Sparks Fly [Book Two in the "Fire And Lighting" Series]

Chapter Fifty-One- "Angel" In Blue Jeans.

Before dinner, as the sun sets, he decides to take a walk. He wanders around, and inevitably winds up at Scarlett’s old house. The remains of the house have long since been removed, but he knows the stump of the willow tree still remained in the back yard.

He rounds the corner to the back, and there she is. The girl. She is just standing there, looking at it. He steels himself, and takes a step forward.

“I woke up in somebody's arms
Strange and so familiar
Where nothing could go wrong
Barely alive or nearly dead
Somehow awake in my own bed
And there you are
Like a highway headed my way
Life is but a dream
I was shot down by your love
My angel in blue jeans…”

He takes a deep breath.

“Miss?” he enquires, trying his best to sound calm.

She turns around and looks at him. Tears sparkling in her eyes. Then she speaks in a soft, quiet tone of voice.

“What happened here?” she asks, wiping under her glasses at her eyes.

He is shocked. He expected her to tell him to go away, or ask angrily what he wanted, not ask questions and cry.

“There was a fire.” He replies simply. “The tree caught fire too somehow, and it died. They cut it down.” His gaze diverts to the ground.

“An old friend of mine, Scarlett Ray, lived here once, but she disappeared after the fire. The tree meant so much to her, it would break her heart if she knew.”

~~Willow~~

My tree is gone. My house is gone. My family is gone, but maybe…

“Who are you?” I asked him, both desperately wanting and not wanting to hear the answer.

“My name is Connor Grace, miss.”

~~Connor~~

She didn’t reply. She just stood there, and wiped tears out of her eyes.

“What’s yours?” I asked her, quietly.

“Willow.” She said.

“Did you know my friend too?” I couldn’t help it. I just had to ask her.

“Yes, I did.” Willow whispered, almost inaudibly. I could tell she was very upset. I had to do something.

“Well, Miss Willow, I can tell you’re upset, and probably from out of town. Maybe you could come back with me and have dinner at my house with my parents and I. My mom always says it’s impossible to be sad while eating my dad’s cooking. Besides, any friend of Scarlett’s is a friend of mine.”

~~Willow~~

“Okay.” I replied, and followed him back. When we got there, I was “introduced” to his parents, who were warm and welcoming, delighted their son had made a new friend.

Dinner was quiet. I didn’t talk much, I listened mostly. Connor’s parents told stories from when he was younger, which made him splutter in protest, but I knew most of them. When I thought no one was looking, I snuck glances at him. He was tall now, with slight muscle toning, and his voice was clear and rich. His hazel eyes showed so much emotion when he talked. It struck me that my childhood friend was very handsome now. After dinner, Mr. Grace broke out the photo albums, and we adjourned to the living room with plates of apple pie.

“So dear,” Mrs. Grace suddenly piped up, after about fifteen minutes, “I hear you knew little Scarlett Ray?” her face was pleasant and friendly, and she had no idea what she had just unleashed.

“I had no idea I would be saying this so soon,” I replied.

I cast my eyes down at the scraps of apple pie on the plate in my lap. It would have had to be said sooner or later now that I had found them, better to say now and let time fix it.

“You’re going to find this very hard to believe. But…”

A silence fell over the well maintained living room.

“I’m Scarlett, Mrs. Grace. I’ve been searching for home for a long while, but I’m back now.”

The silence thickened. The Grace’s were too stunned to speak or move, but there was skepticism.

“I can prove it,” I said, “when I was young I played with your son in the willow tree that burned with my house, my brother had Leukemia, and when he died I wouldn’t speak for a month until Connor helped me. We said we were going to build a company better that Bruce Way-“

Suddenly I felt arms around me.

“Oh, Scarlett!” Mrs. Grace sobbed, “It is you, after all these years!”

I awkwardly patted her on the back. I hadn’t expected her to believe me so quickly. Suddenly, I heard footsteps race up the stairs and the slamming of a door. Connor had left. My heart sunk.

“Don’t fret little lady.” Mr. Grace told me, using the nickname he used for me when I was young. He patted my shoulder. “He’s just trying to cope.”

“After you disappeared, it tore his poor little heart in two, and he was never quite the same,” Mrs. Grace declared tearfully, blotting her eyes with a handkerchief.

I didn’t say anything. I tried to get up and leave, but Mr. Grace stopped me, a slight limp in his step.

“Now, now, where do you think you’re going? It’s late out. You’re our guest, and you can stay here while you look for a new home.”

His tone was very final, and I knew I didn’t have much choice. Showing back up after years and leaving again without notice would be cruel.

“Danke,” I muttered gratefully, remembering that Mrs. Grace’s family hailed from Germany, and they spoke German when Connor’s relatives came for a visit. I thought it would be polite to speak what little German I knew from going on missions. Mrs. Grace, however, found it so sweet and thoughtful, she cried again.

"You're an angel dear," she declared, dabbing her eyes again, and then proceeded to show me into the cozy little guest room.

As I curled up under the lavender scented sheets of the bed, watched the stars from my window, and began to drift off, I wondered if I deserved to be called an angel.