Free Almost An Angel by Judith Arnold Page A

or minister to assist her. “As I understand it,” she said, “angels aren’t attached to any one person. Or God. They exist in heaven and watch over the people they love.” Another myth, she thought, but she couldn’t take everything away from Amy.  
    “I don’t want my mom in heaven. I want her here.”  
    “We all have things we want that we can’t have, Amy. It’s very sad, and very hard to accept. But you’re a smart girl and you know how true this is.”  
    “What do you want that you don’t have?”  
    A lover I can depend on, Eliza thought. A lover I can trust. Someone I can count on to stick with me through all the rough spots in life.  
    She couldn’t tell Amy that. “I lost my mother, too,” she said. “She died about six months ago.”  
    “Did she die in an accident? Mine did.”  
    “No,” Eliza said. “My mother had a stroke. It’s a problem with the circulation in her brain. Sometimes strokes are fatal. In her case, it was.  
    “That’s sad,” Amy said. “Why aren’t you crying?”  
    “Oh, I cried a lot when she died,” Eliza said. “I still miss her.”  
    “I guess grown-ups don’t cry as much as children do.” Amy took another tissue and wiped her eyes again. “Is your mother an angel?”  
    “I’d like to think so.” Eliza gathered Amy’s damp tissues and tossed them in her trash pail. “I know she can’t come back to earth and visit me, but she visits me in my memory. Whenever I miss her, I think about her. I remember her sense of humor—she had this big, booming laugh that made everyone who heard it laugh with her. She loved doing crossword puzzles. She loved her job. She was a real estate broker. She sold houses to people. She loved finding the perfect house for a family and helping them to buy it.”  
    “My house is perfect,” Amy said.  
    “Yes, it is.”  
    “And she taught you how to make those cookies.”  
    “And other things, too. Home-made apple sauce. Chocolate cupcakes.”  
    “I love chocolate cupcakes,” Amy said, a hint of spirit infusing her voice. “Does your daddy miss her?”  
    Eliza sighed. “No. My parents divorced when my brother and I were pretty young. He wasn’t really a part of our lives. But my mother—she was the center of my life. When she died, my brother and I were very sad.”  
    “I wish I had a brother,” Amy said. “Then we could be sad together.”  
    “It helps,” Eliza agreed.  
    “I think I’m okay now,” Amy said.  
    Her eyes, no longer leaking tears, were still a little puffy. Her cheeks were flushed. “Would you like to wash your face before you go back to your class?” Eliza asked. “You can use the sink in the nurse’s office across the hall if you don’t want to go to the rest room.”  
    “Okay.” Amy stood slowly. “I missed most of recess.”  
    “That’s better than missing important classwork.”  
    “I don’t think so,” Amy said, then cracked a tiny, heart-wrenching smile.  
    It took all Eliza’s willpower not to give the girl a hug. But not only couldn’t she hug Amy, she couldn’t bake with her anymore. Not if Amy was going to be her patient.  
    If the past few minutes were any indication, she was.  
     
     
     

Chapter Nine
     
    THIS TIME, when Conor was informed that his daughter had undergone a session with the school psychologist, he wasn’t Skyping with a potential customer on the West Coast. He was brainstorming with two of his software engineers, trying to come up with an effective way to outsmart a botnet they hadn’t encountered before. He heard his phone ringing through his open office door, and when he glanced at Marion’s desk, she gestured with her hand that he should go back to his office and take the call.  
    That wasn’t good news. But Conor was in the right frame of mind for bad news. He’d already snapped at one of his marketing people over a delay in an ad campaign he wanted to have up and running with the start of the new