Free Angel Be Good by Kathy Carmichael

you're
smart."
    "Which one do you mean?" asked Daphne.
    "The waitress, Elizabeth McGuire."
    Daphne saw the customer shrug, then reply,
"I guess I'm not very smart, Lizzy."
    "It's Christmas. Anything could happen. For
Christmas I'm giving you a present—smarts. Dump the jerk." She
grinned, then turned and grabbed a piece of pie to place in front
of another customer.
    "Do you like Elizabeth?" asked Leonard.
    How could she tell anything about any of
these women? They all seemed acceptable choices. With a cringe, she
thought of Terry. Maybe some candidates were more acceptable than
others. But she couldn't imagine waking up in the morning and
seeing any image other than her own in the bathroom mirror.
    She'd seen four women so far, four women
whose shoes she could try to fill. Not only did the thought depress
her, she just wanted to get back to Nat.
    "Tell you what, Leonard," she finally said.
"Forget about how the women look. Find me someone who's good
hearted. That's the most important thing. I'm sure I'll be happy
with your choice."
    "Are you certain?"
    Daphne bit back a laugh. "No, I have a
feeling there's no such thing as certainty. It's the best I can
do."
    She looked deeply into the angel's blue
eyes. "I trust you, Leonard. You'll know when you find the right
choice for me."
    Was that a tear almost falling from his
eyes? Could angels cry? "Unexpected insight, and from such a young
woman. The Angelic Council selected wisely."
    "An hour ago I hadn't known what was really
important."
    Again, Leonard worked his magic, promptly
returning them to Nat's office.
    "Don't short change yourself, my dear," the
angel said. "You had it in you all along. Now keep at the young
man, and I'll be back when it's time for you to leave."
    "Wait. What's going to happen? To Nat? To
me?"
    Leonard gave her a perplexed look, then his
features smoothed. "When you leave?"
    She nodded.
    "Nat won't remember all this, won't remember
you or your role in helping him. However, he will remember the
lessons he's learned and we're hopeful he'll put them into
practice."
    "And me? Will I remember?"
    Leonard shook his head. "If your
transformation is to be complete, then you'll become the person
whose body you've entered. Her memories, her past, will merge with
your own. Yet your future will be shaped by who you are, rather
than who she was. It will be yours to make with it what you
will."
    "So I won't remember heaven. I won't
remember you. I won't remember Nat." A momentary panic seized her.
"This is all so frightening, like jumping from a tall building
without a net below. Will I still be me?"
    Leonard smiled. "You couldn't be anyone but
you. Don't worry, Daphne. Have faith."
    Then, with a twinkling of his eye, his form
faded until all that was left were wisps of white cloud, then
nothing. Daphne glanced at Nat. He was still intent, making jots
and notations, apparently not even noticing that she'd been
gone.
    "Nat?"
    "Hmm?" He didn't look up.
    "What's happening?"
    He lifted his head and met her eyes.
"Happening? I'm making plans for when the stores and banks open. I
don't want to forget anything."
    What a contrast. He was making plans for his
life, his future, while she prepared to leave hers behind.
Intellectually, she could accept the idea that it's the soul that
defines a person, but it seemed so peculiar to separate herself
from the body she'd always known, the container of her soul. She
was lucky to have the chance to go on. From what Leonard had said,
it didn't happen often. But she'd love to take a moment to whine,
to pray that somehow, someway, she'd be able to remain as she was.
However, it wasn't to be. Even she could see that what Leonard and
the Council had planned was best for all parties. But she didn't
have to like it or look forward to it.
    She grabbed the lemonade and downed it in
one large gulp, the bittersweet taste fitting her mood in a way
nothing else could.
    "Nat, I know I told you I didn't want
anything, but I would like a