Falling From Grace (54 page)

With a loud “umph”, I landed in his arms.
 
Instinctively, I clamped onto him, my arms locking around his neck, my face pressed tightly against his chest.
 
“Sorry.
 
I needed a better grip on you and you were squirming too much,” he murmured into my ear.
 
I could feel his lips against the soft hairs there, and knew, just knew that he was smiling.

“I think my heart fell out somewhere over your driveway,” I muttered into his shirt.
 
He laughed quietly, nuzzling my hair as he did so.

Neither of us spoke for a bit after that; the only sound I could hear was the rush of wind around us as we travelled at an immense speed.
 
When he finally spoke, he laughed quietly, nuzzling my hair as he did so.
 
“Almost there.”

I was about to ask what he meant when I realized that we were no longer moving.
 
He placed my feet on the ground, unwrapped my arms from his neck, and placed my sandals in my hands.
 
He gave me a once over, and then turned me around.
 
We were standing at the front door of my house.

“How fast were we going?” I gasped.

“Fast.
 
Very fast.
 
Now open the door before you turn me into a liar.”
 
He placed a hand on my hair, then removed it very quickly.

I opened the door, turning to look behind me as I did so, but there was no one there.

“Robert?” I whispered.

Get inside of the house!

“Coward!” I hissed.
 
But, I listened, taking one more look behind me, and then closing the door.

“Grace, is that you?” I heard being called out.
 
So much for not waiting up.

“Yes, Dad, it’s me.”

I heard the springs of the recliner give way, and turned to see Dad standing in his robe by the bottom of the stairs.
 
“Well, you’re home at twelve on the dot.
 
That Robert is very…punctual.”

I smiled sheepishly.
 
“Yes.
 
Yes he is.”

“So where is he?
 
He didn’t just drop you off and leave, did he?”

I shook my head, unable to get my tongue to cooperate and actually form the words that I knew were a lie.

Dad looked at my face, then looked at the door.
 
“So what happened to him?
 
You didn’t punch him, did you?”

I started laughing, the sound coming out in hysterical gasps, and quickly covered my mouth with my hand.
 
My right hand.
 
My right, cast-less hand that was supposed to be broken.

“Your cast is missing!” Dad shouted, his finger pointing at the very obvious lack of plaster on my arm.
 
“Why is it off of your arm?”

I tried to think of some good excuse, but my mouth moved before my brain kicked into gear.
 
“Robert took it off.”
 
Seeing his shocked face, I quickly added, “It’s perfectly fine, Dad.
 
See?
 
I can use it, it doesn’t hurt or anything.
 
I think the x-rays were wrong and they put the casts on me prematurely.”
 
I bent my arm and wiggled my fingers in front of him, as if that would be enough to convince him.

Dad’s face was a very distinct shade of pinkish red.
 
I would look up the name of the color later and find out it was called puce.
 
“He took it off?
 
With what?”

That one left me stumped.
 
I opened my mouth to say something, anything other than the truth, and yet it still came out, “With his fingers.”
 
Why could I
not
tell a lie?
 
I gritted my teeth, unwilling to say another word, no matter what was asked of me.

“Grace Anne Shelley, this isn’t time for jokes.
 
Did you let him cut that cast off of your arm?”

I shook my head, forcing my jaw to stay shut.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Grace.
 
This is very serious.
 
If your arm is still broken-”

“But it’s not!” I protested, once again wiggling my arm around to demonstrate that it wasn’t.

He shook his head and pointed to the stairs.
 
“Go upstairs.
 
I’m making an appointment in the morning to see your doctor and finding out for myself.”

I didn’t bother trying to tell him that tomorrow would be Sunday.
 
I simply did as I was told, and silently cursed Robert for leaving me to fend for myself after avoiding my questions at the same time.
 
I wanted to stomp my feet, but I didn’t want to wake Janice up.
 
I wanted to do a lot of things, but I simply opened my bedroom door and walked in, closing it behind me.

The soft glow of the moon allowed me just enough light to make my way around the room.
 
I tossed the sandals that were still in my hand
—
the hand that would probably get me grounded because it wasn’t surrounded in plaster
—
onto the ground next to the bed and walked over to my dresser.
 
I pulled out a pair of boxers and a tank top and threw those onto the bed behind me.
 
I sat at the foot of my bed, and looked into the mirror.
 

“Gaaaah!” I croaked.

The soft white glow wasn’t coming from the moon.
 
It was coming from the person who was sitting on my bed, and who looked a bit too comfortable for my taste.
 
I jumped off of the mattress, turning around and backing into my dresser, my heart pounding in my chest.
 
I looked at my window.
 
It was still shut.
 
“How did you get in here?” I hissed.

He pointed to the window.

I looked at it again.
 
This time I could see that it was slightly ajar.
 
“Did you do that misting thing?” I whispered, my breath coming out in short bursts.

He nodded, and then smiled.
 
Why are you whispering?

“Because I don’t want my dad to hear!” I whispered angrily.
 
“Why are you in here?”

I wanted to apologize.

“Couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow?”
 
When he shook his head, I added, “or at least until I’ve changed my clothes?”

He lifted his eyebrows, the look on his face unmistakable.

“I’m going to go and change in the bathroom,” I muttered.

I left him sitting on my bed, being careful not to open my door too widely.
 
I closed it and crept to the bathroom.
 
After shutting the door and turning on the light, I took a good look at my reflection.

My hair looked immaculate.
 
Not a single hair out of place.
 
I remembered that he had touched my head, and sighed.
 
He had tried to make me look as presentable as possible, knowing that Dad was there waiting for me.
 
He also knew that his presence when Dad discovered my cast was missing would not have helped out in the least.

Darn.

He had left me alone on my doorstep to protect me.
 
“Ugh.
 
Too perfect,” I muttered to myself.
 
“Too damn perfect.”

Deciding that stalling in the bathroom would not exactly be a good idea, I started to change.
 
It was a struggle to get the zipper in the back of the dress down, but I managed to pull it down just enough where the dress would come down with a few tugs.

Once I had won the battle of the zipper, I was able to quickly change.
 
I removed the jewelry and, after brushing my teeth and washing my face, I hurried back to my room.
 
I closed the door softly, and turned around to face Robert.

He smiled at my scowl.
 
You look beautiful angry.
 
And I am sorry.

My jaw dropped.
 
“Don’t try to butter me up, Robert.
 
I’m not in the mood.”
 
I dumped the corset and dress into his lap, and then bent down to pick up the sandals that I had tossed on the ground, and placed those in his lap as well.

I then sat at the foot of the bed, crossed my legs, and faced him.
 
“Okay.
 
No more running away, Robert.
 
Are you going to answer my questions?”

Yes.

“All of them?”

Yes.

Satisfied, I relaxed.
 
“Why did we leave the reception early?”

I felt uncomfortable.

“You felt uncomfortable?
 
Why?”

Because I didn’t want an audience watching me; I don’t like having people see what I can do for others.

I could feel my face wrinkle up in confusion.
 
“But why?
 
You’ve got a gift, Robert!
 
It’s like Ellie said; you’re special even among your own kind.”

My healing ability may be viewed as a gift to you, Grace, but to me, it’s almost like a curse.

I stared at him, my mind uncomprehending what he had just said.
 
It didn’t make sense to me that the ability to heal someone could somehow be a bad thing.

I can’t heal everyone, Grace, and I don’t know who it is that I can and cannot heal until I try.

“But you healed me.
 
You did it three times.
 
Are you saying that there might be a time when you won’t be able to?”

His eyes looked stark.
 
I hope I never have to find out.

“But that might happen.”

He nodded his head, a sudden sadness blanketing his face.

I looked down at my hands in my lap.
 
“And is that why you feel it’s a curse?
 
Because you might not be able to heal someone?
 
Because if it is, it’s a pretty silly reason.”

You cannot begin to understand how immense the feeling of helplessness is, knowing that I have this amazing ability and not being able to use it to save a child, a parent, a friend for no reason other than it was their time.

The way he said friend made me think about Ellie.
 
“You wanted to help keep Ellie alive…”

He nodded.
 
If I could have kept her alive for another century, I would have.

I lifted my head up to look at him.
 
“How did you keep her alive for tonight?”

I didn’t.
 
Someone else did.

“Who?” I asked.
 
If there was someone else who could keep someone alive, even if it was for one more day, surely they’d know how to get around the whole “their time” issue.

I cannot tell you who it was.

“But you said you’d answer all of my questions.” I gasped.

I cannot answer this one.
 
I made a promise that I would not reveal who it was, and I cannot break that promise.

“Stupid angel etiquette…” I muttered.

I heard that.

“Good.”

You have more questions.

I nodded.
 
“What happened to my hand?”

I don’t know.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?
 
Why did it look the way it did?
 
And why didn’t it hurt?”

I don’t know.
 
I expected the bruising.
 
You wouldn’t have known what attacking us would do.

“I didn’t attack Lark!” I protested, my hands clenched into fists that betrayed my words.

I know that.
 
You were playing around.
 
That was never in question.
 
But, you did hit Lark, expecting to encounter the soft give of human flesh.

“But that’s exactly what it felt like.”

But it wasn’t, Grace.
 
How can I explain this to you so that you’ll understand.
 
When you touch us, you feel soft skin, warm and smooth, like yours.
 
But it doesn’t give like your skin does.
 
It’s stronger.
 
Much, much stronger.
 
The only thing I can compare it to is spider silk.

My head cocked to the side, because let’s face it, that sounded ridiculous.
 
“My hand won’t end up looking like a big blueberry if I punch a spider web, Robert.”

No, of course it wouldn’t.
 
But spider silk is the strongest natural fiber in the world.
 
It is stronger than steel.
 
But it is pliable, soft.
 
My skin, the skin of every angel is like that.
 
It’s like a very intricately woven fabric made of spider silk.
 
Your punch to Lark, however lighthearted, however soft, would be like you punching a steel beam.