“After that, Jarod was never the same. Not that anyone expected him to come out unscathed. Who would? He’d never been a sound sleeper, but his night terrors grew so terrible he never slept through a single night. Still doesn’t. Monsieur Isaac told me I shouldn’t worry. Thatourboy—and yes, I sayour, because Jarod had become very much ours bythen—”
“Sounds like he was alwaysyours.”
Her taut lips relaxed a fraction. “Monsieur Isaac and I were the ones to raise him. Even when his parents were alive, they weren’t very involved. When he wailed at night, I would rock him, and when that didn’t settle him, I’d take him out in his pram and roll him back and forth across the cobblestones until the dips and bumps eased him to sleep.” Her eyes glistened at the memory. “Monsieur Isaac, he took care of Jarod’s education. Taught him to read, write, count, reflect. Monsieur Isaac wasn’t known for his patience, and yet with Jarod”—her smile added some brightness to her haggard face—“he had an endless supply. He would’ve moved mountains for thatboy.”
“Jarod respected him verymuch.”
“He did. He respected him. Loved him. Trusted him. And Jarod doesn’t trust many people,Leigh.”
“I suppose I wouldn’t either if I’d lived through what hedid.”
“Especially women,” she added, holding mygaze.
“Exceptyou.”
“Exceptme.”
She kept watching me, and the intensity of her gaze made me dip my gaze to the yellow surface of thetea.
“Do you know that he’sneverdined in a tête-à-tête with awoman?”
I studied the pattern of blue dots on my cup until they began to superimpose. “Probably because he doesn’t likefood.”
She leaned forward in her chair. “No, he just doesn’t like the company of mostwomen.”
“He doesn’t much likemycompany,Muriel.”
“I don’t believe that.” She placed her dry palm over my hand. “He’s never let a woman venture upstairseither.”
I studied her knuckles that were as fine as her fingers. I didn’t want to sully the image Muriel had of Jarod, so I didn’t share the reason he’d had for herding me into his bedroom. I didn’t tell her that it had been to make mesquirm.
“He hates my beliefs. Hates what I am,” I said instead. Which didn’t surprise me now that she’d told me about the only other celestial example he’dhad.
She released my hand, dragging hers back across the table. “What youare?”
Heat snaked into my neck and cheeks. Why couldn’t I have picked other words? Or spoken none at all for that matter? “I have a strong faith, and he hatesit.”
“Jarod abhors religion—everyreligion.”
“And I understand, but not all pious people are the same.” I supposed my wings hadn’t been a very convincing factor in this argument. I bet he hated all winged creatures, be they butterflies or angels. I drained my cup, then pushed away from the table and stood. “Thank you, Muriel. For the talk, the tea, the cookies, the kindness.” I tried to fit a smile onto my lips, but it wouldn’t hold. “He’s lucky to have someone like you in his life. You’re a saintlywoman.”
She tipped her head up and watched me. Even though Jarod wasn’t biologically hers, there was something in the way they observed a person that was very much alike—a quiet, profound surveillance, as though they were looking at the soul instead of the envelope encasingit.
“To love isn’t saintly . . .” she said at last. “To love is natural. Have you ever lovedsomeone?”
Eve surged inside my mind. She’d known Jarod was an impossible case, which was why she’d suggested him. Had she known why? Had her archangel mother imparted classified information to make sure her daughter didn’t waste hertime?
My lips must’ve puckered because Muriel said, “Noone?”
I thrust Eve into a dusky recess. “The girl you met yesterday. Celeste. She’s like a sister tome.”
“What aboutparents?”
“I don’t knowthem.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “A parental figure,then?”
“I had many teachers. Most werenice.”
