“I made a deal with the devil, so to speak.”
“What devil?”
“Samjeeza.”
She flinches like I’ve slapped her. “You know Samjeeza?”
“He considers himself a friend of the family.”
“What does he want?” she asks grimly.
“A story. About you. I don’t know why, really. He’s obsessed with you.”
She bites the end of her thumb gently, contemplating. “What kind of story?”
“A memory. Something where he can imagine you alive, like a new charm on your bracelet.” She looks surprised. “Which you gave me, and I gave back to him, the day of your funeral. It’s complicated. I need a story. But I can’t think of anything good enough.”
Her eyes are thoughtful. “I’ll give you a story,” she says. “Something that he’ll want to hear.”
She takes a deep breath and gazes down at the trees below us. “As I said before, I was a nurse once, during the Great War, working at a hospital in France, and one day I met a journalist.”
“At a pond,” I supply. “In your underwear.”
She looks up, startled.
“He’s told me some stories, too.”
She’s mortified at the idea, but pushes on. “We became friends, of a fashion. We became more than friends. At first I think it was only a game for him, to see if he could win me, but as time went on it became … more. For both of us.”
She pauses, her eyes scanning the horizon like she’s searching for something, but she doesn’t find it.
“Then one night the hospital was bombed by the Huns.” Her lips tighten. “Everything was on fire. Everyone was …” She closes her eyes briefly, then opens them again. “Dead. I clawed my way out of there, and it was just fire, fire everywhere, and then Sam rode in on a horse and said my name, and reached out his hand for me, and I took it, and he pulled me up behind him. He took me away from there. We spent the night in an old stone barn near Saint-Céré. He pumped some water and made me sit down, and he washed the soot and blood off my face. And he kissed me.”
Kissed in a barn. Must be a genetic thing.
But this story isn’t going to cut it, I realize. Samjeeza already knows it. It’s the horse charm.
“He’d kissed me before,” Mom continues. “But after that night it was different, somehow. Things had changed. We talked until the sun came up. He finally admitted to me what he was. I had already guessed that he was an angel. I felt it when we first met. At the time I wanted nothing to do with angels, so I tried to ignore him.”
“Right.” I smile. “Angels can be a pain in the ass.”
Her mouth twists, her eyes twinkling for a moment before she gets serious again. “But he wasn’t merely an angel. He told me how he had fallen, and why. He showed me his black wings. And he confessed that he’d been trying to seduce me because the Watchers wanted angel-blood offspring.”
“Whoa. He just admitted it?”
“I was furious,” she says. “It was all that I’d been running away from my entire life. I slapped him. He caught my wrist and asked me to forgive him. He said he loved me. He asked me if I could ever love him back.”
She stops again. I am transfixed by her story. I can see it, the images pouring out with her feelings into my brain. His eyes, earnest, full of sorrow and love, pleading. His voice, soft as he told her, I know that I’m a wretch. But is it possible that you would ever love me?
I gasp. “You lied.”
“I lied. I said I could never care for him. I told him I never wanted to see him again. And he looked at me for a long moment, and then he was gone. Just like that. I never told anyone about that night. Michael knows, I think, in the way he seems to know everything. But I haven’t ever talked about it until now.” She exhales through her lips like she’s just set down something heavy. “So there’s your story. I lied.”
“You did care for him,” I say carefully.
“I loved him,” she whispers. “He was my sun and moon for a time. I was crazy about him.”
And now he’s crazy about you, I think. Emphasis on crazy.
She clears her throat. “It was a long time ago.”
And yet we both know that time can be a tricky thing.
“That must be uncomfortable for you to hear,” she says, seeing my frown. “Me saying I loved a man who’s not your father.”
“But I know you love Dad.” I remember Mom and Dad together in her last days, how obvious the love was between them, how pure. I smile at her, bump my shoulder into hers. “You loooove him. You do.”
She laughs, pushes back against me. “All right, all right, I’ll marry him. I couldn’t very well refuse him now, could I?” She suddenly gasps. “I have to go,” she says, jumping up like Cinderella late to the ball. “I’m supposed to meet him.”
“On the beach at Santa Cruz,” I say.
“I told you about it?” she asks. “What do I say to him?”
“You just kiss him,” I tell her. “Now go on before you’re late and I cease to exist.”
She moves to the edge of the rock and summons her wings. I’m startled by how gray they are, when normally, when I knew her best, they were so piercingly white. They’re still beautiful now, but gray. Undecided. Uncertain.
She hesitates.
“Go,” I say.
There are tears in her eyes. I don’t want to leave you, she says in my mind.
Don’t worry, Mom, I answer, calling her Mom for the first time since I came here. You’ll see me again.
She smiles and caresses my cheek, then turns and takes off, the wind from her wings blowing back my hair, and glides toward the ocean. Toward the beach, where my father is waiting.
I wipe my eyes. And when I look up again, I’m back in the present, like this entire afternoon has been some kind of beautiful dream.
19
SOUTHBOUND TRAIN
Two minutes to midnight.
For real, this time.
The vision hasn’t prepared me for the sheer enormity of this moment. I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin. I feel each tick of my watch’s second hand like an electric charge pulsing through me again and again.
I can do this, I tell myself, fiddling with the zipper of my black hoodie.
Tick, tick.
Tick, tick.
The northbound train comes and goes. Samjeeza arrives, claims the lamppost, squawks at me.