In the Angel's Touch / Unfinished Business

I wrote this for this week's Light and Shade Challenge.

Photo Courtesy of the Light and Shade Challenge

"In the Angel's Touch / Unfinished Business"

     The oak was the largest she'd ever seen, she always thought.  It was beautiful and wise-looking; its branches were spindly, and its trunk twisted upward into the boughs in such an intriguing way.
     The bench beneath its shade was such a comforting spot--one she visited often.  She sat quietly, alone, staring across the well-tended, fenced-in yard.  The birds' song and the wisp of peaceful wind were the only sounds surrounding her.

     "It's peaceful, isn't it?" he said, interrupting her daydreaming.  She didn't bother looking over at him; she kept her gaze on the wind-bent flowers, her thoughts on the calming rustle of the leaves above her.  

     "Do you know why they call this the Angel Yard, Lucy?" he questioned softly.  

     A quiet sigh was the only acknowledgment she'd offer--a subtle raise of her chest and shoulders.  

     "Well," he continued cheerfully, "some say that they can feel a presence here, the embrace of their loved ones passed."  

     Lucy's heart slowed, feeling heavier.  

     "Some say, they've talked to them, even seen them."

     She sighed, heavier this time, wishing that were true.  "You know I don't believe in things like that," she said dryly.  She could feel him staring at her, but wouldn't look over; she didn't have to; she knew his reaction to her disbelief all too well.  "Only the weak believe that way," she added, "those who can't deal with life and its reality."

     His voice was sad sounding, a hopelessness plaguing it.  "Yet you've seen it so many times with your own beautiful eyes."  He reached out carefully and rested his hand softly atop hers.  She flinched inwardly, not allowing him to notice.  

     She said simply, "I see what my heart wants me to see, nothing more."  Nowadays, her voice was a dead, monotonous sort of drone, not at all oozing with the buzzing sweetness it used to.

     "Faith is for everyone, Lucy," he reminded her.  "Even the stubborn."  He squeezed her hand tighter, as if he could convince her with just a touch.  "Some seek proof but never find it, but you... proof came straight to you; you didn't have to look.  Your proof is right here."  He pulled her hand into his lap, his fingers stroking hers, desperate to make his point.  

     "You're just a figment of my own desperate desires."

     "You don't believe that."

     "I do," Lucy argued.  "The mind is a very powerful thing."

     It was quiet again, only for a moment before he spoke softly into her ear.  "I love you, Lucy."

     He smiled sadly at her internal struggle with her faith; he'd seen that confusion in her eyes so many times before.  He'd always known he'd found Lucy for a reason.  He was always her strength and he knew how hard it'd been for her since he'd gone. 

      She sucked in a composing breath, tears welled in her eyes, chest tight, and she finally looked at him.  She squeezed his fingers in hers, and a smile full of freedom and relief replaced her pain... and his too as he faded away.


--C.R.JENNINGS