Free Some Kind of Angel by Shirley Larson Page A

couldn’t ask Gabriel for help.  Gabriel had already made his displeasure known.  He had only one other source.  He went into his kitchen, lit a candle, sat down, and cleared his mind to receive the best guidance of all.
    When he rose, he knew what he must do.  He’d been given his advice.  It wasn’t an ultimatum.  It was a suggestion.  But Michael knew it was the right one.  It was time for him to go home.
     
    What on earth possessed me to kiss Michael so intimately? What on earth possessed me to kiss him at all?  I must be losing my mind.  Here I was, almost three months pregnant with Adam’s child and I kissed Michael like some sex starved maniac. 
    I’d thought of Michael as a big brother.  A very hot, very handsome big brother, but nevertheless, a guy that was totally out of my realm.  What was really confusing was that he had kissed me back.  Boy, had he kissed me back. 
    What the heck did I know about Michael?  He said his name was O’Malley and he came from Ireland.  Now that I thought about it, his speech was very correct, but he certainly didn’t have an Irish accent.  What had he said about his family?  Had he said anything about his family?  What did he do in Ireland before he came here?  Surely he’d been more than a waiter.  His manners and speech were elegant, as if he belonged to a British upper class.  Yet he didn’t speak with a British accent, either.  What had he told me when I asked if he had ever been married?  He said no.  I asked him if all the girls in Ireland were blind and he immediately changed the subject.  Who was this man?  I went to my computer and logged in.
    Two hours later, I gave up.  Nothing.  He wasn’t anywhere on line…which had to be a first.  Everyone got there, sooner or later.  He was a ghost.  How was that possible?
    I went to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come.  I kept seeing Michael floating around in heaven with wings on.  Well, I had told him he was a saint.  But I hadn’t meant it literally.
    The next morning, Marian was already gone when I arose.  I felt as if I were walking around with cartoon birds circling drunkenly above my head, tweeting crazy tunes.  I stood in the kitchen in my pajamas and robe a little after eight o’clock, drinking coffee to wake up my dazed brain, when my doorbell rang. 
    “Good grief.  Who comes calling at this hour?”  It occurred to me that it might be Michael.  What in heaven’s name was I going to say to the man I’d thrown myself at last night?
    As I opened my door, hoping it wasn’t Michael and wishing it was, I came face to face with a fashion plate, an elegantly dressed woman in a powder blue Armani suit with a one-button jacket that I knew had to cost somewhere in the two thousand dollar range.  She had the dark hair and distinctive eyebrows of Adam.
    “I’m sorry.  I’m Endora Clarke, Adam’s mother.  Am I catching you at a bad time?”
    Yes, of course you are.   “No, not at all.  Do come in, Mrs. Clark.”
    The woman glanced around at the apartment, and to her credit, she merely smiled.  “I remember these days.  Living in a small apartment, filling my life with hopes and dreams.”
    A little bit of tension eased out of my shoulders.  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
    “No, thank you.  I won’t stay long.”  She took a seat at the breakfast bar while I sat on the stool at the end of the counter. 
    “I’m afraid that I’ve come to say what my son should have said to you.”
    “What would that be?”
    “That he has no intention of supporting you or the child financially. If you had any idea he would change his mind after you delivered the baby, you are sadly mistaken.  Your best course of action is to get an abortion now before you are any further along.”
    How clever this woman was.  She’d come in, appearing to be friendly and understanding and then she’d hit me with a two-ton hammer. 
    “I believe I made it clear to Adam that I expect nothing