“I want you. I don’t know why, but I do. And for an aspiring angel, you make it really hard for me to be good.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“But you are doing it,” he accused.
“Would you rather I have your case reassigned to someone uglier?” she bit off. “Maybe someone a little more geriatric?”
“It might make my life a hell of a lot easier.”
Rebecca opened her eyes and glared at him. “It must be torture for you, wanting something you can’t touch.”
He tensed. The hard line of his shoulders turned to iron. “Is that what you think this is?”
She pressed her lips together. “What else could it be, after only a few days?”
“You—” He swore and just stared at her. “For someone who’s supposed to be able to read my mind…you don’t get a damned thing about me, Rebecca.”
Just like all the others, she caught, flitting at the edge of his thoughts.
Before she could say a word, he turned and walked out.
…
When Rebecca emerged from the kitchen with a tray of sandwiches and lemonade, Tony was nowhere to be found. Guilt warred with relief. She’d used the mundane act of making lunch to compose herself, but she couldn’t erase the lingering sensation of Tony’s lips hovering so close to her own. The ache in his eyes. His need. His longing.
Her longing.
He made her doubt, far too much. Made her wonder what it would be like to have another shot at human life, with him. With a decent guy, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise. She’d almost let him kiss her—and she hated herself for stopping him.
So Jesus was tempted by the devil for forty days and forty nights…
She snorted and set the tray down on the coffee table. Scripture? Definitely not helping right now.
The clink of the tray against the table broke Miranda’s absorption in the television. She looked up with a sunny smile. “Hi, Becca.”
“Hey, you.” Rebecca handed over a sippy-cup of lemonade and a paper plate of little sandwich squares she’d cut up just for Miranda. “Where’s your daddy?”
“In the parking lot.” Miranda’s eyes widened, and she dropped her voice to a whisper. “He said bad words.” She muffled her giggle with a mouthful of sandwich.
Rebecca winced.
She sank down on the couch and took a morose bite of her own sandwich, but didn’t really have any appetite. The bread tasted like sawdust in her mouth. She watched squat little characters that looked like cartoon gardening implements cavort across the screen. Their eyes were so blank, so happy. Things were so much easier for kids, in their simple little cartoon worlds.
Miranda clambered up onto the couch next to Rebecca and leaned against her arm. “I’m bored. Can we do something?”
“Maybe. If it’s okay with your daddy.”
“You have to ask him. He makes stinky faces when I ask for stuff when he’s in a bad word mood.”
Rebecca managed a faint smile and ruffled Miranda’s hair. “Sure, munchkin. But eat your lunch first.”
Miranda nodded with a little squeak and tore into her sandwich squares. Rebecca couldn’t help but laugh, and wordlessly pressed the sippy-cup into the girl’s hand. She wouldn’t want her to choke herself.
The idea of facing Tony again killed the last of Rebecca’s appetite, and by the time Miranda was finished she’d barely eaten a few more bites of her sandwich. She cleaned up the debris of Miranda’s rampage, and wrapped her half-eaten sandwich and the untouched one she’d made for Tony. After putting them away for later, she took Miranda’s hand.
“Let’s go see if your daddy’s in a better mood.”
Tony wasn’t in a better mood.
She could see it in the violent tension in his motions as he hauled boxes out of the bed of his truck. In the hard, unforgiving clench of his jaw. In the narrow set of his eyes. She stood near the truck’s front bumper and, swallowing hard, tightened her grip on Miranda’s hand.
“Tony?”
He nearly threw a toolbox onto the asphalt. The crashing rattle made Rebecca flinch.
“What.”
“Um. Can I take Miranda for a walk? She’s bored.”
He turned on her, a snarl on his lips. She caught the edge of his angry thoughts—
—how dare you expect me to trust you with my child after you—
—before he stopped, just staring at Miranda’s sweet face. Some of the anger bled out of his stiff posture. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Sure. Just don’t be gone long. And watch the traffic.”
“Of course.” It took all of Rebecca’s willpower not to break down and apologize. Miranda. Focus on Miranda. She forced a smile for the girl. “Walk, then?”
Miranda wriggled. “Walk!”
“Okay!”
They rounded up Miranda’s sandals, took the mandatory bathroom detour, and were on the sidewalk within five minutes. The bright sun beat down on them. Rebecca shielded her eyes against the glare. Maybe they should have worn sunscreen.
She let Miranda set the pace and direction. The child practically used Rebecca’s arm like a leash, dragging her from one look-see to another and bubbling over with a thousand questions. Miranda slowed outside a toy store; the window was stacked high with bright purple balls.
“Look, Becca! Purple! Purple is my faaavorite,” Miranda confided.
A jolt of recognition shot through Rebecca. She’d been here before, as a child. Her parents had brought her here on every birthday and let her pick out one toy. She’d pouted and sulked, that one birthday they’d skipped when they didn’t have time to stop because they’d miss their flight. She’d been so angry.
And then she’d never seen them again.
Her vision misted, and she looked down at Miranda. The girl pressed her hand to the glass and stared at the balls, her eyes shining. Rebecca checked her pocket; she had a little cash, enough for a cab ride across the city if more angelic means failed her. What the hell. It couldn’t hurt to carry on the tradition, if it would make Miranda happy.
With a smile, Rebecca squeezed Miranda’s hand and led her into the store. Nudging her to the window, she retrieved one of the balls and offered it to the girl. “Did you want this?”
Miranda nodded quickly. Her eyes widened, and her face brightened. “Yes please! Pretty please, Becca?”
“It’s all yours, kiddo. Come on. Let’s go pay.”