Earth Angel Read Online Free Page B

they were cars and traffic lights and pedestrians on the street or strings and levers on a harp. She could sense where each vehicle was, feel it in her fingertips, feel a tug on the invisible strings that linked her to each driver when someone was about to come to a sudden stop or change lanes without using their turn signal, and she adjusted her speed accordingly, smoothly weaving around obstacles at well above the speed limit, one element in a coordinated whole. It wasn’t mind reading; it was an innate knowing . She didn’t understand how she did it, but she never questioned it.
    Her driving mojo didn’t carry over to other aspects of her life, but that was fine. Life without surprises would be boring. She thought about that when she arrived for her audition at the Sea Salt Hotel and Spa and wheeled in her five-foot-tall, 36-string harp and saw who was there to greet her.
    It was the woman from the hospital. She no longer had dark circles under her eyes or that appalling look of utter exhaustion, but it was definitely her. The despair was still there, lurking in her eyes, weighing down her shoulders, but it was so well hidden that anyone who wasn’t paying attention would think she was doing fine. Unlike the last time she’d seen her, her spotless jeans and unwrinkled emerald silk blouse under a matching jacket—besides bringing out the green of her eyes—did not look like they’d been slept in, and her short brown hair was styled into adorable pixie spikes. For a lot of people, a well-groomed exterior was a sign that they’d returned to normal. For this woman, she suspected it was an act.
    “I’m Gwynne Abernathy,” the woman said, not mentioning their previous run-in. “Can I carry something for you?”
    Abby handed her the low wooden stool hooked over her wrist and followed her with her harp through the lobby and down a hallway.
    “You’re the one who recommended me for the job?” The hotel owner had mentioned Gwynne’s name on the phone, but Abby hadn’t recognized it. She’d dismissed the minor mystery as unimportant, since every year she performed for thousands of wedding guests whose names she’d never know.
    But this wasn’t an anonymous wedding guest. This was… her. The one she’d been obsessing about for weeks, wondering if she really had ordered those angels out of that hospital room, or if it had all been a weird coincidence.
    She wasn’t expecting it to be her. The woman hadn’t even heard her play. And it wasn’t like they’d talked, or made a connection. On Abby’s part, yeah. Considering all the time she’d spent mulling over their awkward encounter, she’d have to say they made a connection. But on Gwynne Abernathy’s part? Doubtful. But that was okay. If it got her an audition, she’d take it. And maybe afterward she’d pull her aside and ask her what had happened in that hospital room.
    “Thanks for putting in a good word for me,” Abby said.
    “I’m surprised Kira mentioned it.”
    The hallway opened into an archway that led into a spacious lounge where Gwynne set down her harp stool. The room was uncluttered and painted white, designed to draw your eye to the hundreds of glass balls on the ceiling, each one lit from within, glowing with the pale blues and greens of sea glass. Glass pebbles in the same range of colors tiled the far wall, and an adjacent wall was painted with a mural of a mermaid sunning on a rock. The beautiful design barely registered, though, because the room was swirling with angels. They spun around her and Gwynne, unafraid to come close, and as one swooped toward her face, Abby tripped on her long skirt. She caught her balance on the hand truck her harp was on, leaning on it harder than she would have liked but managing not to jar the harp.
    “Are you all right?” Gwynne asked.
    “Yup, no problem.” Abby spoke with a practiced glibness that came from years of denying sights that were clear as day to her but seemingly invisible to everyone