When Angels Cry

by Maria Rachel Hooley

  Bastian drove until he’d reached the North Haven housing addition, a neighborhood where numerous doctors and lawyers lived. And Kaylee. Maneuvering through streets flanked by mansion-esque houses, Bastian finally found Kaylee’s–a two-story Victorian nestled among tall stately evergreens. It was painted a light brown with dark brown shutters around each window.

  “Kaylee?” he said. “We’re here.”

  She slowly sat up and yawned. “Did you have any trouble finding it?”

  Bastian shook his head, amazed that she’d been so close. Even upon waking, it hadn’t bothered her. Gritting his teeth, he accepted what that meant–-Kaylee didn’t see him as a person, much less a man.

  “No,” he finally answered. “It was simple enough, considering there’s no other addition quite like North Haven.”

  Bastian pulled into the long, winding drive and shifted the truck into park.

  “Come in for a cup of cocoa or hot tea.” Kaylee looked at her front porch, where the glowing porch light awaited her arrival, and she looked back at Bastian, studying his red cheeks and ears.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I mean, you don’t know me. I could be a serial killer or something.” Bastian stared at his red knuckles. As long as he focused on them, he could forget that a beautiful woman had just asked him to come in because she felt sorry for him.

  “Serial killers don’t rescue the people they plan on killing.” Kaylee brushed the hair from her eyes.

  “How do you know? Maybe I like my women dry instead of wet.” Bastian rolled his head from side to side, trying to ease the sore muscles complaining from that damned uncomfortable chair at the hospital. He’d probably still be trying to work out the stiffness next week.

  Kaylee laughed. “In that case I’ll keep a Super Soaker handy to discourage you.” She laughed and touched his shoulder. “Please come inside. Hot cocoa isn’t much of a thank-you, but it’s something. You even went out of your way to give me a ride.” She pulled off the gloves and felt his hand, his skin chilled. “Besides, you could use some. Don’t bother telling me you’re warm when your hands and face are cold and red.”

  Bastian moved his hand higher on the wheel to escape her caress. “ I’ll be fine.”

  “I insist,” Kaylee said. “And I’m not leaving until you come with me.”

  Bastian turned toward her and glared. “Did anyone ever tell you what a pain in the ass you are?”

  “More than once.”

  “I guess I’m having cocoa. Lead on, MacDuff.” Bastian shook his head, pulled the keys from the ignition, and opened his door. The snow crunched under his weight as he stepped out. He paused, turning toward Kaylee.

  “I didn’t know you liked Shakespeare.” Kaylee shoved her hands into her pockets.

  “What do you know about me, Kaylee? I don’t exactly run in the same circles as you.” He stood perfectly still. The cold filled him as he looked up at a house resembling the one he’d grown up in. Two stories, a fireplace, and shutters. A metal fence surrounded the property and met the driveway, where the gate stood open as if expecting them. What was it, five or six bedrooms?

  “It’s the house, isn’t it? It makes you uncomfortable.” Kaylee, too, peered at her home as if really looking at it for the first time in years. “When I bought it, I thought it was perfect. Now it’s just a house. It doesn’t really matter how many bedrooms it has. After all, I only need one to sleep in, right?” She started walking. “Come on. Let’s go inside where we can make cocoa.”

  Like hell it’s just a house, Bastian thought. He ambled behind her along the front walkway. He expected her to pause at the door and wonder how to get inside without her keys. Instead, she opened it. Wincing, Bastian stopped and shook his head. Not only was he stupid for being attracted to a rich girl, but he was stupid because this rich girl was attached. Otherwise, why would the door be open?

  “I need a bullet in my head,” Bastian whispered.

  “What?” Kaylee held the door for him.

  “Nothing.” Bastian wiped his feet on the mat before stepping into the black marbled foyer. To his left, he saw a coat rack. Kaylee shut the door, hung up her coat, and reached for Bastian’s.

  “I prefer to leave it on.”

  “Planning on making a quick exit?” She put her hands at her sides, frowning. “Bastian, it seems at every turn I somehow offend you, and I don’t mean to. You did something for me I never expected, and I’m really grateful. Can’t you just let me show you how much I appreciate your kindness?”

  “I know you’re grateful, Kaylee. But I don’t think your husband would appreciate you dragging a total stranger into your home--especially not one who looks like he could steal you blind.” A lump formed in the back of Bastian’s throat as he stared into Kaylee’s face. He could read lines of confusion and sadness, and he wondered if he were wrong about her and her money.

  “Husband?” Kaylee laughed. “Bastian, I’m not married. I live alone. I don’t even have a cat. Why would you think that?”

  Bastian pointed to the door. “It wasn’t locked. I thought someone was here.”

  “It’s a bad habit.” She reached for his coat. “Now will you relax and stay for a bit?”

  “You leave your door unlocked? Are you nuts?” Bastian slowly took off his coat.

  “It’s just a house. It’s just stuff, Bastian. I don’t think I’d miss it.” Kaylee averted her eyes to the rack as she hung up Bastian’s coat.

  Bastian placed his hands on Kaylee’s shoulders. “Look at me.” He waited until she’d turned and regarded him with her dark blue eyes. “Granted, you might not miss the ‘stuff,’ as you call it. But not every bad guy is after ‘stuff.’ One of them might be after you. Unless you’re a black belt, you’re asking for trouble.” She squirmed from his hands and walked into the living room, leaving Bastian no choice but to follow.

  “Your concern has been duly noted. Now have a seat while I change.”

  Bastian reluctantly sat and waited until Kaylee returned wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt. “Let’s get the cocoa, okay?” She headed toward the kitchen.

  Bastian followed her through the house. As they went, he took in the art pieces decorating her home: lots of Jackson Pollock paintings in sharp contrast to angelic sculptures sat upon tables and shelves.

  “You’re a mystery,” he called, puzzled that his concern for her safety seemed so irritating to her.

  “I always wanted to be interesting,” she replied curtly. “It’s just a pity it’s taken me this long to get there.” As she went about the task of making cocoa, she often tilted her head so her hair cascaded to the small of her back and closed her eyes.

  “You all right?” Bastian asked, stepping toward her, wanting to touch her shoulders, to lean over and smell the intoxicating darkness of her hair.

  “Tired.” Kaylee nodded.

  “Maybe I should go,” Bastian said, “and let you get some rest.”

  “There’ll be time for that later, Bastian. I’d really like you to stay.”

  “Damned if you aren’t stubborn,” he muttered.

  “You got that right.” As she poured the cocoa into the mugs, Bastian saw her fingertips tremble, something even quick movements couldn’t disguise.

  “Cold?”

  “Yeah. I’ve always been cold-natured, and this year it's worse than ever. If I had any common sense, I’d move to some place warm—California or Florida, maybe.” With that same unsteady hand, she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. As her fingers brushed the side of her face, Bastian noticed her small golden hoop earrings.

  “Yeah, but then you wouldn’t need me to go diving in after you.” He touched the base of his neck and massaged there, trying to ease the kinks.

  “Well, in that case, I shouldn’t consider moving, common sense or not. I wouldn’t want to spoil your new hobby.” She touched her temple and winced as the kettle whistled.

  “I wouldn’t call it a hobby, Kaylee. In fact, I’
m not sure you could call it anything, really.” Bastian frowned as the grimace on Kaylee’s face spread. He laid his hand on her shoulder and gingerly squeezed.

  “I’m fine, really.” Her long fingers kept rubbing.

  “Right,” Bastian countered. “Got any ocean-front property you want to sell?”

  “You buying?” she whispered as the color drained from her face.

  “No. But I am going to finish making the cocoa while you sit down. You’ve had enough nonsense for one day.” Bastian set his other hand on her shoulder and nudged her toward the living room, wondering if she were going to pass out.

  “I’m fine.” She forced her eyelids open while blinking furiously.

  “Okay, fine. Why don’t you sit down while I get the cocoa?” Bastian kept his hands in place and squeezed, massaging the tension he found. “In other words, scram kid--”

  “I’ll be damned. This is my kitchen.” Kaylee planted her feet and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Bastian pointed to the door. “And that’s your living room. Now if you’d be so kind as to find the couch, I’d appreciate it.”

  Kaylee gasped and touched her temple again. She swayed slightly before Bastian bent, slid his arm under the bend of her knees, and picked her up.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Finding the couch for you. If you aren’t going to sit on your own, I’m going to help you.” He carried her into the living room, noting she had closed her eyes and leaned against him. Her arm tightened around his neck slightly, as though she’d stopped trying to fight him. Her silken hair tickled his chin. Once he’d reached the couch, he carefully set her against the cushions and her head lolled against the couch. She looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. Her hair fanned out around her head.

  “Head hurts,” she whispered.

  Bastian brushed the bangs from her forehead and touched her temples. “It seems to do that a lot.”

  “No, not really.” Kaylee closed her eyes. “Only when I’m awake.” He lightly rubbed her temples. “Mmm. That feels good--really good.”

  “It does, eh? Anything I can get for you?” Bastian stared into her face, watching as she licked her lips. He wanted to trace them, to touch the swell of her cheeks, and the graceful line of her neck. Instead, he stroked her forehead and savored the slow rhythm of her breath.

  “A truckload of Tylenol 3.”

  “Where’s the truck?”

  Kaylee laughed. “Don’t have one.”

  Bastian leaned closer. “Then how do you expect me to accomplish that one, lady?” He watched her smile slowly slip away. “Perhaps I should take a rain check on the hot chocolate,” he said quietly.

  “It’s already made,” Kaylee slurred. “Can’t you stay?”

  “You look dead tired, Kaylee.”

  “What an expression. Okay, maybe I don’t want hot chocolate. Maybe I just don’t want to be alone. Would that be so unforgiveable?” Kaylee reached up and touched his hand as it stroked her face. She forced her eyes open.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll get the hot chocolate.” He stepped into the kitchen, poured the water into one of the mugs and stirred. Then he walked back into the living room and found Kaylee asleep. He sat on the edge of the couch and slowly sipped his cocoa until he’d reached the bottom and set the empty mug on the table before he stood.

  “Sweet dreams, Kaylee. I’ll stop by and check on you tomorrow,” he said softly. He reached behind her and unfolded the afghan on the back of the couch, draping it over her and tucking the edges in around her.

  That was a promise he never meant to make, but, as he walked out the front door, he knew it was one he intended to keep.

  Chapter Three

  From a distance, Kaylee heard the grandfather clock down the hall chime six. Forcing her eyes open, she peered around the room and realized she wasn’t in her bed but instead lying on the couch. A blanket covered her, and for just a few seconds, she wondered how she had gotten there. Then, as she remembered yesterday’s ride from the hospital, she fingered the blanket, brushing the surface where Bastian’s hands might have touched it. Sitting up, she looked over at the mug on the table and saw a film of cocoa coating the bottom. Bastian had stayed long enough to finish it before leaving.

  “What were the odds?” she mused, thinking that of all the people who could have fished her out of that pond, she never would have put him on the list; the first time she’d seen Bastian was six months ago when he came in for a hot meal at the soup kitchen where she volunteered.

  Her secretary, who also volunteered, had nudged her. “Get a load of that one,” Rosie said, smiling. “Tall, dark, and knock your socks off, baby.”

  Despite her best intention at ignoring her friend’s comments, Kaylee had still looked and found herself mesmerized. A rough stubble had lined his blunt chin, and the length of his dark hair had rested on his shoulders. Dressed in black jeans, a grey sweatshirt, and tennis shoes, he’d refused to meet her gaze but instead stared at the tray she’d offered. As he’d accepted it, she’d glanced at his left hand: no wedding ring. Even then, without knowing him, she’d been drawn to him, curious about his silence and the darkness that had lain draped upon his shoulders like a black leather duster. She’d wondered what he was like, what his voice would sound like when he spoke her name. Now she knew his voice. Still, it wasn’t enough.

  She pulled off the cover and darted into the entryway where she flung open the door, only to find her driveway empty, as though he’d never been there at all. A thick snow had erased all tracks, and more flakes now drifted steadily from the grey heavens. Some of them landed in her hair, on her clothes, and atop her bare feet. As a northern breeze kissed her skin, and it blew her hair back from her face. The harsh air cut through her clothes, hardening her nipples. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to remember what Bastian’s truck had looked like. She knew it was a truck, yeah, but the rest of the details had vanished.

  “You only rode home in it yesterday,” she muttered.

  Despite the harsh temperature, Kaylee lingered in the doorway, half-expecting Bastian would re-appear. Snowflakes lifted and swirled, forming miniature white tornados before resettling atop a vast white blanket, falling on her skin and in her hair just as it had two nights ago.

  Kaylee brushed the hair from her face and as she lowered her hand. She saw her fingers turning pale in the cold. Shivering, she backed into the foyer. With one last glance, she closed the door and leaned against it. With her left hand, she touched her temple, trying to massage away the pain, and finally slunk back to the couch where she plunked into the soft cradle of cushions, nestling her head amid their embrace.

  “There’s no point in sleeping away the day.” Perhaps she could forget the headache, but she doubted it would ever forget her; it was simply a part of a bigger picture. She stood and shuffled to the corner, where an easel stood, holding an unfinished painting of a boat ambling calmly along as the sun sank in the distance. Kaylee went to the kitchen, filled her palette, and carried it back to the easel.

  With a heavy sigh, she dabbed the orange and stroked a piece of sky onto the canvas. She kept brushing in the heavens, mixing pink in the clouds and puffing out whiteness until the sky appeared three-dimensional. As Kaylee rinsed her brush in the cup on the table, she heard the doorbell ring.

  “Today isn’t a good day, Rosie,” she muttered, thinking of her friend probably now standing on the front porch, waiting to ask a million questions and hover. She’d want to know why Kaylee hadn’t shown up for volunteer work. Kaylee stared at her artwork, swirled her brush in the water, and began to pack away her supplies.

  Damn. Why had she ever told Rosie about her cancer? The last thing Kaylee wanted was a second mother. The doorbell rang again. Kaylee picked up the cup of dirty paint water and walked to the kitchen. As she dumped the liquid down the drain, Kaylee heard the third chime. Ignoring it, she rinsed the brush and, laid it on a folded paper towel to dry.

  Kaylee turned
to get the kettle when her vision clouded, forcing her to grab, the counter to maintain her balance, and her vision quickly dimmed into blackness. She thrust her arms in front of her and felt along the walls until she found the doorway. As she fumbled through the darkness, she ran into something solid.

  “Don’t you ever answer your door?” A hand touched her arm.

  “I thought you were somebody else.” Kaylee tried to look up to find a face to go with the voice, but her thoughts were scrambled. She knew that voice and closed her eyes, focusing on it. Bastian. It was Bastian.

  “Should I leave?”

  Kaylee tried to brush past him but instead started to fall. She felt Bastian’s hands quickly encircle her waist.

  “Kaylee? ”

  “I need to lie down.”

  Once Bastian had reluctantly released her, Kaylee walked to the couch. Bastian followed closely behind with his hands awkwardly dangling at his sides as though he were unsure what else to do with them.

  “Would you like me to leave?” he repeated as Kaylee’s knee bumped the couch and she finally lay down.

  “No, I’d like some company right now.”

  “Okay.” He slowly removed his coat, walked to the coat rack in the hall, and hung up his coat. On the wall, he spotted two Spanish swords crossed mid-blade—authentic weapons just like his father collected. He gritted his teeth and turned away. As he re-entered the room, Bastian eyed the rumpled navy afghan he’d covered Kaylee with the night before. Then his gaze moved to her pale face.

  “I’d like to say you look better this morning, but I’ve never been a good liar.”

  “Gee, thanks. Such a thoughtful way of saying ‘you look like shit.’” Kaylee opened her eyes and found the murkiness in her vision had cleared. She smiled weakly.

  Bastian raised his hands. “Now wait a minute—I didn’t say that.”