Saving Evangeline

by Nancee Cain

  “Mama? Does it ever snow here?”

  Epilogue

  Fifty years later

  CANCER HAS TAKEN ITS TOLL on my body making each step painful as I shuffle at a snail’s pace. The walker doesn’t help, but I use it to make Becky happy. Honestly, it’s too heavy to push with my fading strength.

  The ravages of my disease are horrendous and I hate looking at myself in the mirror. Brushing a wispy strand of hair out of my face I watch it float to the sink. I should have let Becky shave it when she volunteered. I wash my face, trying not to fret over the dark smudges under my eyes or the hollows in my cheeks. The visible blue veins and wrinkles mark my parchment-thin skin, a roadmap of my life. I pause to catch my breath before brushing my teeth. At least I still have them. Moving at the speed of a turtle, I make my way to bed. I’m tired of the pain of living and long for the sweet relief death will bring.

  As part of my nightly ritual, I pick up the old snow globe on my nightstand. A lot of the water has evaporated and the black feather looks worse for wear, but I still love it. I attempt to shake it, but I’m weaker than I realize. It slips and shatters on the floor. The tears that I haven’t shed throughout my fight with cancer now fall freely. Too weak to clean up the mess, I manage to crawl in bed and sob into my old, scraggly angel-bear.

  It seems ridiculous to cry over an old snow globe. I don’t remember where I got it, or who gave it to me, but it has always provided me with a sense of serenity, much like my beloved, stuffed angel-bear. I hold her tight, lamenting the fact she’s now wingless from age. Good grief, I’ve become a crazy old lady.

  I look with disgust at the pills Becky has left by my bedside with a glass of water. She’s been good to me, taking me to my doctor appointments and to the chemo treatments that haven’t been successful this time.

  I’m Becky’s godmother and I’ve spoiled her shamelessly throughout the years. My Becky’s a smart girl and a hospice nurse. I never dreamed when attending her graduation from nursing school she’d be taking care of me.

  I close my eyes and smile as my mind wanders back in time. Getting old and dying makes one reminisce, and for the most part, I have happy memories. After I moved here to be with my mother, I loved doing things that some considered risky. I called it taking life by the balls and living. Sky diving, parasailing, cliff diving. Anything that put me in the air made me feel alive and free.

  I wasn’t always carefree, having made plenty of mistakes. When I was younger, people thought I was crazy. As I got older, I didn’t care what people thought. I did see a therapist and worked out some of my co-dependency and guilt issues. My struggle with depression was my greatest challenge, but I’ve managed to stay off medications. After those bumpy teenage years and disastrous love affair with Jack, I enjoyed a good life. By traveling all over the world, I’ve seen things some have only dreamed about. I learned to cook and took photography classes. I’ve had lovers, but not the meaningless relationships of my youth. I sigh. My memories are all I have left. Who’d want a bald, dying old woman who’s tired and weak?

  Cancer spares no one. Twenty years ago I fought it with a double mastectomy, this time I haven’t been so lucky. My darling Becky prays for me to hang on, but it’s for her own sake. She’ll be fine. She has a lovely husband and three children who will help her through my passing, just as they did when her mother died.

  I yawn and close my eyes. As I slip toward sleep, I see the lights of a carnival, hear the sounds of barkers and with wonder watch the beauty of a Ferris wheel…

  Warm lips press and tease mine. The constant pain that has been my companion for months seems lighter. I blink and open my eyes.

  “Hey, Crazy Girl.” Sparkling green eyes crease and his smile lights up the room. He brushes the back of his fingers over my cheek.

  “You’re here.” Memories cascade over me and I can’t control the flood of emotions as every minute with Remi flips through my mind like a film in fast motion. He looks the same, young and handsome as sin. Life is so unfair.

  “Ah, sweetness, don’t cry,” he whispers, kissing my tears away. “I told you to trust me.” He nuzzles my neck and I’m mortified. I don’t want him to see me like this—old, my body ravaged by illness and pain.

  “Don’t look at me,” I croak, attempting to turn away. Pain makes me moan and I hide my face in the ragged stuffed animal he won for me all those years ago.

  The bed dips behind me and he spoons my butt. “Why wouldn’t I look at my beautiful girl?” He kisses the back of my neck.

  I turn and glare at him. “I may wear glasses, but I’m not blind. I know what I look like. I’m seventy-one, I weigh ninety pounds, and I have no hair. How dare you make fun of me? You’re still the worst angel in the history of angels, asshole.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, there are several back home that agree with you. How dare you doubt me? I love you.” He hovers over me, careful not to crush me, and strokes my cheek. “You’re as beautiful as you were when I met you.” As if to prove it, he kisses me. I have difficulty catching my breath, and it isn’t from pain this time. His kiss still leaves me breathless and curls my toes. I pull away and roll to my side, my back to him. I see the broken snow globe on the floor and another tear slips down my face.

  “Please don’t cry, Crazy Girl.”

  “It was you.”

  “What did I do this time?” He pinches my bottom and I weakly swat his hand away and turn back to face him.

  “Is this appropriate behavior for an angel and an old, sick lady?”

  “Lady?” He waggles his eyebrows and I roll my eyes. He snickers and winks at me. “When have I ever been appropriate?”

  True. “You bought me the snow globe and the bear.” I swat his hand away again as he tries to pull me into his arms. “You’re incorrigible. Why are you here?”

  “It’s my weekend off. I just wanted to stop by and let you know I’d see you soon.”

  I frown. “Is this your not-so-tactful way of saying I’m dying?”

  He rolls his eyes. It really is like fifty years ago. “Duh.” He frowns at the pills on my bedside. “But remember your promise to me.”

  I smile despite the effort it’s taking to catch my breath. “I won’t kill myself.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart, and hope to die.” Sharing the same warped sense of humor, we both smile and I close my eyes. “I’m really tired, Remi.”

  “I know, sweetness. Go to sleep.” He kisses my eyelids, enfolds me in his warm wings, and the pain disappears.

  I’m kicked back in my chair, bored out of my mind. Peter’s on break and I’m stuck manning the front gate, again. Looking around, I don’t see anyone that would narc on me if I catch a few z’s before the freaking newbie class starts. Propping my legs on the desk, the chair rocks back on two legs. I close my eyes and dream of Ferris wheels, cotton candy, and sweet kisses.

  Something wet tickles my neck and I realize I’ve been caught napping on the job. I struggle to sit up and the chair tips over leaving me flat on my back, my legs up in the air in an undignified position. I shove at the annoying wet nose that’s still nuzzling me.

  “Does Saint Francis know how you treat poor defenseless animals?”

  Twisting around, I grin and stare up into the most beautiful chocolate brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Evangeline’s twisting a long lock of her dark hair around a finger and flipping her feathers flirtatiously. They’re red with black tips, and sexy as heck. I’m as smitten as I was when I first saw her naked in her bathtub. I pat Goner on the head. “Where did you find this mangy old dog?”

  “He was waiting on me when I got here. Everyone was at my Welcome Party, except you. What kind of guardian angel are you?” She starts to tick them off on her fingers. “Let’s see, Mama, Daddy, my friend Karen, Jack, and Kayla. Oh, and their cute baby, plus Rafe, Madge, Franco, and the old lady from the bathroom and her sister. I even met Peter and the Boss. I was a little miffed Jack and Kayla were there, which earned me my first l
earning lesson on forgiveness.” She rolls her eyes and wrinkles her nose. “So why weren’t you there?”

  “I had to work,” I protest. “I wanted to be there, but…” Struggling to my feet, I place the chair back upright and face her.

  She raises one skeptical brow. “But?” Her eyes narrow and that delectable bottom lip pokes out, temptingly. Her bare foot taps with impatience, as she waits on an explanation.

  I shrug and rub the back of my neck as I look at her cute toenails, painted the colors of her wings. “I uh, kinda got in trouble on my last weekend off on earth. I had a date—”

  Oomph. Her fist connects with my stomach, and I double over. She still packs a mean punch. “Ouch, what was that for?”

  “What was her name?” Flames leap in her blazing eyes, and it’s a total turn on.

  “You, Crazy Girl. I came to see you. You’d just broken the snow globe I gave you.”

  Her eyes grow wide and the next thing I know I’m stumbling backward with a hundred and twenty-five pounds of feisty, sexy angel in my arms.

  It’s a struggle to keep my balance and I can’t help but grin as she kisses my face all over. “I love you, I love you, I love you, you horrible angel, you.” Her red, black-tipped wings flap like a squawking chicken, although I refrain from mentioning the comparison out loud. No need to get her more riled. She’ll learn to control the wings in the newcomers’ class.

  Capturing her lips with mine, I give her a sound kiss and place her back on her feet. “I love you, too. Now, let’s get the official business out of the way.”

  Out of the desk, I pull out a scroll and dip the feather pen in the ink pot, putting on my official Heaven Greeter persona. “Name?”

  “A feather pen?”

  I shrug. “Newcomers expect it. Along with the annoying harp music that plays ad nauseum.” I roll my eyes.

  She smirks. “Evangeline Lourdes Salvatore. If you were in charge, Led Zeppelin or Guns N’ Roses would be playing.”

  “You got that right.” With a flourish, I write her name on the scroll. This is just for show. The Boss has everything computerized.

  “Do I get a halo and a harp?”

  “Do you want them?”

  “Not really. I never did like hats and have no musical talent whatsoever.” She dances around making her wings flap. “But these are the shit.”

  “Shh,” I caution, looking around nervously for the Boss, or worse, that narc Rafe. She’s new so she won’t be in too much trouble with her profanity slip, but still…

  Blushing, she presses her sweet lips together, but her eyes sparkle with merriment. Running a hand through her feathers, she gives me a sexy look over her shoulder. “You like?”

  “Very much.” The red and black corset dress is a little scandalous for up here, but leave it to Evie to push the boundaries. She’s my kind of angel.

  “You lied to me, by the way.”

  I wince. “I’m sorry…”

  “Peter says there is too a cloud made of cotton candy.” She cocks her head to the side.

  “There is?”

  “Yup. He said if you ever got off your lazy ass you might find it.”

  I grin. “Maybe so.”

  “So now what?”

  Peter floats toward us, returning from his break. With a nod of my head, I motion that I’m out of there. Surprisingly, he smiles and waves me to go on.

  “Now I welcome you properly and then we’ll go look for that cotton candy cloud.” I take her hand and lead her to a place where we can be alone to fly.

  And I’m not talking about using our wings…

  Personal note from the author

  This book is a work of fiction. Unfortunately, suicide is all too real. If you or someone you love is struggling with suicidal thoughts, there is help. Please contact The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:

  1-800-273-talk (8255).

  www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

  With help, comes hope.

  Nancee Cain

  Acknowledgments

  Devoted Hubby, I knew the night I met you I wanted to marry you, and yes, it was love at first sight. You will always be my hero and are my happily ever after. Darling Daughter, you are my pride and joy and being your mom is my favorite job of all time. Thank you for putting up with a distracted harried writer for the past year.

  I couldn’t have done this without the best critique partners in the world, Jill Odom and Carla Swafford. Jill, you taught me how to take my ideas and formulate a story. Both of you have picked me up when I’m down and cheered when I’m up. Your encouragement and sometimes funny, always relevant, red tracker comments keep me grounded.

  Thank you to Southern Magic, my RWA group. These talented women shared their vast knowledge and skills to help me grow as a writer. Killarney Sheffield, you patiently went through my first horrific manuscript without laughing too much, and for that I thank you. Jovana Rodolakis, my cohort in NaNoWrimo, Vickie W., and Carrie M. you are the best beta readers, ever. Katherine P., my niece and grammar guru, I no longer fear your red pen and funny squiggle marks. M.V. Freeman, you bore the brunt of my late night rants and tears. I owe you at least a cup of coffee, or a drink. Thanks to Jean T., who named my street team, and the Alabama Maniacs who share my warped sense of humor and love of books. Christine Glover, thank you for generously sharing your knowledge on navigating the scary waters of social media.

  Jennifer Haren, Omnific publicist and blogger with The Book Avenue Review, you have the patience of Job. I am forever indebted to you for your help. If I were a Peanuts character, I’d be Linus and you’d be my security blanket. I know I’m an OCD, frantic, anal-retentive writer, but you always calm me down and make everything right. Kelley Jefferson with Smut Book Junkie Book Reviews, your friendship and guidance in this strange, scary world of promotion has been invaluable and your ideas, brilliant. You embody the saying book friends are best friends.

  I will always be indebted to Elizabeth Harper and Lisa O’Hara for listening to my first pitch, making me feel comfortable doing so, and then giving me a chance to tell my story. Milli Davis, you’re an incredible editor who took a story I love and pushed me to make it even better. Your guidance has been invaluable and taught me a lot about who I am as an author. Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw, my cover is beautiful, thank you for listening to me. It’s perfect. Coreen Montagna, you made the interior as pretty as the cover. Last, but not least, Debra Anastasia, through whom I found Omnific Publishing. Your friendship, patience and support have meant the world to me. We share a love of foul-mouthed angels, edgy books and less than perfect heroes. Thank you for not calling the NOLA police on me for stalking you at RT 2014.

  About the Author

  During the day, Nancee works as a nurse in the field of addiction to support her coffee and reading habit. Nights are spent writing paranormal and contemporary romances with a serrated edge. Authors are her rock stars, and she’s been known to stalk a few for an autograph, but not in a scary, Stephen King way. Her husband swears her To-Be-Read list on her e-reader qualifies her as a certifiable book hoarder. Always looking to try something new, she dreams of being an extra in a Bollywood film, or a tattoo artist. (Her lack of rhythm and artistic ability may put a damper on both of these dreams.) Her ultimate book hero will always be Atticus Finch.

  Website: www.nanceecain.com

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