Page 32 of Angel's Fall
“Sit. Have some tea, you need it,” her father ordered. Christine poured for him first and then herself, taking a place in the chair next to him. Should she have sat at his feet, like in the old days? She wanted so much to look into his dark eyes and count the wrinkles around them again.
“Are you—”
“Drink.” Her father nodded to the cup in Christine’s hand and she did as she was told. “I don’t like this Wagner nonsense. Your teacher certainly shouldn’t have you singing it after so many exertions today.” He made a tsking sound over his tea and Christine looked down in shame.
“Erik thinks I can do it.”
“The role doesn’t suit you. He’s asking too much.” Her father sighed and shook his head. “Your angel is meant to protect you. Not ruin you.”
“He’s not—”
“That’s not even to mention these silly romantic notions he’s inspired.” His tone was familiar. Christine had endured this conversation many times before, when her father had warned her to stay away from Raoul because he would break her heart. “He’ll break your heart too, when you lose him.”
“He won’t – I won’t lose him,” Christine stammered, staring at her father’s worn shoes. They’d walked so many long miles, those shoes. He’d always hated replacing them and said it was about finding the right pair and not that they could never afford it.
“As long as you keep himhere, keep him a dream, you won’t,” her father answered, certain and calm. “He’s not real now and that’s good. Keep him an angel, like he was meant to be. Not a man. Never a husband.”
Christine looked down at her hands. Where was her ring? Where had it gone? She had promised to keep it safe...
“Does he know – why you can’t be a real wife? You should tell him. It might make him feel better,” her father went on, and Christine felt a fresh stab of shame. “It’s better for your career. For the music.”
“My career isn’t—”
“Look at me, my child.” Christine’s eyes shot up. Her father’s face was no longer warm and vital. He was growing pale and thin, wasting away before her eyes all over again. “The music is what is real, Christine, and it’s all that matters. That’s what will be there when he’s gone.”
“Not again, please,” Christine begged, reaching for her father’s hand as it turned to dust and his face became a corpse’s above her with wide, worried eyes. Golden eyes. “No!”
“Christine!”
She gasped awake to the reality of Erik’s hands on her arms, shaking her. She threw herself against his chest, a sob tearing from her throat. “Oh God.”
“It was a nightmare,” Erik cooed in her ear, stroking her hair as she wept. He was so solid and warm as he held her, the living thrum of his heart against her ear the most important sound in the world.
“Erik.” His name was all she could manage as she pulled him to her tighter. If she held on hard enough, he’d stay. She could feel his ring on her finger again, solid and heavy as a chain keeping her in the here and now.
“I’m here,” replied her angel. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real.”
She couldn’t tell him why those words drew more tears from her eyes.
