“It’s bad, Mom. He hasn’t found work, the rent’s due, and we barely have food. He doesn’t know I packed the last cans of baby formula we had.”
“You’re coming home?”
“I’d like to.”
“What about Richard?”
I sighed. “He can go back to Queens, settle our accounts and bring the remainder of our clothing and stuff back here. Thank God, it’s a furnished apartment, and we don’t have to haul large stuff.”
“And after he carts your belongings here? Do you want him to stay with you and Daniel?”
“He’s my husband, Mom. Unless you feel it would be too crowded. Then maybe he can stay with his parents until he gets a job, and we find a new home for us here. I want to be home, Mom, here in Philadelphia. Just in case of emergency.”
She handed me the last dish. Her blue eyes were hard with worry. “You think you can save your marriage.”
“I . . . I don’t know. He’s just going through a bad slump.”
“He hasn’t really laid hands on you?”
“No. We’ve just had some problems communicating.”
“Seems rather big ones, I’ll bet.”
I said nothing.
“Well, you’re welcome to come home, and Richard’s welcome, too. You can tell him it’s all right. You can bunk in your old room until he’s back on his feet. Ginnie might prefer him to sleep in Fred’s room, under these circumstances; you’ll have to work that out with her and Fred.”
“Uh, Mom? Richard doesn’t know yet.”
She stared at me incredulously.
“I haven’t told him yet. I only made up my mind to do this last Thursday.”
“Last Thursday? And what happened then that made you plot this escape behind Richard’s back?”
“Problems just piled up, and I knew we weren’t going to solve them in Queens. Or alone. Thursday, I just . . . finally got the courage to make a decision on it all.”
“But not enough courage to discuss it with Richard.”
“I just . . . just didn’t want to create more conflict.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
Again, I hesitated, considering exactly how I was reacting to Richard. “Not physically. Emotionally, though . . . emotionally, he shuts me out. Almost as if he has a do not disturb sign on with smaller writing under it that says proceed at your own risk.”
She was silent for a moment, wiping dry the sink area. Then, “Have you tried to probe him psychically?”
“Yes. It’s very disturbing. There’s a lot of anger. And that very definite warning to keep out.”
She turned, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Leigh Ann. Are you sure there isn’t another source, besides the two of you, causing his reaction?”
“Well . . . yes. The baby. Richard made it plain he wasn’t ready for fatherhood. And now, even though he seems to love Danny, he seems to resent me.”
“Leigh Ann.” She spoke quietly, as if to an idiot child. “You have a tendency to overlook the obvious—a tendency I wish you’d lose.”
“What do you mean?”
I suddenly felt a protective aura build around me, beyond the one I normally bathe myself in each morning upon awakening. It felt strong and heavy, an auric safety net over a lighter safety net over the normal psychic aura that surrounds each living thing, whether seen and understood by humanity or not. “Mom . . ?”
“Leigh Ann,” she repeated, saying my name three times, and an old folktale came to mind: that if someone said your name three times, the angels would reveal your heart’s most deeply hidden secret. And her tone dropped a notch or two as she said, “There’s a spirit standing directly behind you. He’s tall . . . with black hair and eyes and a ruddy complexion.”
I gaped and whirled around. Of course, I saw no one mortal, but I caught a fleeting glimpse of him, handsome and sensual, as he backed away from my sudden and unexpected turn. “He’s followed me from Queens. I’ve been calling him the dark presence. He’s pestered me since Thursday afternoon.”
In my mind’s eye, I saw him raise his hand and bring it toward my face. I froze, nearly flinching, thinking he would strike me, forgetting that Mom had reinforced my aura. I caught a clear impression of his face; he grinned, a perfect double line of teeth like a Cheshire Cat. Then his hand stroked my cheek, gently and deliberately, the touch in itself a message, a reminder: I would never hurt you nor your child. “He’s obviously attracted to me, though I don’t know why. He believes he knew me before.”
“And did he?”
“I haven’t searched. It’s been too hectic.” I noticed that he stood slightly off from us, listening to Mother and me, no longer blocking me from visually appraising him. “He’s very possessive and demanding, and has an aversion for some reason towards Richard. He wouldn’t identify himself when I asked him to repeatedly.”
“Well, where attraction exists, mortal spouses become rivals to them.” Mother moved a few steps toward where she sensed he stood, and looked toward him. It amazed me how closely she gauged his whereabouts to where I saw him. “Who are you?” she asked. “We mean you no harm, but you cannot interfere with Leigh Ann’s mortal life. If you need to communicate, to express some past life conflict and lay it to rest, we will be able to hear your spiritual voice through telepathy. But we need you to identify yourself, before we explore your presence and your relationship with Leigh Ann further. Do you understand?”
He had been standing there quietly, listening to us, a small closed smile on his lips. Now the smile widened again into that Cheshire grin and opened up into spasms of laughter.
We waited, wondering what in Mother’s words had proven such a source of amusement. His spasms subsided into chuckles, and he studied us with a glint in his eyes, sizing up both us and his answer.
—My name is Bael,— he said with a cryptic glance at me. He pronounced the name as if it conjoined the words “bay” and “eel.”
Mother tried a different tack. “Ba-hel. That’s Hebrew for Barry. Are you Jewish?”
The slightest touch of irritation crossed his thin face. —With all due respect to your mortal mother, Leigh Ann, she should leave detective work to Mr. Holmes. I pose no mystery; I give my name simply and truly. Bael.—
I said nothing, allowing Mother to continue her own probe. I saw her glance toward the clock, knowing my father might awaken and come downstairs, abruptly ending our search for answers, and Mother blocking the spirit from further interference with the proper mentally-spoken prayer or two.
“Where are you from?” Mother asked.
—A place where Leigh Ann and I were to be, and a place where I could not let her follow me.—
“A riddle. He’s evading our questions. What year did you and Leigh Ann know each other?”
No answer. That question seemed to upset him, bristling his cool, composed demeanor.
“What year do you claim to have known Leigh Ann?” Mother repeated, emphasizing her distrust of his veracity.
—No year known to mortalkind, and every year since, when angels were forced to live among mortals to save those pale imitations. And every year thereafter, she was kept well-hidden from me, but now I mean to win her back!—
The violent force of his words was like a potent spell paralyzing us. We reeled; I felt Mother’s dizziness along with my own, nearly fainting. And then I felt his hand. It reached out and steadied me. In that