Broken by Marianne Curley

told me, but, still, it’s a lot to take in, Mr Zavier, because there’s another version of my birth.’
    He leans forward and looks straight into her eyes. ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard or been told, but I swear to you, Ebony, I am your uncle.’
    She stares at him hard. ‘So you’re saying that I’m human.’
    His face registers surprise. He gives a short laugh, looking puzzled and amused at the same time. ‘What else would you be?’
    ‘I don’t know. An angel?’ It’s a gutsy thing to say. If he has any reaction, she’ll register it, looking at him the way she is.
    But Mr Zee’s only reaction is amusement. ‘Let me assure you, you were not born under a rock. I didn’t find you in a cabbage patch. There is no wicked witch about to break down your door, or dwarfs with a prince in tow, waiting for you to fall asleep.’
    Ebony laughs. Whether she’s just being polite, or analysing his every comment, I can’t say.
    He smiles back gently. ‘You have had a tremendous amount to deal with, but you appear to be doing very well. I want you to know I’m here for you now. My travelling days are over.’
    Man, his story is convincing. He’s so believable I don’t know what to think. Is he an angel? Is he human? Whether it’s the truth, partial truth, or total bullshit, I can’t tell. Maybe because he’s a teacher, or just a damn good storyteller, I don’t know, but it won’t take much for this dude to convince anyone his version is the truth.
    Either way it doesn’t matter to me – it’s Ebony who has to believe this man is telling her the truth.
    Maybe angels really do make mistakes.
    ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Zavier,’ Ebony says.
    ‘Thank you, Ebony, but you had the greater loss.’
    She looks unsure about what he means. ‘Pardon, sir?’
    ‘You never had the opportunity to know your birth mother. You would have liked Rachel. Though she was young, she was kind and friendly and loving.’
    Amber sits back, frowning. ‘How old were you at the time, sir? You don’t look much older than a university student, but if you were here delivering a baby sixteen years ago, that would have to make you at least –’ she shrugs – ‘fifty?’
    He chokes on his tea. When he composes himself, he explains, ‘Surely, I don’t look that old, Ms Lang. People tell me I’m quite young-looking. I’ve always taken care of my skin. That might sound strange coming from a man, but you would be surprised at how many men protect their skin from the sun’s damaging ultra-violet light rays. I was twenty when Rachel came to live with me. Sixteen years later, I’m still asked for ID sometimes.’
    Ebony laughs. It’s just a light, friendly sound, but it could mean she’s softening towards him. I should be glad. Instead, I feel crummier than ever.
    ‘You have a nice house.’ Amber makes a show of appreciating our surroundings. ‘You were living here when your sister gave birth. Alone. A uni student.’ She stares at Mr Zee with her eyebrows raised.
    His eyes seem to burn into hers for a moment. But she doesn’t flinch and he flicks his gaze very briefly to me.
    I get it. He wants me to help him with this. It turns my stomach, but I do it because I have to. ‘I suppose the house was much smaller then, sir? You know, before you renovated?’
    His mouth twitches with a microscopic smile. ‘Yes, it was,’ he says, words flowing out now as smooth as warmed syrup straight from the pan. ‘My eccentric great-uncle left me this property, a mere shell of what you see today. I renovated using money I made selling off parcels of land on the riverfront.
    ‘My sister was too trusting,’ he continues. ‘She fell in love with a boy who attended boarding school, and whose parents wanted to broaden his horizons on a working farm for six weeks. Rachel worked weekends in the supply store in the village. They met on his first day when he came to pick up provisions.’
    Whether it’s a load of crap or God’s