“You poor kid. And the cops?”
“Busted ’em. These guys, Mitch and Dan, tried to say I left them there on purpose and even that I set up the whole job. I didn’t do anything, but you know the way things work...” She paused to wave at the surroundings. “I had to take a plea and testify against them. At least they’re going to be down for a long time, and I only have two more weeks. Can’t wait!”
“Angel, honey,” he said with concern. “Can you wait? Do you think you can handle it until you get out?”
She laughed. “After a year and a half, I can do two weeks standing on my head.”
He squeezed her hand. “What then? Do you have family—”
“My folks don’t want me, squeezy bear. They pretty much disowned me. My brother Gordie would help if he could, but they’ve already got a full house. Anyway, don’t worry about my problems. I’ll be fine. At least I’ll be free.”
That called for a definitive move. Fred sprinted to the edge of what could be a cliff and jumped off, saying, “You can stay with me, Angel. We can be together.”
He heard the loudspeaker again — his pass number with some others, then, “Say goodbye to your inmate.”
“I’ll come back next weekend and—”
“No, don’t. Another rule, you know. We can go over all the details the next time we talk. Oh, I can’t stand to let you go!” She stood up, popped the last of the beef jerky into her mouth, and then, laughing, spit it back into the wrapper it came in. “I know that’s gross, honey, but there’s just no damned way you can chew it but slow. Now come over here and say goodbye.”
It was a great kiss, even if it tasted bad.
On the day of her release, Angel didn’t want Fred to pick her up and said she’d stay with her brother Gordie Bacon’s family until the weekend, and then she’d move over to Fred’s for a while, if that was okay with him. Sure, he said.
On Saturday morning, Gordie backed a small rental van into the driveway with the “few things” Angel mentioned. He jumped out of the driver’s seat and opened the back. As Fred went outside, he looked at Gordie. Buff, but not too. Outdoor tan. The kind of guy who always looked like he needed a shave, which some women unaccountably found attractive.
They shook, Fred saying, “Hey, good to meet you, man. Give you a hand?”
“No need, but I tell you what. Angel’s dying to show you her new hair,” he warned, gesturing with his head.
Fred trotted around to the passenger side, and out stepped the new Angel, with jet-black, straight, chin-length hair and a black-and-brown checked sundress. She flew straight into his arms. “Squeezy bear, I sure hope you like—”
“There’s nothing about you I don’t like,” he murmured into her new hair, which smelled like flowers, and confidently began their long and satisfying first real kiss. He heard the front screen door slam behind her brother. Fred, who had managed to lose another 2.7 pounds, was feeling pretty wonderful with Angel right there in his arms. He wasn’t really into making out in public, but when he heard a mower switched off, by instinct he opened one eye, amused to see his cop pal Manny had stopped cutting his lawn across the street to openly gawk, grin, and give him a thumbs-up, which Fred stealthily returned behind Angel’s back. One arm around her shoulders, he steered her into her new home.
Gordie had helped himself to a beer — at 9 a.m. He had one of the ESPN channels on. He could have asked or apologized, but instead said, “Either of you want one?” like he was the host and they were the strangers.
When the beer ran out hours later, Fred did end up helping with the few boxes, which Angel said to leave in the garage because she couldn’t deal with them yet. One was light like clothes, another clinky like dishes. There was also a rusty stationary bike and a hibachi with cobwebs on the grill. She’d brought a traveling bag with her for the first few days, she said.
Gordie, with an exaggerated leer, wished the lovebirds goodnight.
That night, Fred offered Angel the guest bedroom, not wanting to push too hard, but she let out a musical giggle and started to undress him. They made love, and it was amazing how she enjoyed it and came so much and had so many ways to keep him going. The next morning she insisted on preparing scrambled eggs and toast for him. She was bright and perky, but he was pleasantly spent, wanting to go back to bed, rest up, and start again. He knew she wanted that too.
Over breakfast, he swallowed a big bite of eggs, wiped his mouth with the paper towel she’d put by his plate, and said, “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Oh, baby, I don’t have any secrets from you. I’m fallin’ in love with you. That’s my secret, and now you know.”
Fred forgot what he’d meant to ask and sat frozen, amazed, the paper towel hanging from his hand.
Fred took ten days off that first month, and nobody at work bothered him with calls or e-mail. He’d never felt better.
Things were still good with Angel, even if it was tough sometimes to train her where to put things away, do cleaning in the correct order, or understand that energy-conscious people turned out lights when they left rooms and set their thermostats at seventy-eight degrees. Though the summer sun beat down and the nights were warm, Angel didn’t like going outside, day or night. Backyard barbecue was fine, but no walks or errands. At first he thought great sex had turned her into a homebody, but one evening when they were watching TV, a car backed into the driveway to turn around, and instantly she was very still, like she’d been on Mother’s Day. A morning or two later, she’d gone into the bedroom when the UPS guy came.
“What’s the matter, my angel? Is something—”
“Nothing, I’m just weird. Not used to being free yet, I guess. Just ignore it.”
But the way she said it, Fred knew she was frightened. He needed to talk to her about it soon.
The next weekend, Angel came in while Fred was on the Internet and caught him looking at engagement rings. She just bent over and kissed him, getting into it, and drew him away to bed. He didn’t even have time to pop the question. She wanted to get married soon, and to take his name.
“Speaking of names,” he sighed contentedly, remembering the flaw in his happy life, “you’ve never been married before, right?”
“Not me. I was waiting for the right one.”
“So how come you’re Winkler and he’s Bacon?”
She paused. “That’s because he’s my stepbrother. We have different fathers.”
“You mean half-brother?”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.”
“Now that explains why you don’t look anything alike, huh.”
If they were getting married, he had to lay down the law about Gordie, their constant guest since his wife Fiona started working nights. Fred hadn’t even met her, after a month! Gordie, being drunk most of the time and lazy all of the time, ended up on the couch — a lot — and left in the mornings after Fred went to work. He was a conceited asshole, but worse, a cheapskate who never once brought anything to share until Fred cut back on the Bud supply and ran out of beer twice in a row. Even though Gordie had to walk to the supermarket and pay for more himself, he kept missing the point. Angel and Fred hardly had a minute alone. Gordie was a nuisance.
On Monday, Fred went to downtown Santa Ana to pick up the form for a marriage license. While he was there, he decided to look up the transcript of those guys’ trials. He remembered their first names, Mitch — probably Mitchell — and Dan/Daniel, and he had Angel’s full name and inmate number. He gave this information to a nice middle-aged woman with a motherly need to help him, bless her. She ticked away at her keyboard for a while, found the last names, and looked them up.