Wings Like Eagles

by Tracie Peterson

  Christy realized what a striking couple they made in the reflection of her vestibule mirror. Her makeup was tear-streaked and her eyes were hopelessly red, but that had nothing to do with the way they seemed to fit together. Almost as though they were designed with each other in mind.

  Startled, Christy realized that Curt was watching her. He smiled a knowing smile and put her down. “Fix your face,” he said in a teasing way. “I’ll go make the coffee.”

  three

  Christy decided the only thing she could do was to wash off all of her makeup and start over. Her face was blotchy from crying, and her eyes were already puffy. After about thirty minutes of cold compresses, she traded the cashmere suit for comfortable jeans and an oversized sweater and went downstairs.

  Curt was reclining in the front sitting room, with two cups of coffee steaming on a tray in front of him.

  “You seem to have made yourself at home,” Christy said and took a seat opposite him on the blue-and-beige-striped, Federal-style sofa.

  “You, too,” he said motioning to her change of clothes. “I thought for a minute I was going to have to come up and get you.”

  Christy didn’t know why, but his remark made her laugh. “When you end up as much a wreck as I was, it takes a little time to even marginally repair the damage.”

  “You weren’t a wreck, and there’s nothing marginal about you.”

  Christy shifted uncomfortably and accepted the cup of coffee that Curt leaned forward to offer. “Thank you,” she replied, realizing as she did that it might sound like she was accepting his compliment. Quickly she added, “For the coffee.”

  “No problem. You’re an extremely well-organized woman, I must say. Everything has a place, and everything is in its place.

  Have you always been so efficient?” Curt asked curiously.

  Christy thought she ought to be offended by the intimacy of his question, but she wasn’t. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so at ease with a complete stranger. So long as I don’t look into his eyes, she thought. If I can just avoid getting lost in his eyes, I’ll be fine.

  Taking a sip of coffee, Christy finally answered him. “I started out that way as a child. When I was upset, I cleaned and organized. When I was hurt, I did the same. Anytime there was a major disappointment or the slightest bit of unrest in our home, you could find me picking up and putting away.”

  “By the looks of your efficiency, I’d say that probably happened quite a bit.”

  “It did,” Christy remembered with a frown. She took a long drink of the strong coffee and glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten. Why hadn’t Erik called?

  Curt seemed to read her thoughts. “I’m sure you’ll hear something soon. In the meantime, why don’t we get to know each other better?”

  “Better than what? Better than knowing what type of wedding gown you want for your wife? Better than knowing your measurements and the type of tuxedo you intend to be married in?” Christy’s voice dripped sarcasm, but she didn’t care.

  Curt was unmoved by her sudden change of attitude. “Why don’t you tell me why you hate men so much?”

  Christy’s mouth dropped open before she could mask her surprise. “I didn’t say I hated men.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s evident.”

  “No, it’s not! I have a brother whom I love quite dearly,” Christy protested.

  “So you love one man in your life. Why aren’t there any others?” Curt pressed for an answer.

  “Because they were all jerks,” Christy replied dryly.

  “Even your father?”

  “Especially my father.”

  “I’ll bet your mother didn’t feel that way,” Curt said, hoping to learn more about Christy’s childhood.

  “She was a jerk, too,” Christy replied, surprising him. “They de-served each other.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Christy stopped thinking about how terribly personal the conver-sation was and poured out her heart. “My father had one affair after another. We knew even as children that he had other women. I used to cry for my mother, thinking how terribly tragic it all was. Here was this steadfast, faithful woman, who stood by her man regardless of his affairs.”

  “What happened to change your mind?” Curt ask softly.

  Christy drained her cup and set it down unexpectedly hard. The cup rattled for several seconds before quieting. “I came home early from school one day and found her with someone else. She tried to explain to me then about open marriages.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Threw up,” Christy answered honestly. “It made me sick, and I couldn’t stand it.”

  “You can’t very well judge all men by the actions of your father or even those who took advantage of your mother’s marital arrangements.”

  “That’s not the only reason,” Christy said, not realizing that Curt was leading her where she didn’t want to go.

  “There was someone in your life, someone you cared a great deal about,” Curt stated matter-of-factly. “He was unfaithful, too, is that it?”

  Christy stared back, as though the complete shock of his words had silenced her.

  “Is that what happened, Christy?”

  Still, she stared in mute surprise.

  “Well?” he pressed.

  “Yes!” she answered angrily.

  “I’ll bet there was more than just a little reorganizing and cleaning on that day. Tell me what happened.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Christy stated and crossed her arms protectively against her body.

  “Let’s see,” Curt began; “he was probably older. Maybe even a great deal older.”

  Christy’s eyes widened, telling him he was right. “How do you know?” she questioned.

  “You were looking for a father figure. Your own father was a lousy example, so it would stand to reason that you’d look for another. How much older was he?”

  “Fifteen years,” Christy replied, total dejection in her voice.

  “And you were how old?”

  With a heavy sigh, Christy answered him. “Twenty-one.” Before Curt could question her further, Christy openly volunteered the information. “He was a professor at the university I attended. I thought we were madly in love.” Her voice was so sad that Curt had to restrain himself from going to her. “He always told me that I mustn’t say a word about our relationship because he might lose his job for dating a student. I believed him—it all seemed so logical, even sensible. We went on like that for several months.”

  “What happened?”

  Christy laughed bitterly. “I went to a party that had been set up by the university to mingle faculty and students on behalf of a visiting international designer. I was excited about meeting this designer and never really gave any thought that he might be there.”

  “But he was?” Curt questioned.

  “Yes. Not only was he there, but so was his wife. Someone came up to me and said, ‘Oh, have you met the professor’s wife?’ and I suddenly found myself introduced to this frumpy, middle-aged woman with gray in her hair and about fifty excess pounds around her middle.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I wanted to hate her. I wanted to prove to myself that there was a reason why he’d been unfaithful to her, but I couldn’t. She gushed about how wonderful he was. The sincerity in her made me feel like a cheap bimbo. When he came into the room and saw us together, I knew from the look in his eyes that our relationship was nothing more than his lust and my naïveté.”

  “What did you do?”

  Christy shifted and pulled a pillow close. “I died.” The words were so simply stated that there was nothing to add, and Christy fell silent.

  Curt waited for several moments before he asked, “And now you believe all men are incapable of fidelity?”

  “I just don’t believe anything anymore,” she said softly.

  “What about all this?” Curt questioned, waving his hand to
encompass the room.

  She knew what he meant. He wanted to know why she made wedding dresses—why she participated in planning other people’s weddings when she didn’t believe in it for herself.

  Before she could answer, the telephone rang, causing her to jump. “Candy!” she exclaimed, realizing for the first time that Curt had kept her mind completely off her dying sister.

  Jumping to her feet, Christy nearly ran to the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Christy, it’s Erik.”

  “How is she?”

  “There’s no change,” Erik answered. “She’s holding her own, but just barely. Did you find Grant?”

  “No,” Christy admitted. “I left a voice-mail message at the law office.”

  “I guess we have no alternative but to wait until he tries to check in with Candy.”

  “I guess not,” Christy responded tiredly.

  “Look, it’s nearly midnight. You get some sleep, and I’ll let you know if anything happens. You can spell me tomorrow morning, okay?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, but I’ll try. I’ll see you about eight.”

  “Good,” Erik replied and added, “Just remember, Christy. God can take care of everything.”

  “Yeah, right. Bye, Erik.” She hung up the phone, shaking her head. “God can take care of everything.”

  “What was that?” Curt questioned.

  “Oh, just my brother’s blind convictions in an all-powerful, all-knowing God who watches tenderly over His children.” The skepticism in her voice was clear.

  “You don’t believe in God?”

  “Oh, I believe in God,” Christy replied. “I just don’t think He believes in me.”

  Curt got up and crossed the room. “What about your sister?”

  “No change. She’s still fighting just to stay alive.”

  “At least that’s something. Some people lose that fight early on.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Christy snapped back.

  Curt smiled. “I think you know. Look, I’m going home, but here’s my telephone number. I want you to call me if anything goes wrong or if you just need to talk.”

  Christy would not take the paper, so Curt put it on the table by the phone.

  “I mean it, Christy. I want to be your friend.”

  Christy looked into Curt’s eyes, knowing that she had been reduced to the same quivering jelly as before. There was something so powerful about his eyes, however. Something so deep and meaningful that Christy wanted to look inside them. Wanted to know their depths—even plunge herself deep within them.

  “Call me if you need to. And, Christy, no cleaning. At least not tonight,” he said with a grin and then was gone.

  Curt made his way back to his apartment, completely mystified by the events of the evening. It wasn’t until he was unlocking the door and saw the blinking light of his answering machine that he remembered why he had gone to Christy’s in the first place. The deposit!

  He patted his pocket and felt the thick bundle of bills. Pulling out the envelope, he put the money in the freezer under a three-pound chuck roast. Few thieves would think to look there, even if they could get past him to sack the place for valuables.

  Seeing there was only one message, Curt rewound the tape and played it. It was Debbie. Suddenly he felt a twinge of guilt for not letting her know where he was. Glancing at the clock on the wall and seeing that it was nearly one, Curt decided to wait on calling Debbie back. Morning would be soon enough.

  Stripping off his clothes, Curt crawled into bed with more than a little bit on his mind. Christy Connors was a complicated matter that commanded his attention. Stretching his arms up, he folded them be-hind his head and stared at the ceiling.

  What was wrong with him? He knew better than to feel the things he was feeling. He had broken all the rules. All he could think about was the way she’d sobbed in his arms. No woman had ever spent herself like that in his presence. He had never seen anyone cry as though all the life was going out with each and every tear. Usually teary-eyed women made Curt want to run in the opposite direction, but this had been entirely different. Christy had needed him, and he’d responded in the only way he could. Did that make him wrong? With a sigh, Curt rolled over and punched the pillow down several times before closing his eyes.

  four

  The days that followed were torturous to Christy. She tore herself away from the hospital only when appointments or exhaustion forced her to go home.

  Candy regained consciousness on the fifth day, but she was still in critical condition and barely able to communicate with the doctors. Christy had been allowed one visit every shift change, which constituted seeing her sister first thing in the morning and then again before she went home for the evening. During the time she sat in the intensive care waiting room, Christy sewed lace insets and did tedious pearl and sequin work on a variety of wedding dress pieces.

  Other people in the waiting room were fascinated by her work, but Christy wouldn’t openly speak to anyone unless forced to do so. All she wanted to do was forget about her sister’s condition and forget about the blueness of Curt Kyle’s eyes.

  Grant finally showed up on the sixth day. He seemed concerned about Candy’s condition, but not overly so. Christy was seething when he came bounding into the room as though just returning from the men’s room instead of a six-day absence during which no one could reach him.

  “Where have you been?” she asked between clenched teeth.

  Grant noted the interested audience around them and motioned Christy outside. Christy put her things down and followed Grant into the hall.

  When they had moved far enough away to suit Grant’s purpose, he turned abruptly. “Where I’ve been isn’t any of your business. How’s Candy?”

  “Like you care,” Christy replied sarcastically. “She’s nearly died more than once, and she’s barely conscious now.”

  “Has she said anything?” Grant asked in a rather nervous way that made Christy suspicious.

  “No, not of importance. She hasn’t asked for you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “Where’s she at now?” Grant questioned, glancing back down the hall where double-glass doors had the words Intensive Care written in big blue letters.

  “She’s in there,” Christy nodded to the doors.

  “I’ll bet that’s costing a pretty penny,” Grant replied offhandedly.

  Christy doubled her fist and brought it up as if to strike the smug expression off his face. Realizing what she was about to do, she quickly lowered it and stepped forward instead. Getting nose to nose with the man her sister had married, she barely whispered.

  “It can cost you everything you’ve saved, for all I care. She’s dying, or didn’t she tell you that, either?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She has cancer. An inoperable brain tumor that’s eating up the living parts of her mind. The doctor said that even without the crash, she’d be dead in six months. So if you expect me to care about the cost of her hospital stay, you’re a bigger fool than even I gave you credit for being.”

  Grant finally looked shaken. “She’s dying?”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Christy nearly screeched in his face.

  Grant made the mistake of putting his hands on her to calm her down. Christy went wild and gave a full swing with an open hand against his face that nearly sent him reeling back into the wall.

  An expression of complete shock covering his face, Grant shook his head. “We haven’t got insurance, Christy. No health insurance and no savings. I can’t pay these hospital bills, and once they find out, then what? Mortgage the house? It already has two.”

  Christy silently tried to collect her thoughts and reason out what Grant was saying. She had been so surprised at her reaction that it took all of her reserves to calm her racing heart. “I’ll pay her bill,” she finally answered.

  Grant smiled. “That’s good of you, Sis.”


  Christy’s eyes narrowed until they were angry slits of smokey blue. “You sicken me. You don’t care about her at all. Your only concern is who’s going to pay what. Well, I say good riddance. Why don’t you divorce her while you’re at it? Yes, I’ll pay her bills and the baby’s, too, if necessary.”

  “The baby? You mean she didn’t lose it?” Grant questioned suddenly.

  “No. By some miracle, the baby is just fine. The doctor said that if Candy can just hang on long enough, they’ll deliver the baby before she dies.”

  “If Candy dies, I want nothing to do with the baby,” Grant said matter-of-factly. “I can’t raise a child by myself.”

  Christy was strangely calm. She looked at the man as if seeing him for the first time. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  Grant shrugged his shoulders and straightened his suit jacket. “I’m just being honest, Christy. I’m not cut out for fatherhood. I never wanted to be a father. I was only humoring Candy.”

  “That’s your own flesh and blood that my sister is dying in order to bear. She could have had radiation treatment or chemotherapy for the cancer, but she wouldn’t because she didn’t want to hurt the baby. Now you have the audacity to tell me the child means nothing to you?”

  “I don’t want to become attached,” Grant replied. “I can’t raise a child alone.”

  Christy could stand no more. She walked quietly back to the intensive care waiting room, gathered her things, and walked past Grant without a word.

  All the way home, Christy felt an overwhelming urge to cry. She allowed herself a brief outpouring when the traffic light kept her waiting an unseemly amount of time and was still sniffling back her tears when she pulled onto her street. Slowly maneuvering the car into the driveway, Christy parked and shut off the engine.

  She leaned back against the headrest for a moment, wiped her eyes, and took a deep breath. When she reached for the door, she noticed the other car in her drive. Quickly, she racked her brain for some overlooked appointment, but when nothing came to mind, she got out of the car.

  Glancing around the winter-dead lawn, Christy couldn’t find a trace of another living soul. She didn’t recognize the little red sports car as belonging to any of her friends or clients. Making her way around back, Christy nearly screamed in fright when Curt Kyle popped around the corner with a package in hand.