she mused out loud between bites.  “God only knows
what's buried in there that I've forgotten.  There could be whole civilizations
springing up in Mother's ancient Tupperware.”

Leo said
nothing, of course, only inched closer to her and lay his head on her goodish
knee, always careful not to hurt her.  She ate with one hand and ran the fingers
of her other through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.  Petting him like
a dog, she thought reprovingly – but he seemed to like it and if he didn't care,
who was she to complain?

The warmth of
his body and his company were both pleasant.  Keep it at that, Moira.

“Laundry Day
took less time than I'd thought, with your great assistance of course,” she
said, finishing up the first sandwich.  “We've got some daylight left to us. 
Is there anything in particular you'd like to do, dearheart?”

Not moving his
head from her lap, he waved his free hand languidly.  Obviously he had no suggestions.

“Well, you're
very little help,” she reproved, and was answered by an amused snort.

“I suppose if
you're up for carrying one of the older quilts, we should go out and look at
the fields.  I could lay down and read a bit, and you could get some sun.  You
probably haven't gotten enough yesterday and today; you look too thin.  I've
been starving you.”

He rubbed his
cheek against her knee. 

“And I won't
be able to finish this other sandwich, Leo, but if you're willing to bag it up
for now I can have it for dinner tonight or even lunch tomorrow.”

Leo rolled to
his feet and took the plate, tipping a clean bowl over it before putting it
back in the fridge.  Good boy, not dirtying a new fridge box or using up any
wax paper or plastic bags for it.  He could almost be a former poor kid
himself.

He stripped a
tough old quilt from the underside of his nest and she gathered up a book of
old sonnets and her cane and jacket.  The sun was high and thin when she
stepped out onto the porch.  Still, shouldn't get too cold for the next few
hours.  But maybe if it did, he would agree to help keep her warm...

Moira, you old
letch.

“Let's go this
way,” she said aloud, pointing to the left away through the trees.  Her memory
hadn't failed her; it was the easiest path that had been worn by her years of
cheap sneakers as a child, tight through the brush in places but flat and
easily followed, with fewer roots to trip them.  Leo managed it well, although
he kept his wings firmly pinned behind him.

They emerged
not too long later at the edge of a huge field.  The grass was knee-high and
winter-brown, rustling dryly in a light breeze.  Far far away was the main road
where it passed her house and rolled out of sight to the north.  She gestured
to it.

“Do you think
you'll be seen from the road if we stay over here?” 

He shook his
head with certainty, pointed at the road, pointed at himself, slashed his
hand.  They won't see me.

“I surely hope
so; I don't want anyone thinking I'm selling angels in a road-side vegetable
stand.”  He snorted again and helped her to spread the blanket out close to the
tree-line but far enough to be out of the shade.

“This used to
be all our land, the land I sold.  That big shot lawyer and his Atlanta friend
bought it and cleared it, true... but the housing market never really recovered
enough for them to build on it.

“It's a bit
sad; I had hoped that they would.  I hoped there would be a neighborhood here
that would maybe have yard parties and I could mosey over, introduce myself,
and not have too far to stagger back home.” 

She sat down
in the center of the quilt.  “Nice people, well-off people.  Maybe they'd
invite nice friends from their offices to their parties and I'd get to meet
them.  Like a free dating service for crippled shut-ins.”  She laughed softly
at herself.

“Go play in
the sun, Leo,” Moira admonished him with a smile.  He waded away through the
grass, his grey head bowed.

She opened her
sonnet collection at random and promptly forgot it, watching the play of winter
light on his naked shoulders.  He had his wings unfolded and partially spread,
holding the tips above the dry grass seed-heads to keep them pristine.  The
light roiled off the feathers and was reflected back, sometimes as little gold
sparks, sometimes as a nacreous sheen.

If any
writer, male or female, here remembered in the book I hold has ever loved a man
as exquisite as this one I'll eat my hat,
she thought.

She glanced
down at the page under her right palm and saw:

Why are we
thus divided having kissed?

Why are we
yet two bodies and not one?

Why have
our separate spirits leave to run

Two
sundered paths of thought? what laws resist

The
perfect bond whereof we dimly wist?

Love,
incomplete, seems ever but begun,

And yearns
to consummation never won,

His
purpose always nearly gained – and missed.

As
mournful waves with desolate delight

That
moaning kiss the same sands night by night

In
changeless hunger, and are not appeased:

So I, who
famish at possession's goal,

Must kiss
and kiss, yet kisses ne'er console

Love's
over-burdened heart that is not eased.

“Tell me about
it, Barlas,” muttered Moira.

Leo wandered a
little ways – never beyond the reach of a summoning shout but far enough that
he became a crescent of white against distant green pines over a brown-gold
field.  She saw the wind stir his hair.  He turned his head to follow its path
as if he could see it.  For a moment his wings cupped unconsciously, eager to
catch it and pull him into the skies...

Then he shook
his head slightly and stretched them out again.

We could fly kites
out here on an afternoon like this, she thought.  Or would it be too cruel for
him to see something on the wing and be unable to join it?

Leo knelt like
a boy in the grass, grubbing in the dirt at some item she couldn't see.  Moira
shut the book as she lay back on the blanket, putting it underneath her head
like a hard square pillow.  She was unaware she had fallen into a light doze
until a shadow blocked out the sun.

Her angel had
returned, having dusted his hands off on his black pants (leaving streaks of
red clay, she noted).  He went down on his knees and stretched out his palm
towards her, holding something out for her inspection.

“Ahhh, you've
found yourself a moonstone,” she told him.  The cream-colored stone flashed
blue-green when the light hit it, across a flat place where it had broken.  “They're
not common here but not unheard of, either.  It's very pretty.”

He gestured
for her to take it.  “You're giving it to me?”  She smiled softly.  “And if
this had been spring, would you have brought back a handful of wildflowers?”

He nodded.

“I'm lucky
it's not spring; I would have gotten a spectacular sunburn from falling asleep
here like an old cat.”

Moira yawned
and rolled onto her side, reaching into her back pocket for her wallet; she
slid the stone into the zippered change pouch and put the billfold away again,
shutting her eyes.

After a moment
he stretched out behind her, fitting his body against her back, his thighs along
her bottom.  She felt the book of sonnets being removed carefully, to be
replaced by the curve of his bicep.

“Oh, don't do
that – “ she said and yawned again.  “I'll go straight back to sleep if you do.

He chuckled
low in his chest, clearly content to have it occur.  She snuggled back into his
shoulder.  His breath stirred her hair.

The lazy
afternoon reverie drifted into a state somewhere between fantasy and lucid
dream.  From a distance she seemed to feel his free hand drift up her hip to
her side, carrying the hem of her red blouse with it.  The fingers skimmed over
her ribcage lightly, then dipped to unfasten her bra.  Around to her front
again... nudging the underwires up to let her breasts fall free.  He kissed the
back of her neck languidly as he explored them.

Mmmm...
don't wake up,
Moira told herself.

He shifted
against her; she felt a hardness pressed to her hip that was wonderfully long
and thick.  She wanted to reach back and examine it properly but dared not
break the spell.

Still, she
squirmed and sighed when he rolled her nipple between finger and thumb and
tugged it lightly, his lips tracing the cord of her throat.  Then his hand was
wandering again, undoing the belt that she'd worn, that thick black leather
chastity belt meant to protect her an extra moment from an animal like Chester –
but it parted like an untied knot under his manipulation.

It knows
the master's touch,
she thought.

Leo rose up on
his side behind her, shifting the arm that held her.  She curled against his
chest but continued to feign sleep, not wishing to startle him.

With his right
hand he kept playing with her chest, those sly little motions that ratcheted
her tension higher and higher.  His left eased down the zipper of her jeans and
spread it apart to fit his hand into them.

The angel
breathed something against the flesh of her throat, sending chills down to
match the tremors marching up her spine.  It could have been “more” or “Moira”,
but it may have been “Mine!” and she groaned aloud, pierced to the core.

She woke to a
sudden knife blade of chill as the wind sought beneath her jacket.

Leo was
crouched out of arm’s reach at the lower corner of the blanket, watching her
wordlessly.  He looked thoughtful.  Mildly curious, even.

I bet his
poker-face is better than mine.  I bet I'm beet-colored from my hairline down.

Of course
every stitch of her clothing was still in place, even the bra whose wires were
beginning to cut into her something cruel. 

“I was
dreaming,” she said dully. 

Leo nodded
once.

“Did I make
any noises or move about at all?  Anything?”

He shook his
head, eyes never leaving her face.

“Would you
actually tell me... if I had?”

Leo grinned
and shook his head again.

“Infuriating
feathered incubus,” she grunted sternly.  “Help me up before all my joints
freeze.”

He lifted her
onto her shaky legs, handing her the cane and the book, and folded the quilt
quickly and smoothly.  Slinging it over his shoulder he bent without warning
and scooped her up into his arms, snorting in amusement at her little shriek of
dismay.

The seam of
the tight black jeans bunched right against her aching crotch and sent another
earthquake through her.  She leaned her burning face against his collarbone.

Just kill
me now,
she thought
.  I hope he has little to no idea of what all he
does to me.

Leo carried
her all the way back to the house as if she were as light as a kitten, setting
her down at last to free his hands to open the door.  She staggered in, leaning
on her cane.  “I'm going to need a minute,” she muttered.

Another
restroom trip, another splash of water to the face and a moment to collect
herself.  She looked up at herself in the mirror from underneath her brows.

“This is
conduct unbecoming of a lady,” Moira told her reflection.

Not that
it would stop me...

She changed
into sensible underwear and a nightgown silently, feeling the pain beginning to
break like a wave over her.  As soon as she came out of the bedroom Leo was by
her side again, shepherding her towards the living room recliner, settling her
in, getting her one of the better blankets and a glass of water.

Moira shook
out a pill and took it as he wandered back into the kitchen and began rattling
stuff around.  Apparently exasperated with his available culinary choices, Leo
got out another cardboard box from the freezer and prepped it for the
microwave.