The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven

by Harmony L. Courtney

  Quentin sat in stunned silence.

  Sure, he know that Lovan wasn’t always proud of or happy with him, but did he really have no confidence in him at all?

  “I know God done change ma heart, Son,” he said quietly. “I know He done got me a job, and He done got ma P. O. to let me go to Israel; I ain’ never been outta this country, an’ you knows dat. Might be the only time I do, an’ dere gotsta be a reason, if God allowin’ it, right? So, mebbe, jus’ mebbe you could try ta belie’ somethin’ good ‘bout me fo’ a change, ‘cause I doin what I know to do, even though I ain’ perfect.”

  Quentin stood, not waiting for an answer, and waved. “Guess I talk wit you later. All I wanted was ta let ya know what day an’ time we be leavin’ fo’ Israel, but now, I jus’ wanna go. I’ll sen’ you the info’mation when I gets home. Fo’give an ol’ guy for tryin’ ta bond wit his son.”

  Lovan moved to stand, and Quentin shooed him away, opened the door, and shut it behind him. Then, with as much dignity as he could muster, he strode past Kim’s desk, through the entry, and out the door.

  He wasn’t about to show his emotions; not again. The last time he’d done so in front of Lovan, look what had happened?

  His own son didn’t trust him anymore.

  And there wasn’t anything he could do but hope and pray that it could be built back up, and that his son would allow it.

  Eleven

  Vancouver, Washington… July 2, 2025

  “Mariana,” Paloma called as she made her way into the office of Amethyst & Alabaster, thankful they’d continued to stay local and keep running things from her backyard all the years they’d been open, even when they could have expanded. “Mariana, do you have a minute?”

  She found herself in a near-empty office.

  Mariana wasn’t among those who were working yet.

  Glancing at the clock, Paloma noted the time: 9:52.

  “Hey, ladies,” she said, greeting the five workers who had arrived. “Where is everyone? Usually there are fourteen to sixteen people here this time of day.”

  “You didn’t hear,” Jennifer Gonzalez – one of their more recent hires – asked.

  “Hear what?”

  “That Kristof Sage guy, he called for a meeting this afternoon and told everyone to bring something for a potluck; called maybe half an hour ago. So, we’re holding things down here while the rest are trying to find things to prepare quickly, or trays from the store, or whatever, in order for this to happen,” Jennifer continued, her dark eyes not quite meeting Paloma’s.

  “Wha-,” Paloma sputtered. “He did what?”

  “Well, he said it was your idea, and that it wouldn’t be a problem; something about preparing for some changes while you’re gone, but… gone where,” Sara Pitt, a tall blonde who had been with the company for over ten years, asked as she switched her attention back and forth between Paloma and the lookbook in her hand. Underneath that lookbook sat three more for her to peruse.

  He said it was my idea, did he, Paloma thought as she nodded in the tense silence of the room. “There are a group of people going to Israel for a research trip,” she said, wishing she could have waited until everyone was together. “But please don’t let it get out; I was coming to talk with all of you about it, and apparently, Kristof had the same idea.”

  The workers looked up at her; five pair of curious eyes.

  “So you didn’t…?”

  “No, Jennifer, I didn’t. But it was something I’d considered, so may as well go along with it, and make the best of it,” Paloma said, pulling a wheeled chair over toward the main desk and sitting down heavily.

  She reached for the stack of mail sitting on the desk still and rifled through it a few minutes, pulling out five envelopes that seemed important, and began to systematically open them all before reaching inside any of them to read the contents. Two were bills, and three were orders; the rest of the mail looked like offers for credit cards, junk mail, and a letter directed to Mariana. She set that one aside, and put the rest in the recycling bin underneath the left side of the desk.

  “So, you’re not mad that everyone else just sorta… took off,” Sara asked her finally.

  “Mad? That’s not… that’s not quite the word I’d use; I’ll talk with them when they get back, and certainly discuss this with Kristof, but… what’s done is done, is it not? We can remedy things and make them better for the future, but for the time being, what’s there to be mad about? That Kristof spoke for me was uncouth, but… he just had more guts than I did,” Paloma said, looking up from the electricity bill in her hand.

  Jennifer, Sara, and the other workers – Rachel, Dana, and Maisie – nodded in silence. Jennifer continued on with the lookbooks, Sara at her side with more of them. Rachel, Dana, and Maisie – three of five sisters in the Carmichael family who worked at Amethyst & Alabaster – worked on sewing patterns nearby.

  “Which patterns are those,” Paloma asked them, setting the mail aside and moving toward the trio. She glanced over Maisie’s shoulder to see what they were working on; sweaters for their Winter lineup for the show.

  The one Rachel was working on, at second glance, was unfamiliar to her, and she looked more carefully.

  “I don’t recognize that one,” she told the woman, whose slight, trim hand – so much like those of all her sisters - was marking the thin tissue-like paper with care. “Can you remind me where it’s from? Whose design is it?”

  Rachel looked up, pausing in her work, and shrugged her shoulders. “I was told some of these were supposed to be a surprise for you, and these….”

  “Let me guess,” Paloma said gently. “Kristof, again?”

  Rachel looked at her sisters, and then back to Paloma, and shook her head. “Sorry, we said we wouldn’t….” The pained expression in her clear blue eyes gave Paloma pause.

  A knock at the door startled her, and she whirled around, nearly running into Maisie in the process. With a sigh, she squared her shoulders and went to answer the door, only to find Cherish and Duncan holding Kristof up between them.

  “What’s this about,” she asked, ushering them in, and waited until Kristof was seated at the desk, where the only available high-backed chair was. “I understand we’re having a potluck; so nice of you to let me know,” she said, wincing at the sarcasm in her own voice.

  “I meant to say something, Paloma, but then, I got to talking with my lady friend – her name is Imogene, by the way – and I did as you so gently… suggested…” Kristof said as he idly ran a finger back and forth across the edge of the desk, watching it move.

  “Can we go now,” Duncan asked, interrupting, and Paloma nodded. He and Cherish, red heads bobbing, made fast work of leaving, the door shutting hard behind them before Paloma replied to Kristof’s comment.

  Was he really attempting to apologize?

  Was he admitting he was, if not in the wrong, at least that he should have said something to her about it? Not that she figured he’d have asked, as nice as that would be, considering these was her employees, and her business to run with Mariana Eliade’s help, but still. Would it have hurt to run the potluck meeting idea past her first?

  “Now, Kristof-,” she began, but he put a hand up to stop her.

  “No; I should have said something, and I should have asked first. I just… it felt nice, being in charge of something again, even if it was only one decision,” he said, looking into her eyes.

  Tears, like little jewels, surprised her as they clung to the corners of his eyes, threatening to escape.

  “Ever since I was diagnosed with…”

  He stopped again; slowly wiped away the moisture with the back of a shaking hand. “Ever since I was told I had weeks or months to live, and not years,” he continued finally, “I’ve felt like nothing was within my control. Nothing, do you understand?”

  Paloma nodded, hoping he would continue, the only sound in the room the whispering of the Carmichael sisters at the back desk as they continued their
work.

  “I overstepped, and I’m sorry. I got talking with Imogene, and I was still feeling sorry for myself, but I told her about the place you offered me, and I told her I’d get her a ticket to come here; she’s a US citizen, you know, just lives in France, and I just…”

  He sighed.

  Paloma reached a hand toward him and gently patted his shoulder, and the tears began to fall.

  “She said she’d come, but she wants nothing to do with marrying me until after we all go to Israel, and she wants to go; she said even if she had to pay her own way, she wants to go, and who am I to stop her? So, she’s coming. I told her it was alright. And I hope that’s okay, because, yeah, I know I gave Jason the money for everyone’s tickets and all that, but… this is someone I know has loved me for years, and if she wants to be in my life, who am I to stop her anymore? I can’t argue with love; not anymore. I’ve fought my feelings for her, and I can’t do it anymore. I… I just… I can’t.”

  “Then you don’t have to,” Paloma assured him quietly. “She’s more than welcome, in my book. No worries, alright?”

  Kristof nodded even as the hens began to complain outside. Within moments, the rest of Paloma’s employees began trickling in.

  Some faces looked pleased as they rushed in with their offerings of potluck food; one looked a bit guilty, but smiled, anyway, and when Mariana came in, she beamed at the pair of them as though she knew something neither of them did.

  And who knew?

  Maybe she did….

  Twelve

  Vancouver, Washington… July 2, 2025

  “So, in the event that there was some confusion,” Paloma began as she sat down next to Mariana and Kristof, one on either side of her in the larger workroom. “This potluck was only brought to my attention after most of you took off to prepare for it. In the future, please run anything by me that is out of the ordinary, even if your understanding is that I know about it.”

  She felt the heavy burden of eighteen pair of eyes on her, and sighed.

  “Anyway, with that, let’s get our plates settled and get down to business, shall we? There’s a lot to discuss, and the sooner we begin, the sooner we can get back to other aspects of the day,” she continued. “And Kristof, I’ll get a plate for you if you’d like,” she said, more quietly, so that he was the only one who could hear her. “It’s the least I can do. We haven’t had a potluck at work in three or four years; it was a good idea.”

  The older man nodded at her, but said nothing; his face was flushed, and he folded his hands in his lap as she spoke.

  Pausing briefly, she waited for Mariana to get in line and then followed suit; they were a good dozen people back. “Next time someone says my authority was behind it, please double check… if it’s something important, always, please, double check,” she told the woman more calmly than she felt.

  “Listen, I wanted to call and ask, but…”

  Mariana turned her large, dark eyes to Paloma.

  “How could I tell the workers the old man was lying when I’d put him on speaker like he asked me to?”

  “He asked you to-”

  “To put him on speaker,” she repeated, frowning as she shrugged her violet silk-clad shoulders. “I didn’t know what else to do but go along with it and hope for the best; that you’d understand I wasn’t trying to go over your head with…”

  Paloma nodded and grimaced.

  How could Kristof have put her workers in such an awkward situation, and herself, to boot?

  She could understand if he’d pulled her aside and made a suggestion. She could even understand if he’d called and asked Mariana about it, then consulted her… but to have her put him on speaker and say it was her idea when she had no clue what was going on was too much….

  Lord, she prayed silently, help me forgive and let go. This isn’t a life or death situation, and even if it was, it isn’t for me to hold it against him. I’ve seen what unforgiveness and holding onto the past can do to someone, and I can’t be that someone. I’ve been guilty of many things, and it isn’t for me to hold someone else’s stuff over their head. I just can’t… so I need you to take this from my shoulders; take it from my hands. Remove it from me, and help me to forgive, please. Because otherwise, I’ll end up as bitter as I’ve seen others, and I just… she sighed. I just can’t go there, God.

  The line moved forward as she continued praying, her feet following Mariana’s a few paces as those in front of them continued to fill their plates. Mariana reached ahead and grabbed plates for them both, and then handed her a second.

  “What’s this for,” she asked, her thoughts still elsewhere.

  “You offered to get a plate for Kristof, remember?”

  Paloma turned her head back toward where they’d been sitting, and Kristof smiled at her. She tried her best to smile back, and failed; she could feel one side of her smile wobbling into a frown, and she turned back quickly.

  Lord, help me, because I don’t want to feel this way. I want to forgive, and not be angry; I want to forgive, and not be upset, she prayed as she took another step toward the table, finally eyeing the variety of food found and brought on such short notice.

  As she finally made it to the first side of the table, she began to stack first Kristof’s plate, and then her own, with chicken wings, Chinese dumplings, fruit salad, and on down the line until both were filled. She set them down long enough to grab napkins and silverware from the little side table, add a little ketchup to her plate for the sweet potato fries she’d chosen, some mustard to his hotdog, and then prepared to take Kristof’s plate to him.

  “Why don’t I grab that for you,” she heard Jennifer ask from nearby. “It’s alright; which one is Mr. Sage’s?”

  Indicating the one she had half-lifted from the table, she allowed the young woman to gather it up, along with half of the napkins and silverware, and take it for her. Thankful, Paloma picked the rest up and followed Jennifer until she reached her own seat, waited until Kristof had his, and bowed her head.

  “Thank You for this meal, and bless the hands that prepared it,” she prayed quietly. “And about that other matter, God… I’m still gonna need a little help.”

  Thirteen

  “You mean to tell me that he took over your day altogether,” Tawny asked Paloma, her voice incredulous, her holographic eyes widening and then narrowing again as they discussed the events of the week so far on the phone.

  Paloma sighed, nodding.

  Even though Kristof had said it was because he sensed a lack of control over anything, there was a lot he was in control of. Did he really not see any of it?

  “He told the workers I approved and wanted a potluck meeting to discuss the changes happening while I was in Israel, but then he called Imogene – a woman who’s loved him for years and he’d all but closed himself off from because he just… I don’t know? He was afraid to be happy, maybe? He still hasn’t said how his wife died, so maybe it was guilt? I don’t know, but he just… he called Mariana, had her put him on speaker, and set this all up, then called Imogene and forgot to tell me anything until I had already found out,” she explained, taking a seat on the old green velvet sofa in her living room.

  In the background, she could hear someone rummaging in the fridge near where her friend was standing, even as Tawny spoke again.

  “So, lemme get this straight,” her friend said, moving toward her living room. Paloma closed her eyes as the woman moved, knowing she’d get dizzy if she tried to follow with eye contact until she was settled. “The man took over things at work… at your place of business… the one he tried to ruin more than once, and you just… let it slide?’

  “I know it sounds crazy, and I know it probably isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, Tawny,” she said as Confetti came leaping onto her lap. She set the phone next to her on the couch and, holding onto the cat, faced her friend once more. “I just couldn’t embarrass him; not in front of my workers, and not when he’s already gone through s
o much.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?”

  “’Loma, he put himself through a lot of it; not all of it, but a lot of it was self-induced. He held onto the past, and onto the pain. You said so, yourself,” her friend told her, voice raising, even as she moved to take a bite from a sandwich she’d already half-eaten.

  Paloma blanched, then felt her face color. “I know that I said…” She sighed.

  “I guess all I’m saying is that you gotta look at the whole picture, Girlfriend,” Tawny said once she’d swallowed her food. “You can’t go feeling sorry for him simply because he continued to hurt other people in his own hurt because he didn’t want to let go. That’s between him and God, but still… what good will it do for you to coddle him?

  “Now, wait a minute,” Paloma told her. “That’s the second time today someone’s accused me of doing that, and I’m not….”

  She stopped talking; thought back on her day, and then on the weeks since Kristof Sage had re-entered her life; her family’s lives. Tawny just sat in silence, finishing her sandwich, and Confetti rolled over in her lap, startling her into continuing.

  “Maybe I am,” she finally admitted. “Maybe instead of giving him mostly what he wants, I should be using more…” More what? Tough love? More wisdom?

  What was it she needed?

  “More…?”

  “I don’t know, Tawny. Something just… I have no idea how to explain it, and I think I need to discuss it with Dirk, Omega, Zollo, Casimir, and Ferris…I think that… well, I think…,” she finally concluded. “I think it’s about all I have left at my disposal right now,” she said, thinking of the angels who’d come down and begun living among men to help prepare them for the journey to Israel.