Choir of angels, p.10
Choir of Angels, page 10
Gabriel, however, was away from his desk.
Shirley, Goodness and Mercy, three Prayer Ambassadors who had a reputation for employing unorthodox means to achieve their ends, stood just inside the Archangel’s quarters. Together the three of them watched as the prayer made its way onto his desk. Only the most difficult prayer requests went to the mighty Archangel—the prayers that came from those who were most in need, from the desperate and discouraged.
“Don’t read it,” Shirley cried when Goodness, unable to resist, bent to pick up the wispy sheet.
“Why not?” Goodness had always had more curiosity than was good for her. She knew that peeking at a prayer request before Gabriel had a chance to view it was asking for trouble, but that didn’t stop her. Mercy was the one most easily swayed by things on Earth, and Shirley, well, Shirley was nearly perfect. At one time she’d been a Guardian Angel but had transferred to the ranks of the Prayer Ambassadors. That had happened under suspicious circumstances, so Shirley’s perfection was a little compromised. Shirley never mentioned the incident, though, and Goodness dared not inquire. She knew that some things were better left unknown—despite her desire to hear all the sordid details.
“Goodness,” Shirley warned again.
“I’m just going to glance at the name,” Goodness muttered, carefully lifting the edges of the folded sheet and peeking at the signature.
“Is it anyone we know?” Mercy demanded, drawing closer.
Goodness eyed Shirley, who was doing her best not to reveal her own interest. “Well, is it?” Shirley finally asked.
“No,” Goodness said. “I’ve never heard of Anne Fletcher, have you?”
“Anne Fletcher?” Shirley cried, and then as if her knees had gone out from under her, she sank into the chair reserved for Gabriel. “Anne Fletcher from California,” the former Guardian Angel repeated slowly.
Goodness looked again, lifting the edge of the sheet just a bit higher this time. “Formerly of California,” she said.
“Oh, no!” Shirley cried. “She moved. I wonder why. Tell me where she’s gone.”
“The San Juan Islands,” Mercy said, bending over Goodness to take a look for herself.
“She’s in the Caribbean?” Shirley said, sounding distraught.
“No, in Puget Sound—Washington State,” Goodness told her.
“I remember it well,” Mercy said with a dreamy smile. “Don’t you remember the Bremerton Shipyard? We had so much fun there.”
“What I remember,” Goodness informed her angelic sister, “was all the trouble we got in when you started shifting aircraft carriers and destroyers around.”
“I don’t know how many times you want me to apologize for that,” Mercy muttered, crossing her arms defiantly. “It was a fluke. Nothing like that’s happened since, and frankly I think you’re...”
Her words faded as she saw Goodness studying Shirley. “How do you know Anne Fletcher?” Goodness asked softly.
“Poor, poor Anne,” Shirley murmured, seemingly lost in thought. “I knew her mother—I was her Guardian Angel. I was with Beth when she gave birth to Anne.”
So Shirley had a connection to Anne Fletcher. “I didn’t read the request,” Goodness said, more eager than ever to throw caution to the winds and take a second, longer look.
“Maybe there’s something we can do,” Mercy said. It sounded as if she was encouraging Goodness to flout protocol, and Goodness was happy to go along with the implied suggestion. She quickly scooped up the prayer request, then almost dropped it when a voice boomed behind them.
“Do for whom?” it asked.
Gabriel. The Archangel Gabriel.
Goodness spun around and backed against the side of the huge desk, crushing her wings in her eagerness to hide. Oh, this wasn’t good. Gabriel was their friend, but he wouldn’t tolerate their snooping around his desk.
“Nothing.” Mercy moved closer to Goodness until they stood shoulder to shoulder, wing to wing.
Shirley remained lost in her own thoughts, sitting in Gabriel’s chair, apparently oblivious to their dire circumstances.
“Do?” Goodness choked out. “Are we supposed to be doing something for someone?”
“It’s Anne Fletcher,” Shirley whispered, peering up at the Archangel, apparently still in a stupor. “We’ve got to help her.”
“Anne Fletcher?” Gabriel repeated. His brow furrowed with concern.
“She’s said a prayer for Roy,” Goodness explained, and boldly handed Gabriel the request, as much as admitting it had been read. “She wants to believe. But she’s worried about her son and has given up hope that anyone can reach him. We can’t let her lose faith—we just can’t!” She gazed up at Gabriel with large, pleading eyes. Her wings were folded back in place and she hung her head as if she felt the same sense of despair as Anne Fletcher.
Goodness had never seen Shirley so upset. Clearly this Anne person was someone she cared about.
Gabriel made a grumbling sound. Shirley glanced up and with a look of panic realized she was sitting in the Archangel’s chair. She bolted upright, then leaped to one side.
It was such a rare sight to see Shirley ruffled that, had she not felt so worried about her friend, Goodness would’ve been amused.
Once his chair was vacant, Gabriel sat down, ignoring the prayer request. Instead, he reached for the massive book from the shelf behind him. With a soft grunt, he set it in front of him. He opened it to the section marked F, and ran his finger down a long list of names inscribed there.
Goodness knew better than to stand on tiptoe and take a peek. Even she understood when it was best to restrain her curiosity.
“Anne Fletcher,” Gabriel said thoughtfully. “It’s been five years since the divorce.”
“Anne’s divorced?” Shirley whispered. “Oh, my, I didn’t know. How’s she doing?”
“Actually, quite well,” Gabriel told her. “She’s adjusted far better than we’d expected.” The Archangel nodded. “She’s gone back to her art and that’s helped her. It says here that she’s living in Washington State, on a small island in Puget Sound.”
“Burton always discounted her talent,” Shirley said, and leaned on her palms against the desk, daring to read the huge volume that documented human lives. “She could’ve been a successful artist had she continued her studies.”
“Still might,” Goodness threw in as if she was in the know. She hated being left in the dark when it came to earthly matters. Humans had always intrigued her. They were the very pinnacle of God’s creation, fearfully and wonderfully made, yet so obtuse. It was hard to believe free will could cause such problems.
“Anne Fletcher is indeed talented,” Gabriel murmured, “but fame and fortune were never important to her. She’s had to deal with various losses, but as you already know, for every loss there is an equal gain. Often humans have to search for it, though.”
Goodness nodded in full agreement, although she couldn’t begin to guess what God had in store for the fifty-nine-year-old divorced woman. “God has another man for her, doesn’t He?” she ventured.
Gabriel frowned as if Goodness’s comments were starting to irritate him. “No, Goodness, not another man. Frankly, Anne isn’t interested.”
“I don’t blame her for that,” Mercy tossed in. “After what Burton did to her, she’d find it very difficult to trust again, and who could blame her?” She nodded as if that was all anyone needed to say on that subject.
“The prayer is for her son,” Gabriel pointed out as he read the request.
“Roy,” Shirley said. “You remember Roy, don’t you?” she asked mournfully. “He was such a sweet child, so willing to please, so anxious to follow in his father’s footsteps.”
“Burton never forgave him for not pursuing a law degree,” Gabriel commented in an absent sort of way. “Roy is gifted, but he works too hard.”
“I’m sure Anne would like grandchildren,” Shirley said, studying the prayer request.
“Of course she would,” Mercy agreed.
For the first time since they’d entered the room, Shirley smiled. “God provides,” she whispered, and then said in a louder voice, “Isn’t that what you were just saying?”
Gabriel glanced up. “Roy isn’t interested in marriage.”
“Not now he isn’t,” Goodness chimed in. The possibility of romance rose before her—it was such fun to steer humans toward one another! Creating romance was by far her favorite duty on Earth.
“We want in on this,” Goodness announced.
Gabriel leveled a fierce gaze on her, and she swallowed hard and took a step back.
“Only if you think it’s for the best, though,” she mumbled.
“It’s for Anne,” Shirley pleaded. “Beth’s little Annie.”
“Are you saying the three of you want to return to Earth?”
Shirley, Goodness and Mercy all nodded simultaneously.
“I was afraid of that.” Gabriel stroked his chin. “I don’t think Earth has recovered from your last visit yet.”
“We’ll be exceptionally good this time,” Mercy promised, folding her hands as if in prayer. “I swear I won’t even think about going near an escalator.”
“It isn’t moving staircases that worry me,” Gabriel said. “It’s everything else.”
Goodness stepped forward again. She could tell by the look in his eyes that Gabriel was weakening. “We can help her, Gabe.”
“Gabe?” he bellowed.
“Gabriel,” she corrected swiftly. “I know we can. Besides, I have this romance thing down pat. Humans are eager to fall in love. All we’ve got to do is lead them in the right dir—” She stopped when she saw Gabriel’s expression.
For a long moment, no one spoke and then in a low whisper, Shirley said, “Please?”
Gabriel took his time answering while Goodness waited, holding her breath in anticipation. She was eager to see Earth again. They’d been away far too long—several Earth years at least.
Oh, Gabriel, make up your mind, she muttered to herself. Say yes!
2
Roy Fletcher hated doing job interviews. He warily regarded the older man sitting on the other side of his desk. Dean Wilcoff had to be close to sixty and retirement. His thinning gray hair was brushed away from his face and his dark eyes squarely met Roy’s. He was big, an inch or two over six feet, broad-shouldered and muscular. He’d obviously maintained himself physically, which was good. As head of building security, it was unlikely he’d be chasing intruders, but he should at least be capable if the need arose. Roy glanced over Wilcoff’s résumé a second time. The man had an impressive work history.
“You were with Boeing’s security force for twenty-six years.”
“I was,” Dean answered without elaborating. There’d been some downsizing at the airplane manufacturer, but Roy guessed that Dean Wilcoff had left or been let go for another reason. Still, his Human Resources Department had selected this candidate for him to interview.
The dates on Wilcoff’s résumé showed that he’d last worked nine months ago, yet Roy didn’t sense any desperation in the man. Wilcoff should be worried. By now, his unemployment benefits would’ve expired and at his age, obtaining another job wouldn’t be easy.
“What do you know about computers?”
For the first time Roy noticed hesitation in the other man. “Only enough to get around on the internet. My daughter’s been after me to take one of those courses, but frankly I don’t see the need. I work security. It’s what I know and what I do best. If you hire me, Mr. Fletcher, you can rest assured that no one’s going to break into your office, day or night.”
Roy raised a skeptical eyebrow. Life didn’t come with guarantees. Everything was suspect. Everything and everyone. This was a lesson he’d learned the hard way, but learn it he had.
“I’ll get back to you,” he said, dismissing the man. He’d finished the round of interviews and although all the candidates were qualified, there hadn’t been a single one he especially liked. The day before, he’d talked to three applicants, and three more today. No one had really impressed him. Unfortunately he needed to make his decision soon if he didn’t want hourly phone calls from his HR director. Well, fine. He’d put the names in a hat and simply draw one. At this point, that was as logical a way to handle the situation as any.
* * *
“How’d it go?” Julie Wilcoff asked her father as she set the salad on the dinner table. She hated to ask, but he hadn’t exactly been free with details since his return from the long-awaited interview. Julie was afraid that meant bad news, and he’d already had enough disappointments. After nine months without a job, her father had grown restless and discouraged. She knew he was worried, especially with the holidays so close. He’d wanted to have a new job lined up by New Year’s, and he’d had such hope for this one, which seemed perfect for him. Yet he’d barely said a word since he’d come home from the interview.
“Why hire an old man like me?” he muttered as he walked to the table.
“Because you’re highly qualified, dependable and intelligent.”
“I’m not even sure I want to work for Roy Fletcher,” her father complained. He pulled out his chair and sat down.
Julie frowned. After weeks of searching, of making a half-dozen unsuccessful applications, after talking up this interview for days on end, his attitude came as a shock. But if her father, a man who never exaggerated or jumped to conclusions, made such a statement, there was a reason.
Roy Fletcher’s name had appeared in the media for years. He was the genius behind the security software business, the man entrusted by the government to keep out hackers. Fletcher Industries had prospered as doing business online had become increasingly prone to theft—of credit-card numbers, private information, financial records and more. Her father was in security, too, only a different kind. While Roy Fletcher made sure no one could break into computer files, her father prevented intruders from breaking into the doors and windows of buildings.
Julie sat down at the table and handed her father the meat loaf. It’d been her mother’s recipe and remained one of his favorite meals. Julie had hoped this would be a celebration dinner, but apparently not. Still, she wondered what had prompted her father’s comment. “What’s wrong with Mr. Fletcher?” she asked.
“I don’t much care for him.”
“Mr. Fletcher interviewed you himself?” Dad hadn’t mentioned that earlier.
Her father nodded. “After I talked to a nice gal in what they call Human Resources.” He paused a moment. “She sent me to see him.” Another pause. “He isn’t a pleasant man.”
Julie scooped up a serving of scalloped potatoes and put them on her plate. Toward the end of her mother’s final bout with cancer, Julie had moved out of her apartment and back in with her parents. Her father had quit his job and stayed home to nurse her mother. His company benefits had paid most of the medical bills; Julie’s salary as a junior-high physical-education teacher covered the rest. It had been a time of sacrifice for them all. Letty, Julie’s fraternal twin, had helped, financially and emotionally, as much as possible, although she no longer lived in Seattle.
After six months of this arrangement, Julie’s beautiful, petite mother had died. That was four months ago. From the beginning, the doctors had given them little hope. Julie, Letty and their father knew and were prepared for the eventuality of Darlene Wilcoff’s death. Or so they’d assumed. What Julie had learned, and her sister, too, was that it didn’t matter how ready you thought you were to face the death of a loved one; even when death is expected, it hits hard. Letty, Julie and their father had been left reeling. It felt to Julie as if her life would never be the same—and it wouldn’t be. The world had lost a graceful, charming soul; she and Letty had lost a loving mother; Dean had been deprived of the woman he adored.
Julie waited until their plates were filled before she questioned him again. “What exactly didn’t you like about Roy Fletcher?”
“He’s cold.” Dean hesitated and his brows drew together. “It’s as if nothing touches him, nothing affects him. From what I’ve heard, people don’t mean much to Fletcher. In fact, the whole time I was with him, I had the feeling there wasn’t a single person in this world who meant a damn thing to him. I doubt he’s an easy man to know.”
“People usually have a reason for acting the way they do,” Julie said, hoping that would encourage her father to continue the conversation. She couldn’t help being curious. The job offered an employment package that was far above anything he would have received with another employer.
He agreed, but then added, “I got the impression that Fletcher thinks everything boils down to money, but there are some things that can’t be bought.”
Julie nodded.
Her father sampled the meat loaf, then set down his fork. “It’s time, you know.”
Julie pretended she didn’t understand, but this was a discussion they’d had more than once. Her father seemed to believe Julie should move back into an apartment of her own, now that her mother was gone. She disagreed. First, her father needed her. Oh, he’d muddle through with meals and housework; Julie had no doubt of that. But she knew he was lonely and struggling with an all-consuming grief. As well, finances were tight, and it went against his pride to let someone, even his daughter, pay the bills.
What he didn’t grasp—and she could find no way to explain—was how badly she needed to be with him. They’d suffered the biggest loss of their lives, and being together seemed to help. She wasn’t ready to move out. Eventually she would, but not yet. For her, it was still too soon.
“We’ve already been through this.”
“And your point is?”
