Angel Be Good (4 page)

Daphne watched the young woman for a long
minute. She was doing sit-ups while watching TV. Looking around the
room, Daphne saw a couple of photos sitting on the mantle. One was
a photo of a young man. The woman's fiancé? And the other showed an
older couple. Perhaps her parents? They looked pleasant. Instantly,
she was filled with sympathy for them. They'd soon be without their
beloved daughter. Would they feel as empty as she did?

Her gaze shot back to the woman. "What's her
name?"

Leonard looked at a pad that magically
appeared in his hand. "Mary Falkirk."

"Nice." She eyed the woman. "I'd feel funny
about just taking over her life, Leonard."

"Mary has a place already reserved for her
in heaven. It's her destiny and one she's ready and prepared to
fulfill. Although she's not consciously aware of it, her soul is
happy to take wing."

That made it seem not quite so bad, Daphne
thought, beginning to accept the concept. Mary wasn't beautiful but
she wasn't plain either. Just a nice normal woman who would die
soon. Reminding herself that Mary would be fulfilling her own
destiny, a fate that seemed pleasant except for the feathers,
Daphne watched Mary stretch to touch her toes. She could probably
accept Mary's life. But there was just one thing. A thing she hated
to admit, even to herself. Mary was rather—slight. Daphne looked
down at her own figure.

"Leonard, I hate to say this but . . . "

"What's wrong?"

"Is this my only option? I know it's
earthly, and all that, but couldn't you find someone with a figure
similar to my own? I'm not exactly large in the . . . you know."
She couldn't say it. Not to an angel. She gestured toward her
bosom. "But I'm not totally without . . . you know, either. Is it
too self-centered to ask?"

Leonard smiled knowingly. "I see what you
mean. Hadn't thought about it, actually. I'll check out the other
possibles and see."

"Oh, and Leonard, I know I'm not a beauty,
but I really wouldn't mind being one this time." She shrugged. "If
it's all the same to the Council."

This time Leonard not only smiled, he
laughed, a merry sound much like the tinkling of wind chimes.
"Anything else?"

"No. I like Mary but, I'd like to learn
more. Her parents?"

"They're in heaven. Mary will soon join
them."

"Oh. Good. I was worried about them."

Leonard patted her shoulder and with a
chiming of bells, Daphne realized she had returned to Nat's office.
Leonard whispered in her ear, "I'm needed elsewhere. I'll return
when you need me." When she looked up, the angel was gone.

However, Nat was there, sitting behind his
desk with his eyes closed. He appeared tired, sad, and her heart
went out to him. For all his possessions, he was terribly alone.
Suddenly, his lids snapped open. "I thought you wouldn't come
back."

Daphne shivered, but whether it was from
feeling chilled or from the intensity of his gaze she didn't know.
"Why didn't you leave when you had the chance?"

"I thought I'd wait for you." He shrugged.
"Besides, the outer door is locked tight."

She giggled. "Leonard thinks of everything,
doesn't he?"

"I would've stayed anyway."

She didn't know what to say. Was it possible
he would have? If so, why? At least he was here now. She could make
another attempt to help him and fulfill her obligation to the
Council.

It was midnight. Time.

She walked over to the etagere and swung
open the doors to reveal a TV set. So far so good. Leonard had
given her specific instructions on what to do. With the changes in
electronic equipment since her death, she'd needed them.

She looked around Nat's desk, searching for
the little box that was supposed to be there. She picked up a black
oblong. "What's this?"

Nat snickered. "Electric pencil
sharpener."

"That's not it." She looked around some
more. A paper clip holder, message holder, in/out boxes. No little
box.

"Looking for this?" Nat asked. He held
something in his hands.

"Yes, that must be it? What's it
called?"

He rolled his eyes. "Re-mote con-trol."

She reached out her hand for it but Nat
pulled the control away.

"Men and women have been fighting for years
over who gets control of the remote."

Daphne dropped her hand. "Fine. Be that
way."

"That's what you get for leaving without
telling me goodbye."

"You left first!"

"Nonsense. I just left the room and
immediately came back for you. You should've known I would."

"Why should I know that?"

"Because you have something I want."

"And what's that?"

Nat leered at her. "You still want the
remote?"

Daphne nodded. What was he up to?

"I'll trade you. What I want for the
remote." He tossed the box into the air, then caught it and wiggled
his eyebrows in an awful impression of Groucho Marx.

She crossed her arms and leaned against his
desk. Her stomach fluttered. He wasn't going to ask her to . . .
"What do you want?"

"A kiss just like the last one."

"Oh."

"Disappointed?"

"Of all the . . . Of course not!" She didn't
want to examine the possibility that he might be right.

He tossed the remote and caught it again.
"So, what's it going to be?"

She took a step toward him. He grabbed her
roughly by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. "That's more like
it."

Her heart pounded and her head swam. It felt
too good in his arms. She was in danger and knew it. She tried to
stand up, gain a little distance from him, but he gently held her
in place. Then his lips descended on hers and she was lost.

Good lord, the man could kiss. He nibbled
her lower lip then claimed her mouth. Heat. Hot. Fiery flames
leaped through her body wherever he touched her. His hands splayed
about her waist, his thighs beneath hers, his chest leaning into
her own, his mouth devouring her with an urgency, a need reflected
by her own body.

She pulled back before her craving for him
became a necessity. Letting out a breath of air, she opened her
eyes. He watched her, his gaze inscrutable.

She couldn't let him know how she'd very
nearly given in. He was powerful enough without her own
capitulation. "The remote?"

He looked confused for a moment, then
sheepish. "I think I dropped it."

Daphne chuckled. Obviously he'd been
affected, too. She stood, then scrambled beneath his chair and
grabbed the remote before he had a chance to pull another trick on
her. Still on her knees, she asked, "You ready?"

He ran his hand through her hair. "I'm
yours. Have your way with me."

Blushing, she struggled to her feet. "That's
not what I meant, and you know it."

He laughed, the conceited son-of-a-gun. Just
because his kisses were toe curlers was no reason for him to act so
cock sure. She darted to the chair on the other side of his desk
and took a seat.

He laughed again. "Spoil sport."

She tossed her head and punched the play
button. The TV burst into life, almost startling her although
Leonard had explained what would happen.

The camera panned a snowy rural scene, then
narrowed to focus on a small cape cod, with dormers and a front
porch that ran the width of the house. Coming through the doorway,
it centered on a Christmas tree—small, decorated with colored bulbs
and flashing lights, a number of gaily wrapped parcels resting
below. The view expanded to show a tiny boy, perhaps two or three
years old, kneeling beside it, his eyes lit with anticipation.

Turning, the boy addressed the only other
occupant of the room, a sweet looking woman in her mid-twenties.
"Mommy, will Santa be here tomorrow?"

"I'm certain he will. You've been a very
good boy."

He grinned and crossed the room to climb in
her lap.

Nat leaned across his desk and snatched the
remote from Daphne's hand. The scene froze.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded.

Daphne blinked. "It's the past. At least,
that's what Leonard told me it would be."

"How did he get a video of this?" His face
twisted, his lips compressed, white, Nat exhaled before continuing.
"I can't believe he'd stoop this low."

"Nat, trust me, Leonard wouldn't do anything
wrong."

Nat knew one thing, he didn't trust Leonard.
"I don't know what he wants, but I'm not going to watch this. I
wonder how my mother recorded it? The technology just wasn't
available . . . " He preferred to think about how they'd
accomplished the mechanics rather than the shock he'd felt at
seeing his mother for the first time in so many years.

"I don't think your mother did. It's a
miracle. You know, angelic magic."

"You know what you can do with your magic."
He snorted and leaned toward the VCR. Leonard was playing a tough
game and until Nat knew what Leonard's agenda was, Nat wanted no
part of it. He only liked games where the rules were clearly
spelled out in advance, games with rules he could work to his
advantage.

He punched the eject button, intending to
get the tape and put it away. But the cassette didn't emerge. He
ran his fingers inside to see if the tape had jammed. Nothing. He
turned to Daphne and glared. "Closed circuit TV?"

She sighed. "No. It's a miracle, dam . . .
darn you!"

Nat wagged his forefinger. "Careful, Daph.
You don't want your angel catching you cursing."

"Listen to me, Nat," she said calmly.
"Either with your cooperation or without, you'll be watching this
tape. You might as well make yourself comfortable. Leonard's
determined and let's just say that when an angel's made up his
mind, there's not much that can get in his way."

"Ridiculous."

Daphne raised her brow. Just then the tape
began to play again. Nat frantically punched buttons on the remote
to no effect. He tried turning off the power on the VCR, again
without result.

"I don't have to watch this. I could close
my eyes."

"Aren't you curious, Nat? You said you
didn't remember your mother. Didn't think she loved you. Watch this
tape. I see love written all over each of her actions."

"How about a little
you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours?"

"Forget it."

"Ah, come on, Daph. Be a sport."

"No way. You've distracted me enough from my
mission already."

"It's your loss," he growled, then turned
back to the TV as if drawn against his will. On the screen, his
mother rocked him and spoke softly, telling him a delightful story
about Santa's reindeer. He could almost feel her arms about him
now, could almost remember the story.

"Okay." He swung his gaze back to Daphne.
"Tell Leonard I believe you. There's such a thing as maternal love.
He can turn it off now."

"Hush. Look, someone's rung the
doorbell."

Gaze back on the TV, he watched himself as a
tot darting beside his mother to the door, all the while yelling,
"Daddy. I knew he would come!"

Then the door opened and his childlike
disappointment was clear for anyone to see. Standing in the doorway
were his Uncle Boomer and cousin Percival. Percy hadn't changed
much since then. Even Uncle Boomer's death hadn't been enough to
break Percy of his eternal optimism. At the funeral, he grinned as
widely as the boy captured on tape. Nat had wondered more than once
if Percy was all there. The smile made him look imbecilic.

Once, Nat had even tried to take Percy aside
and explain the problem with his smile. But Percy thought he was
making a joke and had laughed uproariously, slapping Nat's back.
Some people just couldn't learn.

Percy might learn soon, though, Nat thought
wryly. Percy's name was on one of the pink slips lining Nat's
outbox.

On the tape, Percy ran into the room, that
beaming eager-to-please expression on his face. In his hand, he
carried a gaily wrapped box. For Nat.

Nat's jaw twitched. Percy hadn't been such a
bad sort, always trying to win his friendship. Too bad Nat wasn't
the type to have friends. Friendship didn't pay the electric bill.
Friendship didn't get you anywhere.

While Uncle Boomer sat quietly talking to
Nat's mother, he and Percy giggled together as they exchanged
gifts. He'd forgotten that once he'd looked up to Percy. Percy was
a good two years older and yet always had time for him. And the
look on his own face—adoration, pure and simple. Had he really
worshiped Percy? Children were fools.

He could see his mother checking on them
from time to time, a warm smile on her face. He suddenly remembered
her smile and how it had made him feel safe, secure and totally
loved. A boy could get lost in a smile like that and yet as a
child, he'd taken it for granted. If only he'd known how quickly it
could be snatched away.

The screen faded, and Nat had to stop
himself from crying out. Even if it was over, he'd always carry the
remembrance of her smile, though, almost making the inconvenience
of Daphne's after-hours visit worthwhile.

What was he thinking? Was he becoming a
softy at thirty? Next, he'd be wanting a child of his own. Nat
cringed. Just then, the screen focused again.

It narrowed onto his face at the age of
what—seven years old? His first Christmas without his mother. A
Hispanic woman, what was her name—Maria?—stood in the kitchen
making final preparations for their Christmas dinner the next day.
Nat sat at the kitchen table. Maria was in rapt discussion with
another woman, a much younger woman. He couldn't recall her
name.

They awaited Nat's father's arrival, so
Maria and the other woman could go to their homes to celebrate the
holiday. Dad was at work. As usual. Ever since he'd returned from
his stint in Nam.

The women bent their heads together, softly
whispering words that as a child he'd been unaware of. Although
they spoke in Spanish, he realized he could now hear and understand
their every word, their every nuance.