by SL Naeole
"This is exactly the size of kitchen that I think one would need in order to feed Graham," I joked, knowing that even the school cafeteria was probably no match for his penchant for eating. "What do you think?" I turned to Robert and waited for his response.
He wasn't there. "Robert? Where'd you go?"
I walked through a narrow hallway that I assumed was the butler's pantry, and ended up in the dining room. I ignored the furnishings in the room, having already seen them through the living room, and proceeded there. "Robert?"
I stood in the middle of the Bellegarde living room, surrounded by white sofas and glass tables, and couldn't help but shake my head at the impracticality of it. "Robert, where did you go?" I called out again. I looked at the digital clock that glowed in the silver box that I recognized as the cable box, and gasped.
"Robert! I have exactly three minutes to get home! Get down here, now!!" I shouted.
When the digital seven turned into an eight, I bolted for the front door, throwing it open when I got there, and ran outside. I didn't know where I was going. All I knew was that I was two minutes away from being in serious trouble, and I would be heading there on foot.
I ran for the gate, hopping on one foot as I took my sandals off. I threw them through the bars, hiked the skirt of the dress up, and started climbing. I was nearly to the top when my hands were pried off. "What?"
A pair of arms were around my waist, and the ground was getting further and further away. And then, all I could see were trees. I squirmed frantically, my arms searching, my hands clawing. "Robert?"
"Would it be anyone else?"
I sighed and relaxed. Then I screamed, because I was falling. "Roberrrrrrt!"
With a loud "umph", I landed in his arms. Instinctively, I clamped onto him, my arms locking around his neck, my face pressed tightly against his chest. "Sorry. I needed a better grip on you and you were squirming too much," he murmured into my ear. I could feel his lips against the soft hairs there, and knew, just knew that he was smiling.
"I think my heart fell out somewhere over your driveway," I muttered into his shirt. He laughed quietly, nuzzling my hair as he did so.
Neither of us spoke for a bit after that; the only sound I could hear was the rush of wind around us as we travelled at an immense speed. When he finally spoke, he laughed quietly, nuzzling my hair as he did so. "Almost there."
I was about to ask what he meant when I realized that we were no longer moving. He placed my feet on the ground, unwrapped my arms from his neck, and placed my sandals in my hands. He gave me a once over, and then turned me around. We were standing at the front door of my house.
"How fast were we going?" I gasped.
"Fast. Very fast. Now open the door before you turn me into a liar." He placed a hand on my hair, then removed it very quickly.
I opened the door, turning to look behind me as I did so, but there was no one there.
"Robert?" I whispered.
Get inside of the house!
"Coward!" I hissed. But, I listened, taking one more look behind me, and then closing the door.
"Grace, is that you?" I heard being called out. So much for not waiting up.
"Yes, Dad, it's me."
I heard the springs of the recliner give way, and turned to see Dad standing in his robe by the bottom of the stairs. "Well, you're home at twelve on the dot. That Robert is very...punctual."
I smiled sheepishly. "Yes. Yes he is."
"So where is he? He didn't just drop you off and leave, did he?"
I shook my head, unable to get my tongue to cooperate and actually form the words that I knew were a lie.
Dad looked at my face, then looked at the door. "So what happened to him? You didn't punch him, did you?"
I started laughing, the sound coming out in hysterical gasps, and quickly covered my mouth with my hand. My right hand. My right, cast-less hand that was supposed to be broken.
"Your cast is missing!" Dad shouted, his finger pointing at the very obvious lack of plaster on my arm. "Why is it off of your arm?"
I tried to think of some good excuse, but my mouth moved before my brain kicked into gear. "Robert took it off." Seeing his shocked face, I quickly added, "It's perfectly fine, Dad. See? I can use it, it doesn't hurt or anything. I think the x-rays were wrong and they put the casts on me prematurely." I bent my arm and wiggled my fingers in front of him, as if that would be enough to convince him.
Dad's face was a very distinct shade of pinkish red. I would look up the name of the color later and find out it was called puce. "He took it off? With what?"
That one left me stumped. I opened my mouth to say something, anything other than the truth, and yet it still came out, "With his fingers." Why could I not tell a lie? I gritted my teeth, unwilling to say another word, no matter what was asked of me.
"Grace Anne Shelley, this isn't time for jokes. Did you let him cut that cast off of your arm?"
I shook my head, forcing my jaw to stay shut.
"I'm going to get to the bottom of this, Grace. This is very serious. If your arm is still broken-"
"But it's not!" I protested, once again wiggling my arm around to demonstrate that it wasn't.
He shook his head and pointed to the stairs. "Go upstairs. I'm making an appointment in the morning to see your doctor and finding out for myself."
I didn't bother trying to tell him that tomorrow would be Sunday. I simply did as I was told, and silently cursed Robert for leaving me to fend for myself after avoiding my questions at the same time. I wanted to stomp my feet, but I didn't want to wake Janice up. I wanted to do a lot of things, but I simply opened my bedroom door and walked in, closing it behind me.
The soft glow of the moon allowed me just enough light to make my way around the room. I tossed the sandals that were still in my hand--the hand that would probably get me grounded because it wasn't surrounded in plaster--onto the ground next to the bed and walked over to my dresser. I pulled out a pair of boxers and a tank top and threw those onto the bed behind me. I sat at the foot of my bed, and looked into the mirror.
"Gaaaah!" I croaked.
The soft white glow wasn't coming from the moon. It was coming from the person who was sitting on my bed, and who looked a bit too comfortable for my taste. I jumped off of the mattress, turning around and backing into my dresser, my heart pounding in my chest. I looked at my window. It was still shut. "How did you get in here?" I hissed.
He pointed to the window.
I looked at it again. This time I could see that it was slightly ajar. "Did you do that misting thing?" I whispered, my breath coming out in short bursts.
He nodded, and then smiled. Why are you whispering?
"Because I don't want my dad to hear!" I whispered angrily. "Why are you in here?"
I wanted to apologize.
"Couldn't it have waited until tomorrow?" When he shook his head, I added, "or at least until I've changed my clothes?"
He lifted his eyebrows, the look on his face unmistakable.
"I'm going to go and change in the bathroom," I muttered.
I left him sitting on my bed, being careful not to open my door too widely. I closed it and crept to the bathroom. After shutting the door and turning on the light, I took a good look at my reflection.
My hair looked immaculate. Not a single hair out of place. I remembered that he had touched my head, and sighed. He had tried to make me look as presentable as possible, knowing that Dad was there waiting for me. He also knew that his presence when Dad discovered my cast was missing would not have helped out in the least.
Darn.
He had left me alone on my doorstep to protect me. "Ugh. Too perfect," I muttered to myself. "Too damn perfect."
Deciding that stalling in the bathroom would not exactly be a good idea, I started to change. It was a struggle to get the zipper in the back of the dress down, but I managed to pull it down just enough where the dress would come down with a few tugs.
Once I had w
on the battle of the zipper, I was able to quickly change. I removed the jewelry and, after brushing my teeth and washing my face, I hurried back to my room. I closed the door softly, and turned around to face Robert.
He smiled at my scowl. You look beautiful angry. And I am sorry.
My jaw dropped. "Don't try to butter me up, Robert. I'm not in the mood." I dumped the corset and dress into his lap, and then bent down to pick up the sandals that I had tossed on the ground, and placed those in his lap as well.
I then sat at the foot of the bed, crossed my legs, and faced him. "Okay. No more running away, Robert. Are you going to answer my questions?"
Yes.
"All of them?"
Yes.
Satisfied, I relaxed. "Why did we leave the reception early?"
I felt uncomfortable.
"You felt uncomfortable? Why?"
Because I didn't want an audience watching me; I don't like having people see what I can do for others.
I could feel my face wrinkle up in confusion. "But why? You've got a gift, Robert! It's like Ellie said; you're special even among your own kind."
My healing ability may be viewed as a gift to you, Grace, but to me, it's almost like a curse.
I stared at him, my mind uncomprehending what he had just said. It didn't make sense to me that the ability to heal someone could somehow be a bad thing.
I can't heal everyone, Grace, and I don't know who it is that I can and cannot heal until I try.
"But you healed me. You did it three times. Are you saying that there might be a time when you won't be able to?"
His eyes looked stark. I hope I never have to find out.
"But that might happen."
He nodded his head, a sudden sadness blanketing his face.
I looked down at my hands in my lap. "And is that why you feel it's a curse? Because you might not be able to heal someone? Because if it is, it's a pretty silly reason."
You cannot begin to understand how immense the feeling of helplessness is, knowing that I have this amazing ability and not being able to use it to save a child, a parent, a friend for no reason other than it was their time.
The way he said friend made me think about Ellie. "You wanted to help keep Ellie alive..."
He nodded. If I could have kept her alive for another century, I would have.
I lifted my head up to look at him. "How did you keep her alive for tonight?"
I didn't. Someone else did.
"Who?" I asked. If there was someone else who could keep someone alive, even if it was for one more day, surely they'd know how to get around the whole "their time" issue.
I cannot tell you who it was.
"But you said you'd answer all of my questions." I gasped.
I cannot answer this one. I made a promise that I would not reveal who it was, and I cannot break that promise.
"Stupid angel etiquette..." I muttered.
I heard that.
"Good."
You have more questions.
I nodded. "What happened to my hand?"
I don't know.
"What do you mean, you don't know? Why did it look the way it did? And why didn't it hurt?"
I don't know. I expected the bruising. You wouldn't have known what attacking us would do.
"I didn't attack Lark!" I protested, my hands clenched into fists that betrayed my words.
I know that. You were playing around. That was never in question. But, you did hit Lark, expecting to encounter the soft give of human flesh.
"But that's exactly what it felt like."
But it wasn't, Grace. How can I explain this to you so that you'll understand. When you touch us, you feel soft skin, warm and smooth, like yours. But it doesn't give like your skin does. It's stronger. Much, much stronger. The only thing I can compare it to is spider silk.
My head cocked to the side, because let's face it, that sounded ridiculous. "My hand won't end up looking like a big blueberry if I punch a spider web, Robert."
No, of course it wouldn't. But spider silk is the strongest natural fiber in the world. It is stronger than steel. But it is pliable, soft. My skin, the skin of every angel is like that. It's like a very intricately woven fabric made of spider silk. Your punch to Lark, however lighthearted, however soft, would be like you punching a steel beam.
I looked at him, incredulous. "But it didn't feel like that. That's what I don't understand."
He nodded. I know that. It's not supposed to feel like you punched a steel beam. Just hurt like it. And yet-
"I didn't feel anything."
He nodded again.
"Wow."
I know. I don't understand it, either. The way your bruising patterns were formed were quite different as well.
I remembered the way Lark had described it as looking like a honeycomb. I had had many scrapes and bruises as a kid, but never recalled having bruises that looked like that. "Should I have broken my hand?"
He shook his head. "You didn't use enough force. Had you done so, it would have been taken by everyone at the wedding as a sign of aggression towards us, and that probably wouldn't have gone over so well."
Well, that was good, at least.
What's next?
I brought my knees up and rested my chin on them, thinking about what else it was that I had wanted to know. "Why are you and Sam so close?"
He laughed, but the sound was almost hollow. You don't like Sam.
"I just don't feel comfortable around him. I don't know why. Lark said that he'd have to tell me what it is about him that does that. Is that his ability or something? Or is it because I'm allergic to jerks?"
His body rocked with muted laughter before a half-smile formed on his face. You're not alone in your feelings, Grace. However, Sam's a mentor and a friend. He's more than a friend. He's my brother in every sense of the word except genetically. He's always been there, whether to offer advice, or just support when I've felt lost and impatient.
"Because you haven't heard the call yet?"
A slight nod of his head and a sigh answered me.
"So Sam helps you deal with that?" I asked, not really wanting to like Sam for helping Robert understand what he was going through, but at the same time, glad that he had someone who he could turn to. Friendship, between humans or angels, could mean the difference between depression and happiness, and I did not want to ever think of my angel feeling the way that I had when I had no one.
Yes, he helps me deal with it. And thank you, for at least trying to see him in a different light. Even Lark refuses to do that.
Well, score one for the human girl.
Robert laughed silently. You're already way ahead of the game, Grace.
I smiled, feeling oddly giddy at such an offbeat compliment. But what else was to be expected of me, right? Hadn't we just gotten through discussing the consequences of punching an angel? Conversations like this didn't happen with just anyone.
"When is Ellie supposed to go? Does her family know? "
Robert shook his head. It will happen before the sun rises, but no, her family does not know. Her daughter will be informed through the normal human methods, and Hannah will find out as soon as Ellie has crossed over.
I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness come over me. "Why can't Hannah know? She's supposed to be one of your protectors, right?"
Yes, but Ellie wanted it this way. She wanted Hannah to be able to enjoy her wedding night.
The snort that came out of me was one that was in disbelief. The tone with which Robert had said "wedding night" made it seem as though Hannah was a vir-
She is.
My mouth opened up rather widely, shocked that he'd know such a thing. "And just how do you know something like that?"
She told me.
I couldn't--could not--simply couldn't believe that someone would share that kind of information with another person. And with their grandmother's ex-boyfriend no less!
Robert chuckled. Believe it or not, she did. Peo
ple tend to view us as priests when they know what we are. It can get annoying--but we understand. Do you know what she calls me? What makes it easier for her to talk to me?
"Robbie?" Why not, since her grandmother did.
She calls me Grandpa Bob.
A smirk formed on my lips and I couldn't help but begin to test it out. "Grandpa Bob. I think it has a nice ring to it. I might call you that from now on."
He rolled his eyes at my jest. I think there are other things you could call me that would sound much more palatable.
The things I'd love to call him were far too familiar and intimate for what we were at the moment. Just the idea alone was enough to make the blood flood my cheeks, a testament to my embarrassment. I had labeled our relationship, Lark had told me, and all the things that I would have liked to call him, refer to him as, have him call me in return--they were all impossible until I had made my decision about what it was that I wanted known. And I knew that I had to come to a decision about him, about Graham, about everything soon.
Then, remembering the last thing that had been on my mind before the desperate need to get home took over, I turned my body to face him. "Why did you leave me in the kitchen?"
He looked away towards the window, and I saw his jaw jut out in stubbornness. His white glow turned a stark purple.
"Robert, you said you'd answer all of my questions," I reminded him--as if he could forget. "I want to know. Please."
He turned his face to me, his eyes steel once again, cold and flat. Because I brought you to my home, I brought you into my life, and you choose not to talk about a future with me, but instead speak of someone who broke your heart, and how my kitchen would make him happy.
I was stunned. Dumbfounded, actually. "Of all the silly-" I stared mutely at him as the realization of what had just happened slapped me in the face. "Are you jealous, Robert?"
I don't know what I am. I have never felt this emotion before. I'm not enjoying it. Impossibly, his jaw jutted out even farther, the vein in his neck growing fat from the tension this new emotion was giving him. I cannot help but be angry at you for causing it, Grace.