Providence: On Angels' Wings

by Lauren Wynn

  “Really?” She jumps up and swings her body from around my neck. “Yay!”

  “Boy! Would you look at the time. Sure is getting late,” Taylor says to Lily.

  “We’ll leave the pizza for you two. You may get hungry … later.” Lily winks and swings her hips. “If Providence gets her way.”

  “Lily!” Providence laughs.

  “Just sayin’. Big house like this, lots of rooms…” Lily stops when Providence runs her finger across her necking saying “cut.”

  Taylor giggles and shoves Lily out the front door, but not before Lily gives me a smack on the behind.

  “We’re leaving the cookies for you too, Prov. Love you, babe! Call us later,” Taylor calls in her usual sweet voice.

  “Take notes. Leave nothing out,” Lily screams, already outside, covering her head from the rain.

  Lily is crazy and funny and you never know what will come out of her mouth next. She’s a big fan of the shock factor. And knows how to make Providence laugh and blush, but Taylor knows how to make her feel better. They seem to have a special bond, the kind enjoyed by lifelong friends who share their deepest secrets with each other, including ones about our relationship.

  Providence pulls off my tie and hangs it over the railing of the stairs. “I have something to show you.”

  “Yeah?”

  She pulls me up the stairs behind her just as she did on our earlier tour of the house. Down the hall, the door to the bedroom is closed.

  “Wait right here, for one minute.” She taps her finger on my chest and draws a heart.

  Butterflies flap their wings in her stomach. Her heart picks up a few beats, spreading warmth through her veins as she skips down the hall and into the room, shutting the door behind her. She appears back in the hall a moment later, curling her finger toward her as if to say “come ’ere.”

  A hundred white votive candles in glass holders are lit, placed around the bedroom, dimly illuminating a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace, where more candles burn. In the center of the mantel is a silver-framed photo, the one of us from earlier today holding the keys to this home. Two vases of red tulips stand on either side it, which she must have specially ordered since they are out of season now. The room is beginning to smell like fresh cotton as wicks melt the white waxy candles. Even with the low music playing, I can still hear the patters of rain on the deck outside. And a light breeze swirls in through the balcony door.

  Turning back toward the fireplace, Providence stands on her makeshift bed, barefoot, rolling up and down on her toes, waiting for my response. I stare at her, unable to move my eyes, except to scroll up and down her body. She is absolutely beautiful. Her long dark hair hangs over her bare shoulders. Her hazel eyes sparkle in the candlelight, and her lips glisten from where she just licked them. Two thin white strings hold up her pure white, cotton, eyelet, empire-waist sundress (yes, I learned what an empire-waist was) that flows down almost touching her knees. The candlelight glows against her shiny tan legs. And before I even realize I have taken a step, I am standing in front of her, curling her hair around my finger.

  “You are breathtaking.”

  In the dim light, I see the scarlet creep to the surface of her cheeks. I hope in ten years I can still make her blush like this. And it’s true; she is. And I don’t mean supermodel hot or sexy, I mean in this very moment, as I stand here drinking her in, I can feel my chest tighten and breath being sucked out of me, the kind of chest tightening you feel when you experience the deepest love and adoration for another.

  “So, I gather you like what I’ve done with the place?”

  Wrapping my arms around her, I lift her off the ground and press my mouth to hers. She gently bites my lip and inhales a deep breath before pressing her lips back against mine. When her mouth opens, I smell the sweet, creamy cookie icing. A fire burns in her belly, slowly coursing through her body. She kisses my cheek, my ear, my neck. Her heart swells, catching her breath and holding it captive. I set her bare feet back on the blankets and her legs quake. She grips my shoulders and rises up on her tiptoes giving me an Eskimo kiss. I place my palms on her cheeks and brush my thumbs across them. Wet. Tears. I pull back. She blinks, and another stream of tears float down her cheeks like the droplets of rain on the bedroom windows.

  “Providence...”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, inhaling. “I’m ruining our last night together,” Her bottom lip quivers and a full on gush of tears pours down her face.

  “Shh, shh, shh.” We sit down on the blankets, and she curls up against my chest, positioning her body between my legs.

  “No light,” she whispers. I hug her tightly, not wanting to ever let go, just me, without influence.

  “That’s impossible. Nothing’s ruined when you are lying safe and warm in my arms.”

  “I don’t want you to go.” She takes several uneven breaths. “I’m trying to be strong for you. I really am, but I am falling apart at the seams.”

  A bolt of lightning lights up the bedroom for a split second followed by loud cracks and thunder. It’s the kind of thunder storm you expect in April, not the end of May.

  “I guess He feels it too.” She tries to laugh but hiccups instead.

  “You don’t have to be strong for me. I know this is hard, Providence. And I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I want your seams intact.” I kiss the crown of her head, an act that comes naturally to me and one that I have come to favor. “So you let me endure the burden.”

  “With you leaving, school, exams, work, wedding planning, the house, everything, I am so overwhelmed. I feel like I’m sinking.” She sniffles.

  Thunder shakes the floor beneath us and mist comes in through the screen as the rain pours and wind whips.

  “I want to stay with you, Providence, but I have to be honest with you, I am also incredibly ready to move forward with this, with us.”

  Me too.

  “Your weekend classes start up in two weeks?” I move quickly into problem-solving mode.

  She nods and wipes mascara from under her eyes.

  “Do you want to wait?”

  She shakes her head. “If I wait, I might never go back. I’ll get comfortable being the wife who works at Starbucks, and there isn’t anything wrong with that, but it isn’t what I want.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  “Even after I spent the past two weeks bitching about school?”

  “Two courses in two weeks isn’t exactly normal. Your other classes won’t be like that. I’ll be back right around the time you start up again, so I can help you. You’ll be back to your normal day shift at work …”

  “It’ll get better. I just have to make it through the next two weeks.” She sighs, saying it more for herself than me.

  She tucks her head in the crook of my neck.

  Mmm, pine. Just two weeks.

  Providence snuggles close, pushing her weight against my chest, but it’s not until she swipes my arm out from under me, the arm that’s propping us up, that I realize her intent is to force me on my back. My head crashes onto the sea of pillows and Providence flops down on top of me, inching her lips closer to mine. She closes her eyes and her mouth is so close I can feel her warm, sweet breath. She opens her eyes, smiles, and bites her lip.

  “No shoes on the bed, mister.”

  She sits up and unties my brown dress shoes, slipping them off one by one and tossing them to the corner of the room. She calls them my metro shoes, the kind only the sexiest of attorneys wear, according to her. I think Grant got them at the Goodwill.

  I prop myself up on my elbows and watch her crawl toward me with a playful grin on her face. She hikes up her dress just enough to straddle my legs, her face level with mine. She tilts her head and kisses my lips, unbuttoning my shirt. My finger covers her mouth just as she begins to speak.

  I was thinking the same thing.

  She rocks back and rises to her feet, pulling me up with her. As I turn, she sli
des my shirt off. I tug my undershirt up over my head, dropping it in a ball on the cream carpet. I bow my head and unfurl my wings, expanding them as high and wide as they will go. I peer over my shoulder, Providence’s jaw drops almost as fast as my white dress shirt does to the floor.

  I love to see the awestruck sparkle in her hazel eyes.

  My feathers tickle the palm of her hand and goose bumps race up her arm and shoot down her side. Standing behind me, she wraps her arms around my waist and smoothes her cheek in their pillow-y softness. A feather tickles her nose and she giggles, sliding around in front of me, a smile brightening her face. She runs her hand along my chest and down my stomach, lightly passing over the area where my navel would be if I were human. She curls her fingers gripping the waist of my pants.

  The surprise of thunder causes her to jump. The clouds unleash a steady downpour. Warm moist air circles around us, making the candles flicker.

  A new melody begins, the piano humming softly, almost like a lullaby. Providence drapes her arms around my neck. The violins join in and I tug her body to mine. The melody awakens and we shuffle our bare feet on the carpet. The symphony settles back to its lullaby. Providence lays her head on my chest. Without notice, the violins jump in, quickly picking up momentum. I run my hand along her thigh, cupping it in the crook behind her kneecap. I lift her leg to my side, spinning her around so only the tip of her toe is grazing the carpet. She runs her hand along my face.

  “You’ve been holding out on me.” She smirks.

  I laugh.

  “You can dance.”

  “This…”—I nod at the stereo—“I can dance to. What you were listening to earlier, not so much. Leo’s got that style covered.”

  The symphony continues. Providence rises up on her perfectly manicured toes and kisses the hollow between my collar bones slowly moving up my neck until she reaches my lips. I scoop her into my arms, laying her warm body on the makeshift bed. She pulls me down on top of her and touches the edge of my wings.

  I contract and shift them as I roll onto my side lying face to face with her, only separated by a few inches. Our fingers intertwine. The pad of her thumb rubs circles on my thumbnail. Thoughts roam through her mind. Her body relaxes.

  “I hope you come back with teal eyes.” She smiles gazing into them.

  “I should.”

  “I hope you come back and still smell like you, my Christmas Zan!” She giggles.

  “I almost forgot about that.” I laugh.

  “Cripes! I shouldn’t have reminded you.”

  “Cripes, huh?”

  She laughs. “My grandma used to say it all the time. She also used to say ‘yyy-ellow’ instead of ‘hello,’ but that was back when a freezer was an icebox, and a couch was a davenport.”

  “Ah, yes, the davenport and icebox days.”

  She crinkles her face and rapidly shakes her head. “Eww, that’s creepy. I keep forgetting you’re ancient.”

  I sit up, grabbing a pillow from behind me and jokingly toss it at her. She whacks me back with it, and a few feathers go flying—my feathers, that is, not pillow feathers. She laughs and leans forward hugging her arms around my neck.

  “I love you anyway, ya geezer!”

  “I love you too, my spry little chickadee.”

  “You’re not going to come back with gray hair and some crazy long ZZ Top beard, are you?”

  “I don’t think so. I hope not.” I shake my head and laugh.

  Out of the corner of my eye a glow brightens in front of the fireplace. Noticing a figure, I turn my head. Grant. His face is solemn, eyes drooping at the corners and mouth turned down.

  He sends me a mental picture.

  No! This can’t be happening.

  I’m sorry, Zan. The call is coming.

  The Accident

  My head jerks from side to side looking for Providence’s phone. When I glance back toward the fireplace, Grant is gone. The screen on the phone lights up, followed by a ring. Providence picks it up off the carpet, checks the screen, shrugs, and flips it open to answer.

  “Hello,” she says, still laughing from the pillow fight.

  I brace her, my arms clenching her tightly against her chest and stomach. A breath escapes her mouth and she struggles to inhale as if the wind were knocked out of her. Her heart pounds and it seems as though everything is moving in slow motion. Words flow from her, incredibly slow and deep, and it takes me a minute to fast forward them and comprehend what she is saying. A gust of wind stirs in through the door and a strand of Providence’s hair hangs in it.

  Grant’s vision replays in my mind.

  He sits in the passenger seat of Mr. Corban’s truck, calming him, giving him light, wiping the blood from his brow and nose, and confesses the secret Providence and I never intended to let him in on because we believed he would know me as a human. A thin, white layer of smoke rises from underneath the vehicle’s smashed-in hood, hissing. The odor of burnt rubber curls through the cracked glass windshield.

  “Take care of her for me.” Mr. Corban chokes out and blood runs down his chin.

  “I will. You have my word. Zan is a good…man.”

  The scene goes black and I realize it’s because Grant shut his eyes.

  Mr. Corban chokes and coughs. Sirens ring out in the distance.

  “Walk with her. Offer her hand for me. Tell her I love her.” Grant nods.

  A tear rolls down his cheek and he winces in pain. Grant grips his shoulder enveloping them in a golden bubble of light.

  “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers. “I don’t deserve to have you here.”

  “Mr. Corban…”—Grant looks at him square in the face—“this isn’t something you earn; it’s something you’re given.”

  Mr. Corban’s lip curls, hinting at a smile as he breathes his last breath. The sky opens up, and a beam of golden light shines down, drowning out the sirens and red flashing lights, and Grant hands him over to the golden arms from above.

  And just as I did with Linc, Grant ushered him home.

  Tonight’s storm made the oily streets slick, sending him head on into a telephone pole, taking his life. It isn’t inconceivable to think alcohol was involved, but right now it doesn’t make a difference. The outcome isn’t going to change. Mr. Corban has moved on and Providence is parentless.

  My arms remain firmly enclosed around her chest, forming an X. The phone drops to the floor, flipped open and the screen lit. She clenches her hand around my wrist squeezing hard, her nails dig into my skin. No breath comes in or out of her lungs. She stares out the sliding glass door watching droplets of rain run down it. Her legs shake but she is unable to move and I’m too afraid to move her. So we stand there, in the candlelight on the makeshift bed, Providence’s pretty white dress crushed against my bare chest and my wings unfurled, wanting nothing more than to fold them around us, holding her in a protective cocoon.

  A melody purrs in the background reminding me of moments before the tragedy, except it’s no longer a tune Providence hears. She hears my breath against her ear and the patter of rain hitting the wooden deck. One word scrolls through her mind … Daddy.

  This is why Gabriel delayed. He knew the accident was a probable one for Mr. Corban tonight. We all have choices, so it wasn’t guaranteed, not that dying was ever Mr. Corban’s choice, but driving in the rain, turning right instead of left, traveling at the speed he was traveling—all of these were choices that led to his crash.

  A golden hand rests on my shoulder, but I stand firm. Providence isn’t ready to move yet.

  I’m sorry, man. Grant thinks.

  Instead of saying, “Thank you,” a question slips out sounding more angry than grateful.

  How long has he been yours?

  Just tonight. I wouldn’t have kept that from you, Zan. I know he’s had issues, but tonight was the first call I’ve received from him. I’m so sorry. I did everything I could.

  I know you did. Thank you.

  I’ll take care of
her.

  The one-mile marker is in front of me, clear as day. The roadside blurs by me as if I’m on a train traveling a hundred miles per hour, but when I look down, my feet are moving at a snail’s pace.

  I can’t leave her like this.

  You won’t have a choice. Leo and I will stay with her, round the clock if we have to.

  And I know better than to say this, but I can’t stop the thought from passing through my mind.

  This isn’t fair.

  Zan. His thought comes across sounding consoling.

  I know. But she doesn’t deserve pain like this.

  Growth comes out of suffering.

  We were trained to say that, trained to believe it even. And I know it’s true. I’ve seen it happen time and time again. I also know it’s the last thing you want to hear when a piece of you has been stripped away.

  Ugh! I’ve used that one. Trust me, that won’t work in this situation.

  Providence releases her grip on my wrist wanting to collapse. I rotate around to face her.

  “Providence. I don’t even know what to say, I’m sorry.”

  “Did you know? Did you know this was going to happen?” She’s angry, but she doesn’t sound angry.

  “No. Grant came seconds before your phone rang.”

  “Grant?” She takes a step back and squints at me.

  “He was there. He was called.”

  “Grant is my dad’s angel?”

  “Tonight, yes.”

  “Does that mean he went to…”

  I nod. A tear finally forms resting in the corner of her eye. Since she dropped the phone, she’s been emotionless, her body instinctively functioning for her, breathing, beating heart, but I am the one holding her upright.

  “Providence, Grant told him what I am.”

  Grant’s golden body fades as he reveals himself to her.

  “I’m sorry, Providence,” he says. “I wanted him to know the truth and to know that you would be taken care of.”

  Providence saunters over to Grant, grabs a clump of his light blue T-shirt and examines the blood stain on it.