scrutinized my face for a minute.
“All right,” she blurted, wiping any lingering tears from her eyes, her smile bright again. “Enough about me! It's your turn. Tell me everything.” She stretched the word playfully, making me laugh.
“I'm afraid we're going to need a lot more Scotch for my story.”
“We'll make do.” She handed me the flask with a crooked smile and waited.
I tried to be as thorough as she wanted me to be with my story, although some facts were too painful for me to detail: Like my dad's final days in the hospital, and his funeral. I breezed through those as fast as I could. She did stop me for a moment, though, and gave me her condolences. I thanked her and moved things along. I'm sure she noticed my avoidance of the subject. But the truth was that I had already embarrassed myself enough in front of her that night to let her watch me break into tears, too. And I had suppressed so many through the years that I knew it wouldn't be a pretty sight, so...
Anyway, I did tell her about the accident and Xavier. She stopped me there, too, and gave me a rueful “I'm so sorry.”' But after all the doleful things were said, I tried to lighten the mood by talking about our accomplishments rather than our frustrations. In my case, I told her about my getting my bachelor's in physics and mathematics despite of my condition, and she told me about her years in the conservatory.
The hours flew by.
There was a moment of silence, after all of our talking, in which Yvette lay her head back against the tree and raised her eyes to the night sky. I, on the other hand, took advantage of her remoteness to admire her; she looked like a perfectly chiseled marble statue. I became so enthralled by her beauty that I didn't care anymore if she caught me staring. To see her was to love her—and I think… I wanted her to know.
Her sapphire eyes widened then, with a surprise that made her lips part, just enough to let out a small sigh. “Look!” she prompted, pointing at the night sky. Her request (more than my curiosity) made my eyes stray from her face. “Isn't it amazing?” she exclaimed, as our eyes beheld the extraordinary wonder of the Northern Lights. “I was told you couldn't see them this time of the year. It must be a sign or something!” She gazed in wonder at the fluttering bands of colors that glowed across the darkness.
I wondered, too; but I was wondering if my sign wasn't sitting right beside me rather than on the threshold of space. And though I'd never seen the magnificent aurora before, my eyes chose to move back to the mortal angel to my left, taking a rain check on the natural marvel in the sky. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” she asked.
“No,” I breathed, my eyes fixed on her.
She threw a glance at me from the corner of her eye and noticed my staring. “You're not even looking,” she accused.
“Oh yes I am.”
She turned to me then, and allowed me to monopolize her absorbing eyes for the longest moment. “What?” she breathed, as a coy smile lit up her face.
“Do you really believe in signs?” I asked meaningfully.
She nodded. “Don't you?”
“My father wanted me to.” I considered thoughtfully. “But I never did. Not until a couple of days ago. Something happened back in my apartment that led me to this place—and now I'm here… with you.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Forget it! I'm probably just losing my mind.”
“You're not,” she comforted me, laying her hand over mine. “Tell me.”
I deep sigh escaped my lips, as an old familiar impulse made our hands fold together. I don't think either of us noticed it until it happened. “Do you remember our last day together?” I asked, trying to resort to memories to make my point.
She let out a cheerless sigh. “We were twelve, Victor—”
“Do you remember?” I insisted.
She looked into my eyes; her gaze was overwhelming. “Of course,” she said. “So many things happened that
“All right,” she blurted, wiping any lingering tears from her eyes, her smile bright again. “Enough about me! It's your turn. Tell me everything.” She stretched the word playfully, making me laugh.
“I'm afraid we're going to need a lot more Scotch for my story.”
“We'll make do.” She handed me the flask with a crooked smile and waited.
I tried to be as thorough as she wanted me to be with my story, although some facts were too painful for me to detail: Like my dad's final days in the hospital, and his funeral. I breezed through those as fast as I could. She did stop me for a moment, though, and gave me her condolences. I thanked her and moved things along. I'm sure she noticed my avoidance of the subject. But the truth was that I had already embarrassed myself enough in front of her that night to let her watch me break into tears, too. And I had suppressed so many through the years that I knew it wouldn't be a pretty sight, so...
Anyway, I did tell her about the accident and Xavier. She stopped me there, too, and gave me a rueful “I'm so sorry.”' But after all the doleful things were said, I tried to lighten the mood by talking about our accomplishments rather than our frustrations. In my case, I told her about my getting my bachelor's in physics and mathematics despite of my condition, and she told me about her years in the conservatory.
The hours flew by.
There was a moment of silence, after all of our talking, in which Yvette lay her head back against the tree and raised her eyes to the night sky. I, on the other hand, took advantage of her remoteness to admire her; she looked like a perfectly chiseled marble statue. I became so enthralled by her beauty that I didn't care anymore if she caught me staring. To see her was to love her—and I think… I wanted her to know.
Her sapphire eyes widened then, with a surprise that made her lips part, just enough to let out a small sigh. “Look!” she prompted, pointing at the night sky. Her request (more than my curiosity) made my eyes stray from her face. “Isn't it amazing?” she exclaimed, as our eyes beheld the extraordinary wonder of the Northern Lights. “I was told you couldn't see them this time of the year. It must be a sign or something!” She gazed in wonder at the fluttering bands of colors that glowed across the darkness.
I wondered, too; but I was wondering if my sign wasn't sitting right beside me rather than on the threshold of space. And though I'd never seen the magnificent aurora before, my eyes chose to move back to the mortal angel to my left, taking a rain check on the natural marvel in the sky. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” she asked.
“No,” I breathed, my eyes fixed on her.
She threw a glance at me from the corner of her eye and noticed my staring. “You're not even looking,” she accused.
“Oh yes I am.”
She turned to me then, and allowed me to monopolize her absorbing eyes for the longest moment. “What?” she breathed, as a coy smile lit up her face.
“Do you really believe in signs?” I asked meaningfully.
She nodded. “Don't you?”
“My father wanted me to.” I considered thoughtfully. “But I never did. Not until a couple of days ago. Something happened back in my apartment that led me to this place—and now I'm here… with you.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Forget it! I'm probably just losing my mind.”
“You're not,” she comforted me, laying her hand over mine. “Tell me.”
I deep sigh escaped my lips, as an old familiar impulse made our hands fold together. I don't think either of us noticed it until it happened. “Do you remember our last day together?” I asked, trying to resort to memories to make my point.
She let out a cheerless sigh. “We were twelve, Victor—”
“Do you remember?” I insisted.
She looked into my eyes; her gaze was overwhelming. “Of course,” she said. “So many things happened that
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