Angel Song

by Sheila Walsh

Ethan looked at the furniture and tried to picture the big pieces gone. It probably would make the place look bigger. “Sounds good. What else?”

  They walked around the house and talked about the pieces that should stay and the pieces that should go. “Well now, I’m glad I conned you into helping me with this. The Krutenats are good people. I’d like to help them out if I can.”

  “Conned me? Hah. I’ve had you doing manual labor over at my place for a month now, and I spend one hour over here and you think you’ve conned me.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb and looked at her. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep his hands at his sides, because everything inside him ached to reach out and touch her. “Ah, but I did con you. I was never doing all that work so that you would help me. I was conning you there too.”

  “Then why were you doing it?”

  In spite of his best efforts at restraint, he reached out and brushed a wisp of dark hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. So beautiful. So incredibly soft. Buddy, you’d better get out of here before you do something stupid. Really stupid. Somehow he managed to pull his hand back, then turned and walked to the front door. “You’ll just have to see if you can figure that one out for yourself.” He opened the door and held it. “Shall we?”

  She smiled and ducked under his arm. “Yes, I think we shall.”

  “This is not the way back to the house.”

  “Nope, it sure isn’t.”

  “Well, where are we going then? To look at another one of your houses?”

  “Nope.”

  Ann couldn’t have cared less about the answer. She was just . . . happy? Seemed strange, but there wasn’t any other word for it. Whether or not she cared about the answer, there was still the lure of pulling the information from an unwilling informant. “Come on. I spent my whole afternoon”—she said these words in as dramatic a fashion as possible—“helping you with your project. Surely you’d be willing to at least give me a hint.”

  “That’s fighting dirty. I’m not telling, but okay, I’ll give you a hint. We’re back on our tourist rounds. Today we are going to see a couple of Charlestons.”

  “There’s more than one?”

  He simply shrugged and smiled. “Yep, one for me and one for you.”

  He pulled into a parking spot, and soon they were walking down East Bay Street. It took only a moment before Ann realized where they were going. “Rainbow Row? You brought me all the way down here to see Rainbow Row? While I admire the choice, it shows a shocking lack of imagination. Every tourist who’s ever come to Charleston hits Rainbow Row. We could have stopped in a drugstore and bought a postcard for a lot less effort.”

  “I’m trying hard not to be wounded by that assumption. No, I did not drive you all the way down here just to see Rainbow Row, although walking past it was certainly the plan when I chose the parking place. I would think someone who is into architecture and design would appreciate this place more than most.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t appreciate it; I said the choice wasn’t very imaginative.”

  An ocean breeze stirred the tops of palm trees as they walked. They neared the two blocks of original Charleston-style houses that faced the harbor. Standing shoulder to shoulder in a row of pastels—blue, salmon, olive, yellow, pink—these homes had been built a couple of centuries ago and had withstood wars and hurricanes and even an earthquake. Ann felt the nostalgia begin to sneak up on her. She tried to shrug nonchalantly, but she knew Ethan wasn’t buying it. “Okay, as much as I prefer a more subdued palate, I have to admit there is a certain amount of charm here.”

  “Ann, if there’s one thing you’ve got, it’s the gift of understatement.”

  Ann laughed and stopped in front of the arched doorway of a yellow-stucco house. She craned her neck to see the top windows. “Okay, I give. They are charming. And in spite of my earlier statement, a postcard does not do this place justice. It’s definitely much better in person.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “Is this my Charleston or yours?”

  “This is actually no-man’s-land—Switzerland, you might say. That’s what this little preview was all about. I’m simply softening you up for the real deal.”

  As Ann walked beside Ethan toward the end of the peninsula, she tried to guess the rest of their venture. “I’m a little rusty on my Charleston geography, but are we going to White Point Gardens?”

  “Well, that’s where we’re headed, but of course I’m going to dazzle you with some fun facts as we go.”

  “Such as?” By now they were on Battery Row, a line of mansions from Charleston’s glorious past. As much as it wasn’t really her style, Ann couldn’t help but be just as overwhelmed as a first-time tourist would be.

  They stopped in front of a three-story brick with green shutters and two-story white columns. Ethan pointed toward it and said, “This is the Roper House.”

  “Greek Revival, nineteenth century maybe?”

  Ethan rubbed his chin. “Not bad for a city girl. But this has to be one of the most interesting houses in the city—especially for us men—but nonetheless intriguing for you ladies, for another reason.”

  “Nice of you gents to include us. So I’m guessing this is your Charleston?”

  “Yep.”

  “And why is that? Because it’s old and irrelevant?”

  “When are you going to realize the past is not irrelevant? Case in point is the story I’m about to tell you.”

  “Then by all means, let’s hear it.”

  “When the Confederates had to abandon the city, most of their cannons were right over there at the Battery, right?” He pointed toward the seawall.

  “Yeah, I suppose they were.”

  “Well, the last thing they wanted was to give the Yankees more weapons once they got here, so they started destroying everything that they couldn’t take with them. They blew up a thirty-eight-ton Blakely cannon that, unfortunately for the Roper family, left a part of itself in the attic of their house. It’s still lodged up there to this day—they say the thing could weigh five hundred pounds or more.”

  Ann looked up at the white railing framing the roof and tried to picture part of a cannon crashing into such an elegant structure. “I suppose it would make for interesting party conversations.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Interesting story notwithstanding, you said you were going to prove relevance. What, exactly, is relevant about that?”

  “Well, if you owned the house, or if you were a contractor working on the house, wouldn’t you think that knowing such a heavy piece of metal was stuck in the roof could make a big difference in what you might or might not do today? If you don’t know it’s there, a little remodel might turn into a big demolition. Know what I mean?”

  “Ah, yes. Point well made.”

  “Thank you.” He took a few more steps.

  “Yes, in one in a couple million cases—those cases with part of a cannon in the attic—the past can be important. I will concede to that.”

  “You’re just being difficult, you know. How about previous flood damage? Wouldn’t you want to know that? Or past earthquakes that might have damaged the foundation? Just because I happened to give you the most interesting scenario doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty more valid ones.”

  “Hmm. I guess so.” They walked through White Point Gardens, strolling under the shade of oaks and moss, past a white gazebo and various Civil War monuments and artillery, then straight through to the Battery promenade on the far side. Ann looked over the rail at the surging water far below them. “This is beautiful.”

  “Yeah. It’s where the Ashley River meets the Cooper River to form the Atlantic Ocean . . . in case you forget.”

  Ann laughed. “You’re talking like a Charleston snob now. Are you going to start telling me about when your family first settled here? As much as I hate all that ‘old Charleston family’ kind of talk, I’ll just tell you now, I’m sixth
generation. Low class maybe, but sixth generation nonetheless.”

  “I can’t top that. My mom and I moved here in 1996. I’ll always just be an outsider.” He said this in a mock wistful tone that made Ann want to give him a hug.

  She decided to change the subject. “Just your mom?”

  He shrugged. “Mom and Dad separated for a couple of years. Dad was working hard toward big success and he turned his back on everything that slowed him down—that included my mother and me. Mom wanted a clean start, so we moved here, away from anyone or anything she knew. The one thing she couldn’t give up was the ocean, so we left the Florida panhandle and moved to Charleston.”

  “You said they were separated; does that mean they reconciled?”

  “Yeah, it only took my father a few months to realize what a good thing he’d had and that he wanted it back. It took my mother a couple of years to be convinced to come back, but he eventually won her over.”

  “But you stayed in Charleston.”

  “Yeah, by then I’d discovered a passion for historic home restoration and a distaste for the frenetic lifestyle that caused my parents to break up in the first place. I’d also found a sense of purpose, down at The Washout.”

  “You find purpose in surfing?” Ann still had trouble reconciling Ethan as a surfer. He definitely wasn’t the stereotypical type. “Couldn’t you do that in Florida too?”

  “Yes, I could surf in Florida too, although my father had never allowed it. He was the nose-to-the-grindstone sort and always saw surfing as the antithesis to everything he stood for. That’s the main reason I took it up when we moved here. It was sort of my act of rebellion to get back at him for breaking up the family.” He stared out into the distance. “Then I started to get to know some of the guys on the beach, and I found out there’s a lot of hurting people down there, just looking for some peace, some hope. Sharing my faith, watching their lives change, well, it’s one of the times I feel most alive.”

  Ann could think of many more questions she wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to cross the line into anything too religious, so she changed the subject. “Your father’s a developer, right? Have the two of you ever worked together?”

  “No-oo.” Ethan laughed. “Dad builds vacation condos, and he wants them built fast. He doesn’t expend time or money to find the treasure in the old. To him everything needs to be new and disposable.” He looked out over the water. “I think that’s why I love Charleston so much. This city understands the value of the past.”

  Ann looked across the water at Fort Sumter. “It is amazing to think that people stood at this very spot and watched the beginning of the Civil War.”

  “Yeah, they did. They had no idea at the time that life as they knew it was about to change forever.” He shook his head and turned around, leaning against the wall. “Now it’s time to get you something to eat before we continue on.”

  “Sushi?”

  “Not a chance. We told Keith we’d bring him with us when we ate sushi, and there’s no way I’m doing it twice. So . . . as I was saying, after our non-sushi dinner, we’re going to your Charleston.”

  Ann was already starting to feel like she belonged. That thought frightened her more than anything she’d yet faced.

  Ethan had considered taking Ann to Café Lisa. At one point, he’d thought he would take her there if he ever got the courage to ask for a date. But now . . . well, it was probably better not to do anything that might be construed as romantic.

  Tonight, it would be Hominy Grill. A diner atmosphere, well lit, lots of noise. Perfect for what he needed. When he opened the door, the cowbell on the inside handle announced their entrance.

  Ann walked in, turned the bell over in her palm, and looked up at him. “Nice touch.”

  “What can I say? ‘Nothing but the best’ is my motto.”

  She laughed. “Alrighty then.” She turned and started walking toward an empty booth near the back. Not good.

  “Hey, wait.” Ethan reached out and grabbed her elbow. “You want to sit at the counter? It captures more of the essence of the place.”

  “I think there’s plenty of essence a few more yards away from the grease-splattering, order-calling, coffee-pouring action.” Ann continued in her original direction and slid into the booth. “Besides, if we sit here, we have our own personal mini jukebox. How much more atmosphere can you get than that?” She flipped over the song list as Ethan sat down across from her. “Lots of Elvis to choose from.”

  “Great, just great.” Ethan locked his hands behind his neck and tried to stretch out some tension. When he looked up, Ann was staring at him.

  “So, you mind telling me what’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Ethan, you’ve been acting all weird ever since I’ve been back. Did I do something to make you angry? Are you regretting that you offered to help? What exactly is it?”

  Ethan unwrapped his silverware from the paper napkin. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  Yeah, he’d tried anyway. “It’s nothing really.” This was going to be embarrassing. “I, well, it’s just that I’d been thinking about asking you out, and I really, really wanted to, and then, just about the time I got up my nerve, I found out that you’re not a believer. And, well, now that changes everything.”

  “What, so I’m like a leper or something?”

  “No, you’re not like a leper. You’re amazing. But . . . we’re heading in different directions. We don’t share the same future.”

  “So, wait, I guess I misunderstood. I thought you were talking about a date. I didn’t realize we were planning the future.”

  Oh, she was getting worked up now. This was going to get ugly fast. “Several years ago I was dating someone. I knew she didn’t share my beliefs, but I figured that in time, she’d come to love God too. I suppose she must have been thinking the same thing. Things started getting serious between us, but there was a wall separating us at the very core of who we were. Long story short, it ended badly. My past experience alone would be enough to scare me off.” He tried to look at her, but his gaze stopped at her Diet Coke and would go no higher.

  She sat quietly for a few minutes, her fingers toying with the bend in her straw. “You know, I’ve got issues back in New York too. Neither of us needs the complication of this becoming anything more than it is, but I really do enjoy our . . . well, our friendship, I guess.” She took a sip of her soda and said, “How about this? Can’t we work together—even have some fun together—if I promise to keep my hands to myself?” She held up her hands in mock surrender.

  The tension melted right out of him. “Well . . .” He paused a few seconds for effect. “I’m just not sure you’re strong enough—my good looks and charm alone are enough to make me irresistible. Add the fancy places I take you for dinner”—he gestured around the room—“I know how you New York women really go for that kind of stuff, and I’m just not sure you can control yourself.” They both laughed then. Ethan extended his hand. “Friends?”

  Ann clasped it across the table. “Friends.”

  “Okay, from this point on, you’ve got to keep your eyes closed. No peeking.”

  “Come on.” Ann tried to sound grumpy but seriously doubted she was pulling it off. “How long will this phase last?”

  “Not telling.” They had just climbed into Ethan’s truck, and he’d made her close her eyes before he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Please tell me it doesn’t involve tour guides dressed in hoop skirts. Blah.” Ann shuddered at the thought.

  “Not telling.”

  They drove for several more minutes; then Ethan said, “We’re here. Eyes shut tight now. I mean it.”

  Ann could feel the truck turn sharply; then it stopped and the engine went quiet. It took every bit of self-control not to sneak a through-the-lashes kind of peek.

  “Stay put and don’t even think about cheating. I’m coming a
round to get you.”

  Ann heard her door open; then Ethan’s hand was on hers as he pulled her from the truck. He put his arm around her shoulder to guide her, and she couldn’t help but lean a little closer.

  “Walk forward, good girl, nice and steady. Now step up. A couple more steps.” He stopped walking. “Okay, you can open them.”

  Ann opened her eyes to find herself staring at the two diamond-shaped towers of the Arthur Ravenel Bridge. Suspension lines fanned down from the top of each tower, creating two triangles of webbing that reminded Ann of a sailboat. Light washed over the scene, both from the setting sun and from man-made floodlights shining from beneath. It was breathtaking. “Wow.”

  “I thought this might be a bit more to your liking. I know you’re not a big historical girl, and things just don’t get much more modern than this beauty—even if it’s not black, white, and chrome.”

  Ann laughed. “Maybe they should have consulted me about that part.” She craned her neck to look up. “It reminds me of the skyscrapers back in New York.”

  “Yeah. I saw on some documentary that these towers reach to 575 feet, so it can hold its own in height against a few New York City buildings. The Waldorf Astoria Hotel is about 625 feet high. So not that different at all—just a lot less crowded.”

  “You know how tall the Waldorf Astoria is?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Just read an article about it this week. That building is a historic landmark, you know. I must admit, there are some buildings with character in your part of the world.” He paused for a minute, looking at the bridge. “Did you know that it’s the longest cable-stayed bridge in the country? Built to withstand hurricanes, earthquakes, and the occasional ship collision. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is.” Ann had seen pictures of the bridge on the news and in print, but she hadn’t seen the real thing, never having been to this side of Charleston since the bridge was built a few years ago. “It’s funny that I haven’t even thought about going into Mount Pleasant since I’ve been here. I think it’s because my subconscious still recoils from the thought of driving the old bridge.”