Page 9 of Fallen Angel
Chapter Four
Angel sat with her knees curled into her chest on the cushioned seat of her bay window—the one amazing feature in her Dorchester studio apartment, that and the old claw-foot tub in the bathroom. The rest of the place was outdated with radiator heat that snapped in the winter and windows that whistled when the wind blew, inviting the heat or cold inside.
The kitchen was a cubby with a two-burner stove and mini-fridge—not that she cooked. She spent all day at work baking. The last thing she wanted to do when she got home was stand in front of a hot stove. Typically, she ate raw fruits, veggies with hummus, tuna fish sandwiches, and eggs. She was actually a bit of a rock star when it came to cooking eggs, but a failure at the rest.
Having left home at sixteen, she never learned things like cooking and establishing good credit. Not that her mother would have taught her to cook—she would have thought the task beneath them. Still, Angel loved really good food. Twice a week she bought hot, prepared meals from the market on the corner. They made amazing meatloaf burgers and baked ziti.
She sipped her black coffee and looked down at the people on the sidewalks below. People watching was one of her favorite pastimes. When she wasn’t at work, she was usually alone—just her in her little apartment. Somehow, watching people walking together, holding hands, even arguing made her feel less isolated.
Just then, a young girl with streaming blond hair, lovingly flanked by her parents, came into view. Angel couldn’t help smiling as the little girl’s mom and dad held her hands and swung her feet up in the air, only to touch down a moment later.
“One, two, three,” Angel whispered, and on cue the little girl flew up into the air again.
A pang cut straight through Angel’s heart as she rested her head back and looked up at her ugly, white popcorn ceiling. Once upon a time, she had felt the security of being loved and protected. But that was before the veneer of her existence shattered and truth reared its ugly head.
“Not now,” she said out loud, shaking her head to dispel the past from her mind. Right now, she had present day problems to contend with.
It was the end of her “weekend”, and she had yet to figure out what she was going to do about her lack of a car. Wednesday and Thursday were her customary days off. She might have gone up north and stayed in a quiet, cheap motel off the I-95 in Maine or New Hampshire. Surrounded by trees and birdsong, her mind was clear. She could focus. But without a car, she had to remain shut away in her apartment. Now, she was trapped in the city. Not that she disliked city life. It was the suburbs she couldn’t handle—the in-between places.
“Come on, Angel. Stay focused,” she groaned aloud. Surely, her circumstances were not so grave as to defy solution. She simply needed to figure out how she was going to get to and from work.
Bake Off was in the North End, which was historically an Italian neighborhood. The owner, Suzi, with her frizzy blond hair and pale, freckled skin, was about as Italian as a bottle of ketchup, but she did make amazing cannoli. Unfortunately, it would take Angel two hours to walk there. Not only was that unreasonable and exhausting, it was also dangerous, considering many of her shifts started at three o’clock in the morning. The bus wasn’t an option. The last ride out of the city to Dorchester was close to midnight, and then the bus stopped until well after she was already supposed to be at work.
You could always take the subway.
A cold chill shot up her spine.
First—she argued with herself—the T stopped running at 2AM. Second—she didn’t ride the subway.
The fact that her brain would even bring up the subway was evidence that she was her own worst enemy. She grabbed a pillow, squeezed it close, and rested her cheek against the softness.
She couldn’t go down there, beneath the city, not after staring down the barrel of a gun.
She pressed her eyes tight against the memory of sitting by herself on a bench, waiting for the next train. The air had been hot and thick and smelled of sulfur. She didn’t hear him coming. Everything happened so fast. She bent down to dust flour off the top of her chef clogs. When she sat up straight, a man appeared in front of her and shoved her hard against the wall. She fell off the bench and sprawled on the ground. An instant later, he hovered above her, the barrel of a gun pressed right between her eyes. He grabbed her purse and fumbled in her pockets for her phone while she lay paralyzed with heart-pounding fear.
And then he was gone, and so was any confidence she had in public transportation.
She wiped at the tears that had pushed beyond the confines of her lids.
“I need to get a grip.”
She sat up and swung her legs around to stand, then walked the few steps to her “kitchen” to warm up her coffee.
A taxi was out of the question. At the moment, she didn’t have the fare, even if she rolled quarters. In a few days, her check would be deposited into her account, but she couldn’t afford to take a taxi to and from work on a regular basis.
“I’ll just have to walk,” she said out loud, but then all she could picture was Landon Street, which would be hard to avoid. Landon turned into a virtual frat house every morning at two—not that she had ever been in the basement of a fraternity. She hadn’t even finished high school. But her friend Matty from work went to college, and he loved to regale her with tales of beer and mud-ridden basements packed with wasted and obnoxious co-eds. Although entertaining, his stories had done little to rid her mind of her distrust of men.
She sagged back onto her couch. It was hopeless. She should have just taken the loaner from Ethan.
For the hundredth time that day, exquisite blue eyes came to the fore of her mind.
Ethan Calloway was a name she would never forget. Just thinking about him made her palms sweat. She set her mug down on a trunk she had found at a yard sale, which held extra blankets and her favorite movies and doubled as a coffee table.
His body had been so close to hers, and his eyes had been so warm with concern when he offered her a replacement car. He had certainly seemed sincere.
She shook her head, resisting the temptation to trust him.
Just the idea of accepting Ethan’s charity set her heart to race, but not in a good way.
