Dark Before Dawn Page 6

  “That’s not what I meant, Hope, and you know it.”

  It was inevitable; it had been hanging between us for ten years. He always pressed the question on me at some point during his visits: when would I make my choice?

  But he’d never brought it up this soon before, or this insistently.

  I sighed and pushed myself away from him so that I could look him in the eye.

  “Do you really want to have this conversation now?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I always want to have this conversation. I thought you realized that by now.”

  “Michael, I’m not ready to decide. I told you last time, it’s too soon.”

  “It’s been ten years, Hope. And for me, it’s been even longer. Remember, I waited for another two years before I came to you.”

  “How could I forget?” I snapped at him. “You let me think you were either truly dead or had abandoned me. Trust me, I remember that time all too well.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly at the accusation, but he forced himself to let it slide. “I just don’t understand. Why don’t you want to be together? Seeing you in bits and pieces of time … it’s just not right. It’s not how it was meant for us to be. We’re meant to be together. Every moment you delay, well—”

  “Well, what?” I asked sharply.

  “It pulls me here. To you. Which means I’m pulled away from my duties.”

  All the air seemed to rush out of my lungs. Was he really accusing me, and my lingering reluctance to choose, of putting the world at risk? He’d used all sorts of logic on me in the past, but he had never stooped so low as to accuse me of distracting him from his duties.

  Was I?

  “Please, let’s not fight,” I said to him.

  “Then talk to me, Hope. Tell me what you’re thinking. Don’t you want to be like this forever?”

  He pulled my fingers up to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. I shuddered, little tendrils of warmth twining themselves up my arm.

  “And this?” He shifted me up onto his lap and I wrapped my legs around his hips. His hands reached back to caress the small of my back. There was no space between us now; through the thin cotton of my shirt, I could feel his heat.

  He pressed my hand to his chest. Under my palm, I could feel his heart beating wildly.

  “Why can’t you bring yourself to choose me? Either way?”

  His words seared themselves into my brain, accusing. I shoved myself away, taking refuge in the far corner of the swing.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” I said coldly. I wasn’t ready to explain how I felt. I could hardly explain it to myself.

  “Fine.” I had wounded him, and his lips compressed into a grim line as he stood up from the swing. The chains creaked as it began to sway, unbalanced. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end.

  “I’ll go clean up and leave you to yourself until dinner,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m warning you, Hope. We have to talk about this. You can’t keep putting it off forever. Whatever reasons you’re keeping from me can’t be anything worse than what we’ve already gone through. So do whatever you have to do, but you’d better be prepared to talk when I come back.”

  He didn’t wait for me to respond, but stormed off. A minute later, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoed through the house.

  I cursed myself. Why did this have to be so hard? And why, after all this time, was he putting so much pressure on me now?

  I pushed my foot off the floor, setting the swing in motion, and huddled in the corner, chewing my lip. Why couldn’t he see that nothing had really changed? Ten years had passed, true. But ten years hadn’t brought an end to the risks posed by the Fallen, and I couldn’t expose the world—including my own family—to the consequences of selfishly choosing to make Michael human.

  And those ten years also hadn’t made the pain of saying goodbye to my family any less. If anything had changed, in fact, it was that now I had a life of my own—a life that was more than just being my mother’s daughter. A life that made a difference to others. A career I loved, that I was good at.

  Could I give it all up for love? To be what—Michael’s sidekick? A junior angel? What—and who—would I really be if I took Michael up on God’s offer?

  But how could I live if I lost him forever?

  My head was beginning to pound with the stress of it all. I knew from the look on Michael’s face that my time was running out. He had been patient, letting me have the experience of college and law school, letting me see Rorie grow up.

  Letting me. I chuckled to myself, chiding my errant thought. He didn’t let me do anything. It was my choice.

  And it was an impossible choice. But I knew that not choosing was, itself, a decision.

  Dinner was an awkward affair. My mother had not wanted to do anything fancy after everyone got back from the pool, so she’d just ordered in pizzas. Gabrielle had come along with Michael. They both sniffed at the food, probably longing for the simplicity of their manna. Michael was distant, and Gabrielle, as she often did, remained silent, shooting me meaningful looks. Tabby, herself, watched the few words that passed between us with the intensity of an anthropologist observing a strange, foreign tribe, trying to learn its language and customs for the first time.

  My mother, noticing everything, arched her brows and looked at me pointedly. I shook my head slightly, silently pleading with her to leave us alone. Only Rorie, chattering away while she ate, seemed oblivious to the tension in the room.

  I tried to ignore what was going on by focusing my attention on Rorie’s friend, Macey, who had joined us for dinner. It wasn’t the first time I had seen her, but always, my impression was the same: she was a sad little mouse, indeed. She was bigger than Rorie, and she seemed self-conscious about it, hunching her shoulders in and letting her head drop as if she wanted to shrink herself down to nothing. She sat like a lump on the bench next to Rorie, watching Rorie speak, barely mustering a muttered “yes” or “uh-huh” as Rorie raced along in her monologue about her latest shopping purchases and trip to the mall. Her coarse, broken hair, still wet from the pool, fell in pieces into her face, covering her eyes. Through the cotton of her swim cover-up, I could see the little buds of breasts and a round tummy. She was awkward, growing into her body. My heart went out to her.

  Rorie paused, taking a big breath before launching into the next part of her story, and beamed at Macey, happy to be the center of attention. Macey darted her a grateful smile and then looked down sheepishly at her hands. She rushed to pick up her glass of milk, and in her rush she knocked over the glass, sending milk flying all over the table.

  “Oh, no!” My mother’s arm darted out to sop up the mess with a napkin, and Macey flinched, shrinking back into herself and shielding her face with her hands.

  My mother froze, dropping the napkin. We all watched as, slowly, she drew herself down to Macey’s side and gently pulled Macey’s hands away from her face.

  “Macey,” she said softly. “Macey. Look at me.” She put her finger under Macey’s chin and drew her face up to meet her gaze. “It’s okay. It’s just some spilled milk. It happens all the time.”

  Macey blinked away some tears.

  “We’ll clean it up and get you another glass. No problem. Okay?”

  Macey nodded, wiping her face with her sleeve, and I watched my mother give her hand a little squeeze.

  Rorie looked uncertain, confused about what she would do. “I know,” she said with false brightness. “Why don’t we clean up and then you and I can go in the other room and have dessert? We can make sundaes and eat them in front of the TV.”

  Tabby cleared her throat. “We’ll clean up for you girls. Why don’t you run along, and we’ll bring you your sundaes in a few minutes?”

  Rorie shot her a grateful look.

  “C’mon, Macey. Maybe we can do our nails later, too.” She dragged Macey up from the bench, pulling her behind her through the kitchen to the family room. Macey wadd
led after her, grateful to be trailing in her shadow.

  When the doors swung shut, we all let out our breaths.

  “That was rough,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Just think what she must have gone through. I’m guessing her mom wasn’t the only one who got beaten in their household.”

  Mona picked up the napkin and began wiping at the spilled milk with big, angry strokes. “To hit a child. Who could ever do such a thing? She’s afraid of her own shadow.”

  “It’s good she has Rorie,” Tabby pronounced. “Rorie will help her get her confidence back.”

  “Will she?” Gabrielle stood up from the table and lazily stretched out her long, lithe body before shrugging. “She might get tired of being Rorie’s pet. She might soon resent being in her shadow. It is not easy, being the object of someone’s pity. Not much of a life.”

  We all looked at her, agog. While Gabrielle was always quite direct, she was never cruel.

  “How can you say such a thing?” Tabby countered. “Rorie doesn’t treat her with pity. She’s befriended her. Having a friend has got to be better than getting smacked around.”

  Gabrielle flicked her long, blond hair over her shoulder as she took her plate to the dishwasher. “You never know.”

  “That’s one of the most cold-hearted things I’ve ever heard,” Tabby said angrily.

  Gabrielle paused, holding her dirty dish in the air, a speculative look in her eyes.

  “People who grow up friendless and abused do not think the same way you do,” she said. “They do not know how to be friends. Jealousy and want are below the surface at all times. Those are powerful emotions, and you would be surprised at what they drive people to do sometimes. The pet may bite the hand that feeds it.”

  She placed her plate in the dishwasher and gracefully closed it. As if her pronouncement had ended the debate, she floated out of the room.

  Tabby fumed. My mother said nothing, quietly scooping ice cream into bowls. Michael looked around, obviously nonplussed by the conversation that had just taken place.

  “I love a household of women with strong opinions,” he said, trying to smooth things over. “That said, I think I’ll go check on those girls.”

  “Here, take these with you.” My mother forced two heaping bowls of hot-fudge sundae onto him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, backing out of the kitchen with full hands.

  My mother and Tabby stared at the doors until they swung back into their quiet starting position. When my mother turned back to face the kitchen table, her brow was sharply arched.

  “I do not like that woman,” she announced, crossing her arms across her chest.

  “That makes two of us,” Tabby added. “I don’t know how you can stand her, Hope, prancing around in her tight jeans and tank tops, leaving nothing to the imagination.”

  I felt myself flushing and began picking nervously at my napkin. “She doesn’t mean anything by it. Honestly. I don’t think she was trying to pick a fight.”

  Tabby rolled her eyes, throwing her own napkin down in her plate. “She has some pretty strange views on friendship, by the sound of it. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

  Tabby snorted as she got up. “Really? Am I going to have to spell it out for you?”

  “She means, how much can you really trust her around Michael, Hope?” my mother clarified in her most neutral voice.

  I looked at them both, stunned, as they began cleaning up the dishes.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “How well do you really know her, Hope?” my mother prompted me, tactfully, while she wiped a dish.

  “She’s been coming here for years,” I protested. “She’s one of Michael’s best friends. He depends on her for his life in war zones.”

  “He can trust her,” Tabby said pointedly, “but can you? You have to admit, she’s gorgeous. All those months when they’re out in the field together, away from you? If she wanted to, she could really get under Michael’s skin.”

  My face was burning, mostly with the embarrassment of realizing that the thought had never crossed my mind. Of course I knew that for the majority of their time together, the angels were incorporeal. But the idea that Gabrielle could get under Michael’s skin? That was certainly true, and it was clear that something was different between them since the last time I’d seen her.

  I pushed away from the table and stormed out onto the porch. But out of the corner of my eye, in the shadows of the family room, I caught a glimpse of Gabrielle sidling up to Michael. I stopped short to watch. She was resting her hands upon his broad shoulder, standing just a little too close. She tilted her head toward his, whispering in his ear. He chuckled, a low sound that carried over the distance, and she tossed her glorious mane of hair, joining in whatever joke they were sharing.

  I didn’t need to see anything more. I slipped out to the porch, alone, and flung myself into a chair.

  Did I have reason to worry? I told myself I was being silly. But a sliver of doubt had opened up in my mind.

  I heard the door creak open. It was Tabby. She sat down right next to me and reached a hand out onto my knee.

  “Hey. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just, I don’t know. I have a funny feeling about her. I always have.”

  “You know they don’t really have to stay in their human bodies,” I said. “They’re just pretending. She doesn’t even have to be female if she doesn’t want to be.”

  “Did you ever ask yourself why she always shows up that way, then? Dressed the way she does? Why does she even have to be with him?”

  I sank deeper into my chair. “She helps him find his way. You know he’s not as good at it, since—”

  She didn’t let me finish. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Since you sucked away all his mojo.” She leaned forward, conspiratorially. “Listen, all I’m telling you is that you’d better make sure you give him some awfully good memories to take with him after this weekend, so that he isn’t prone to temptation. If you know what I mean.”

  My cheeks were burning, and I looked down at my hands, fumbling around in my lap.

  Tabby laughed at my discomfort. “Don’t be such a prude, Hope!”

  “It’s not that. It’s …” I looked up at her, pleading.

  She looked at me funny, and then she realized what I was trying to say. Her mouth dropped open.

  “You mean to tell me that you’ve been together for ten years and you’re not having sex? You’re twenty-eight years old, Hope! You’ve got a hunky archangel pledging his eternal troth and lusting after you. What are you waiting for?”

  She jumped to her feet and began pacing in disbelief.

  “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “It just never seemed like the right time.”

  She wheeled and flung her arms wide, ever the drama queen, as she began lecturing me.

  “When would be the right time? The Apocalypse? That’s about the only thing left that hasn’t happened to you two since you’ve been together. Seriously. What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” I repeated, defensively. I was regretting I had admitted anything.

  “Honey,” she said gently, coming down on her knees and taking my hands in hers. “Are you afraid? After the fire? Are you afraid you might get hurt again?”

  I shook my head. My lurid memories of my oozing skin, scorched by second-degree burns after Michael’s spirit had turned to flame, had faded with time, and I knew that the risk he posed to me was gone.

  “No. That’s not it. I’m pretty sure we’re still in balance with each other. I can feel his heat, but it’s never more than that when we kiss. It’s perfectly safe, I think.”

  She frowned. “Then what can it possibly be? Does he not want to?”

  I sighed, closing my eyes. The crumpled spot in the drywall above my headboard was a constant reminder that no, Michael had no qualms about this, and that he was indeed getting impatient. About this and other things.

/>   “I’m just not sure I should. At least, not until I know for sure that I can be with him forever. It will just make it that much harder when—if—I have to say goodbye.”

  She whistled low and sat back on her heels.

  “I never would have guessed. Now listen. You’re my friend, and I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily. But don’t assume that that archangel friend of his is your friend. You’ve told me enough about angels to know some of them aren’t so fond of us mere mortals. Don’t let her find a way to weasel in between you two. If you want to end things with Michael, that’s your call. Don’t let someone else do it for you.”

  She patted my knee before rising and leaving me to think about what she’d said—and what I’d seen pass between Michael and Gabrielle.

  I wasn’t left long to myself before Michael snuck in, empty bowls in hand.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  “Hey back,” I answered, giving him a tremulous smile.

  He sighed, looking over his shoulder to where Gabrielle was pacing.

  “I have to go. Gabrielle is sensing something that requires our attention.”

  He waited, standing awkwardly as he balanced the bowls, one in each hand.

  “What I said earlier. I meant it, Hope. We can’t keep going on this way.”

  I looked up, trying to read his eyes, but in the fading evening light I could only see them glitter, mirrors reflecting back my own doubt.

  I nodded, uncertain if I could trust my voice.

  “I’ll come back again, as soon as I can break away.” He darted another glance at Gabrielle and I realized, perhaps for the first time, how much influence she had on my access to Michael. “In the meantime,” he continued, “would you like me to send Enoch to visit you?”

  His suggestion startled me, but before I could even process it, relief flooded my body. Enoch. Enoch would be perfect.

  “I figured he might be the only one who could understand what you’re going through. The choice you have to make.”

  “Because he was human once, too.”

  “Yes. Because he was human once, too.”