Pieces of Hope

by Carter, Carolyn

  “Good thing he had Claire to keep him company. That’s helped immensely,” Mrs. A said, hugging me. “After all, she’s been his crush since what . . . third grade, maybe?”

  “Second,” I reminded her, recalling Brody’s young declaration of love.

  “Oh yes, that’s right,” she agreed with a delighted smile. “But you were and always will be irreplaceable.” She accepted a drink from a drifting waiter and lifted a second one for Mr. A. It took a nudge from Linda to get him to notice it.

  Gigi was eyeing my attire with a surprise on her face. “When’d you get the personal stylist?” Only Claire and Gigi had the style gene in our family. Dad did okay; he wore dress shirts and khakis most days. But, like me, he didn’t fare well without assistance.

  “Oh, this . . .” Old thing. Back of my closet. Had it for ages.

  Gigi spied Ethan over my left shoulder. “If it isn’t tall, handsome, and handsomer.”

  “Gigi, lovely as ever,” Ethan said smoothly, avoiding her flirtatious gaze by running a hand through his hair. He seemed to do that when he was uncomfortable. Linda must have noticed because she suddenly motioned for Gigi to take a seat beside her. Though it was only a few feet away, when Gigi sat down at last, I heard Ethan loudly exhale.

  “Welcome back.” It was Sophie Langley looking bored but beautiful. She showed off her curves in a skin-tight dress, but I didn’t feel envious. For once, I felt like her equal. We gave each other an almost-hug, and then we both looked away, each of us as uncomfortable as the other.

  “Hope, let’s dance!” Claire shouted, stepping out of a crowd on the dance floor. She came closer, her lithe body swaying, motioning toward an open space in front of the dee-jay.

  “Later. Okay? Give me some time to catch up first.”

  She nodded and danced her way back to Brody. A moment later, as they gyrated to a great song, I laughed, slightly embarrassed for the onlookers. Brody had the moves, but they weren’t anywhere close to PG rated. From the corner of my eye, I watched my grandparents cringe in horror. Grammy half-covered her eyes.

  “I can dance like that,” Gigi announced, creating looks of shock all around. “Want me to show you Ethan?” she called loudly, tucking a smooth red strand of hair behind an ear.

  “I’m not much of a dancer, Gigi,” Ethan replied awkwardly. I held back a smile—I could torture him for decades. My grandmother had just asked my too-beautiful boyfriend to dirty-dance with her at my coming-home party.

  We talked for a while after that, mostly stories from my childhood that I’d forgotten. I was apparently quite the comedian. I thought I might have missed my calling. Somewhere in the conversation, Rin, Charlotte, Gus, Creesie, and to my surprise, Cat and Mac wandered over. I made brief introductions. No one asked how or when any of us had met.

  That was the funny thing about this place; everyone had short memories—including me. While I occupied myself with being the center of everyone’s attention, every thought of what I really ought to be doing seemed lifetimes away.

  Gus shifted topics and began telling stories of his wife, Ellen. As Gus told it, I was in good company. Ellen was also a comedian. As everyone focused on Gus, I found the moment I’d been waiting for. I pulled Ethan aside into a private conversation. “Are you going to tell me how you managed to pull this off?”

  A pretty redhead in a strapless summer dress waved a flirty wave at him.

  “You could say I had a little help.” Ethan raised his chin at her.

  “Hey, Hope,” Charlotte called sweetly. “Enjoying your surprise party?”

  She stood on the far side of the fiery fountain, holding a fruity drink in her hand. The rest of my new friends were standing around her. Simultaneously, they looked up and smiled at me. Why hadn’t I seen it before? They were all in on this! Charlotte hadn’t left the Station to visit her mother; she had left to help Ethan. All of them had all planned this party to knock some sense into me! I bit my lip as my eyes got teary.

  Half-mumbling, half-thinking the words I couldn’t say, I sent them my love and my undying gratitude. Charlotte blew me a kiss. You’re welcome, she told me.

  Several songs later, the music switched to some kind of jazzy number, and Claire and Brody finally jointed us. Patric and Madeline also made their way back, Madeline propped heavily on her husband’s arm. She looked to have had a few too many cocktails. Her perfect hair was slightly out of place and it was hard to follow the conversation; she kept changing topics.

  “Ethan used to have such imaginative dreams when he was little,” Madeline went on, slurring her words. “He used to talk non-stop about his yellow-haired girlfriend who loved to dance.” She laughed loudly. “Sometimes I’d see him upset, and when I’d ask him what was wrong, he would tell me that he missed her.”

  There was a mutual awww from the women. Clearly, they were thinking this was just a little kid’s romantic imagination at work. I reached quietly for his hand, hoping to catch his attention, but Ethan refused to look up from his feet. My heart ached for him. Had he, as a child, remembered our previous lifetime? How lonely that must have made him feel.

  Madeline sipped on her drink. Turning her glazed eyes to her son, she slurred, “Do you remember, Ethan? You stopped talking about her just before you turned six.”

  Judging by his agitated expression, I would have guessed he very much recalled it and would have preferred it to remain private. Patric Reid was eyeing his son with concern. Sensing his discomfort, he broke in, “More drinks, anyone? Anyone ready for refills?”

  Madeline missed the direction he was going and rattled on, “Ethan was always such a serious, solitary child—it’s no wonder he dreamed up an imaginary girlfriend!” Her glass tipped, spilling amber liquid down the side. “But all I ever wanted is for him to be happy. We may not understand each other, but that’s all a mother could ask for.”

  She looked at him and he looked back. He had sympathy in his eyes for his mother. I could see why he’d never told them about finding his adoption papers. They adored him just as I did. But I wasn’t so sure they saw him clearly. Ethan . . . serious? Though it was twice I had heard it—once from a questionable source (Sophie) and now from his mother—it wasn’t the way he behaved with me. At our first meeting at the hospital, maybe . . . But hadn’t there been a reason for it? Now I wasn’t so sure which one was the real Ethan.

  Patric placed a gentle kiss on the side of Madeline’s neck. It was the final distraction. She fell into his arms, the awkward moment was forgotten, and several conversations began at once. Silently, I watched them and a flood of emotions welled up from nowhere. It seemed my heart had never been so full.

  Ethan edged into my reverie. “What are you thinking?”

  “Oh, you know . . . the usual.”

  “You never have usual thoughts.”

  At this, I smiled.

  “I think I know,” he whispered, his voice soft and low.

  “Highly unlikely.”

  He almost smiled back. “That was definitely a dare,” he observed. “But I’m always up for a challenge, even one as monumental as this one.” He paused thoughtfully, watching me before he continued. “Given your vast emotional range, I’d say you’re thinking this is all a little overwhelming . . .”

  My shoulders dropped by accident. He corrected himself.

  “No . . . let’s make that a lot overwhelming. In fact, I’d say you think your heart is about to burst from all the love your have for these people. And,”—he looked intently into my eyes, taking a rather lengthy pause—“extremely disappointed that no one’s asked you about the necklace you’ve been flashing them all evening.”

  “What—how did you—?” He suddenly made me wonder again about his capacity for mind-reading. Then again, he already knew that my emotions topped the Richter scale here, and I had been fidgeting with my necklace ever since my arrival.

  “And in case you’re wondering why I didn’t sign your Welcome Home banner, it’s because I planned to deliver the message
in person. It’s a . . . physical message.”

  “Oh?” I was thrilled by the idea of this.

  Seeing my expression, he laughed. “Don’t get too excited. It’s a dance.”

  I tried not to look disappointed.

  “A slow dance,” he emphasized.

  “Oh.” That, at least, had possibilities.” Then I remembered what he’d said to Gigi. “I thought you didn’t like to dance.”

  He turned over my hand and kissed it. “I’m saving all my dances for you.”

  “Ohhh . . .” Fleeting memories of an old high school gym, an earlier Ethan, me in a dress, him in a uniform, floated through my mind.

  Ethan seemed to nod at someone behind me. All conversations came to an abrupt halt and the music ceased. As if on cue, Dad said, “Katydid, I’ve been meaning to ask you since you arrived—what is that you’re wearing around your neck?”

  It was too perfect to pass up. I stole Ethan’s line. “Gee, Dad. It’s a necklace. Haven’t you ever seen a necklace before?” The music started up again, and my great joke got lost in a horrible rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Rolled out by one of the waiters on a silver cart, a monster slab of cake appeared with enough candles on it to burn down an entire forest. I was eighteen, not eighty, but candles that numerous gave the cake lots of sparkle. The elaborately decorated cake read: Welcome Home, Katydid. Happy Belated Birthday!

  “Did you think we’d forgotten?” Dad asked, his eyes misty with tears.

  “This is . . .” A lump of words tangled in my throat.

  “I love you, Hope,” Ethan whispered in my ear. “Everyone here loves you . . .”

  The tears that had been threatening to spill all evening rolled down my cheeks. Mac slipped up behind me and handed me a handkerchief. I mumbled my thanks. Several dozen hugs and kisses later, we ventured to a twenty-foot table near the dee-jay. “Made from solid mahogany,” Madeline had said. It made me sad to think that someone had cut down a tree so magnificent, and I began blubbering all over again. Later, when I was working on my second piece of cake, a honeyed sensation made my limbs go weak, and I heard someone speak as if I were listening through water.

  “Hey, who invited all the basketball players?” The voice was Sophie Langley’s.

  I turned in slow motion towards the direction she was gawking. Brody was just now stumbling in from the darkened area beyond the pool. His eyes were a little out of focus and he had a lovesick puppy-dog look about him.

  “Oh, no!” I shouted. “I thought they only had this effect on females.” And apparently guys named Brody.

  “What effect?” Sophie asked, her speech heavily slurred. My head was much clearer than hers; I could feel the swimming-in-honey sensation diminishing. I was glad Ethan had slipped away a moment earlier to grab us some drinks. I needed to get this in hand. Quickly.

  “At least they’re wearing clothes this time!” Only at my coming-home party could Angels upstage the featured guest.

  “You’ve seen them naked?” Sophie’s eyebrows were in the middle of her forehead.

  I realized suddenly I was speaking aloud. “What? No! I mean, they’re wearing more clothes, normal clothes. And where did they put their wings—?”

  “Wings?” Sophie’s eyebrows remained frozen in that same spot. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied, I would have laughed out loud. She looked positively ridiculous.

  “Wuh-what?” I stammered. “No, no, I said rings . . . their championship basketball rings.” Running off, I muttered, “Excuse me, will you?”

  Brody almost fell as I ran toward him. He pointed at the bluff, his speech so slurred I almost couldn’t understand him. “HOPE! Doze are da waaay coowest dooz! Dey sez we can pway footsball sometimes . . . Waaaay coooool dooz . . .”

  “Hey, Brody, go dip your head in the pool for about thirty seconds. The basketball players do it all the time,” I told him. “They say it keeps them at the top of their game.”

  “Cooooool . . .” He turned it into an eight-letter word. I watched as he made his way to the shallow end of the pool, leaned over, then tumbled headfirst over the side, spluttering a mouthful of water as he surfaced several seconds later.

  Once I knew he wasn’t going to drown, I scrambled to meet them, wondering what had drawn them here. Were they here to tell me that something had happened to my body? Here to warn me again? Or Daniel . . . did this have something to do with Daniel? I waited for it, but could sense no irritation—that genuinely annoyed feeling that pulsed through me whenever he was near. I didn’t think Daniel was here. Yet.

  20 The Powers

  As I crossed the expanse of ground that led to the cliffs’ edge, I heard a mingling of voices in my head. At first, I couldn’t make sense of it; they were all talking at once. Then a loud Shhh! silenced everyone. I froze in my step, careful not to turn in the direction of their voices as I listened in.

  Creesie spoke first. As I said, angels are arranged by choirs, not levels. The first choir are Seraphim, followed by Cherubim—you know, those cute, chubby ones depicted in paintings? These are followed by the Thrones, Powers, and Principalities. Obviously, these Angels are from the choir of Powers. Their raven wings are a dead giveaway.

  But, Creesie, what do they do? Charlotte’s voice was even giddier, faster and higher-pitched than usual. It seemed even the dead could be mesmerized by these four.

  As Divine beings, the Powers guard the boundaries of life and death and maintain the balance between good and evil.

  You make them sound like policemen! Charlotte squeaked.

  Celestial policemen! Rin let out an unusually high giggle. With ebony wings!

  Then I heard a cooler voice. But Creesie, why do you suppose—?

  Cat, it can’t simply be about Daniel. Because of Divine Order, the Powers will not involve themselves in the affairs of one living being. It does maks me wonder if Sethos is up to something, and more than we’d even suspected . . . Creesie paused. Cat gave a sharp intake of breath. And if Sethos, or others like him is near, none of us can be too careful.

  Rin and Charlotte seemed not to have heard her. They continued staring off toward the Powers with those gooey looks on their faces. My heart started to pound in my ears, but my feet refused to move. Some urgent voice of my own insisted I hurry back to the living realm—soon—and suggested I drag Daniel back with me.

  As you’re all aware, Creesie continued, there’s an order to the universe, and this is no less true when it comes to the Divine. Everything in this realm has meaning, fulfills a purpose, and above all, must follow Divine order.

  I could suddenly see how great Creesie must have been as a teacher. Absent of all that absentmindedness, she had a way of making the complicated seem simple. And, like most teachers, she probably had eyes in the back of her head. As I thought this, I took a few steps closer to the bluff.

  The reason why females are so besotted by these four—though, let’s face it, any sensitive individual who could tune in to their frequency would also be afflicted—has to do with Divine gifts. Take Gavriel, for instance . . . the long-haired one in front that looks a bit like a rock star. His gift is to inspire hope in humankind.

  I looked to where they stood, rock-still, their unique features visible even from this distance, their white pants and shirts billowing about in the wind. Focusing only on Gavriel, I could feel my spirits lifting, like a subtle voice whispering of infinite possibilities.

  And that mischievous-looking Angel to Gavriel’s right is none other than Verchiel. Of him, I’ve heard more stories than the others. His gift is to inspire others to love.

  That made perfect sense. Recalling the wooziness that had overpowered me when I’d first looked into those little-boy eyes, and the way Gavriel had halted his fun by tossing him a warning glance, I now carefully avoided looking anywhere near or into those eyes.

  Tell us about the blonde, curly-haired one to Gavriel’s left, Charlotte begged.

  That’s Camael, Creesie replied. His Divine gift is to inspire art and
creativity.

  Hmm . . . and had he influenced Daniel’s enormous portrait of me?

  And the one in the back, the one with the commanding stare, that’s Uriel. Believe it or not, Creesie chuckled, his Divine gift is to inspire peace and harmony.

  That intense-looking Angel with the military haircut inspired peace? Go figure.

  So you can understand why, with all of them near—and yes, indeed, it’s a miracle to catch a glimpse of them. Creesie started mumbling, almost to herself now, easily drifting off topic. “But clearly, clearly, you can see—She let a hiccup of a giggle escape—See why it’s so difficult to contain one’s self!”

  It was a great relief to know I wasn’t the only one who got drunk off Angels. There was some comfort in that. Even Creesie wasn’t immune.

  I felt several eyes on my back, and I wheeled around. Creesie, Gus, Cat, Mac, Rin, and Charlotte were staring at me. Though I feigned shock at the sight of them, I couldn’t deny that I’d been listening, and evidently they knew it.

  Hope, what are you waiting for? Gus shouted. Go ask them why they’re here!

  Mac snickered. And stop listening in on other’s people’s conversations, you little eavesdropper!

  I laughed, gave a hesitant wave, and hurried on my way. Unable to follow the path, I made a bee-line straight for the Powers. I was gliding along at a decent clip until I was about twenty feet from them. Then my feet, mired in invisible quicksand, that too-familiar honeyed sensation, began moving in exaggerated slow motion.

  As I got closer, I could see they had discarded their shirts, extended their wings, and were floating—rather than standing as I’d originally thought—beyond the edge of the bluff. I marveled again at the absence of sound. Their wings, enormous as they were, didn’t make a whoosh, flutter, or even a whisper. In the sweeping moonlight, I could also see that Gavriel’s and Uriel’s wings were more silvery than black—unlike Camael’s and Verchiel’s, the boyish-looking one. I wondered if they were older. Did Angels get . . . older? Other questions came to mind, but with them this close, I went instantly mute. All of those unanswered thoughts became a distant, foggy memory.