When a fatal car accident sends Angela Rhodes floating toward heaven, she discovers the hard way that there is, in fact, life after death. But back in the land of the living, she’s left behind some unfinished business: a husband and daughter.
At heaven’s gate, Angela is granted the opportunity to look after those she loves, but she must first prove herself worthy of such a responsibility. With the help of Al, her handsome spirit guide, Angela embarks on a journey through time that allows her to untangle the web of her many lives.
As she weaves together the pieces of her past, Angela hopes to find the key to everlasting peace. But, even more, she hopes to be able to pass it onto the family she left behind.
When a fatal car accident sends Angela Rhodes floating toward heaven, she discovers the hard way that there is, in fact, life after death. But back in the land of the living, she’s left behind some unfinished business: a husband and daughter.
At heaven’s gate, Angela is granted the opportunity to look after those she loves, but she must first prove herself worthy of such a responsibility. With the help of Al, her handsome spirit guide, Angela embarks on a journey through time that allows her to untangle the web of her many lives.
As she weaves together the pieces of her past, Angela hopes to find the key to everlasting peace. But, even more, she hopes to be able to pass it onto the family she left behind.
eBookDigital Original (Digital Original)
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
When a fatal car accident sends Angela Rhodes floating toward heaven, she discovers the hard way that there is, in fact, life after death. But back in the land of the living, she’s left behind some unfinished business: a husband and daughter.
At heaven’s gate, Angela is granted the opportunity to look after those she loves, but she must first prove herself worthy of such a responsibility. With the help of Al, her handsome spirit guide, Angela embarks on a journey through time that allows her to untangle the web of her many lives.
As she weaves together the pieces of her past, Angela hopes to find the key to everlasting peace. But, even more, she hopes to be able to pass it onto the family she left behind.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781626813298 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Diversion Books |
| Publication date: | 09/01/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 327 |
| File size: | 5 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
"Where should I begin?"
"It's always been my opinion, Angela, that the beginning is a good place."
"You don't need to be sarcastic."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to be. But when you've had this job as long as I have, you've seen and heard it all. Surprise me, if you can."
"Okay! You want surprises? I'll begin with the night that looked like the end."
"But it wasn't?"
"Pay attention and you'll find out."
Colored lights flickered and swirled on the heavenly screen as it warmed up to tell Angel's tale.
It was a hot, stormy June night — rain coming down in silver sheets and lightning doing a sultry tango across the sky. Perfect! Like a scene out of one of those romantic old black-and-white movies from the forties. Bogie might have played Jim's part, with Rita Hay-worth eagerly anticipating his proposal. But if this had really been a movie, instead of the garage apartment just off the college campus in Maryland, Jim and Angel would have found themselves in a hotel room in Paris or London, or maybe in a thatch-roofed hut on some exotic island in the South Pacific. The night itself had the feel of the tropic of Cancer — humid, languid, and crackling with emotional tension.
Spring quarter and graduation were over. Summer school had yet to begin. Angel planned to start work on her master's in art history come September, but her summer plans called for her to leave the next day. She was supposed to drive to Boothbay Harbor, Maine, where she'd accepted a position as arts and crafts instructor and lifeguard to the adolescent summer campers at Lake Tangawanda. The job had seemed ideal when she'd been accepted back in January — part work, part play. But that was before her advanced English Lit class ... before Jim ... before love.
And love was the main thing on her mind these days. For the first time in her life, Angela Gentry was totally, rapturously, marvelously in love.
The bedside phone rang just as she slipped into a filmy white Indonesian cotton caftan. Blindly, she fought her way out through the armholes and snatched up the receiver, her heart pounding. What if it was Jim with some last-minute meeting that would cancel their date? Their last date for at least three months.
"Hello?"
"Angel? It's your mother. I just wanted to touch base with you before you leave for Maine."
"Hi, Mom! I was going to call you later."
"Is everything all right? You sound out of breath."
"Everything's fine, Mom. I was just getting dressed."
"Another date with Dr. Rhodes?"
"Could be my last with him," Angel bemoaned.
"He still hasn't proposed? What can the man be thinking?"
"Maybe he's thinking that he doesn't want to get married."
"That's absurd, dear. Every man wants a wife, whether he realizes it or not."
"No, Mom. I don't think it works that way nowadays. I think some men just want a friend Could be Jim's one of those."
"Well, your time in Maine should make him realize how much he needs you. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know."
"Oh, Mom, I'm so tempted to phone in sick tomorrow — sick for the whole summer. I don't want to leave. Not like this."
"Maybe he's only waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect mood."
"Well, if that's what he wants, I've sure set the stage for him tonight. I've cleaned this apartment to within an inch of its life. If he doesn't open a closet or look under the bed, he'll probably award me the good housekeeper's badge for the month. I have candles all over, I got that old Johnny Mathis album he loves, and I've made a perfect dinner."
"My crab cakes?"
"Your crab cakes, Mom."
"Then he won't be able to resist."
"Hey, I don't want him to propose to the crab cakes. I want him to ask me to marry him!"
"Have you slept with him yet?"
"Moth-er! What kind of a question is that to ask your own daughter?"
"A meaningful question on a meaningful topic. Your father and I never realized how perfect we were together until after —" "I don't want to hear this. Okay?"
"You young people today complicate things so. Why, back in the sixties we learned to go with the flow, let it all hang out"
Small groan. "I know, Mom. 'Make love not war.'" "Exactly, darling. So why complicate love? Put flowers in your hair, beads around your neck, and dance barefoot for him. It works every time."
Angel smiled in spite of herself. The thought of her pillar-of-the-community parents as flower children of the sixties, living in a commune, staging sit-ins, and marching for peace, simply did not compute.
"Barefoot, eh? At least you didn't suggest I dance for him naked."
"Only as a last resort, dear. But I wouldn't dismiss that entirely as a possibility, if all else fails."
"Mother, I am shocked!" She wasn't really. Little her mother ever said or did shocked Angel anymore. Oh, yes, there was one thing. Shirley Gentry, comfortably entrenched in her middle years, had actually mentioned to her daughter a few weeks ago that she was toying with the idea of getting a tattoo. Now that had been shocking!
"Chin up, Angel! If he's still holding back tonight, why don't you just ask him? Some men need a little help out of the starting gate."
"He loves me, Mom — he's told me so."
"Of course he does! I never thought for a moment that he didn't. So the two of you should be married. It's time."
"I think he may be gun shy."
"What do you mean, dear?"
"There's been some scuttlebutt around campus that Jim has a tragic love affair in his past. A woman he was going to marry several years ago left him standing at the altar, and he almost went nuts afterward."
"That's nonsense. Why, I don't believe a word of it, and you shouldn't either. Any woman who had a shot at Jim Rhodes would have to be deranged to let him slip from her clutches."
"How poetically put, Mom. But I think it's true. He's mentioned something about her on a couple of occasions. No details. Just remarks in passing. I heard the reason she left him was a psychic told her they were all wrong for each other and they'd be miserable together and, if she married Jim, she would miss out on marrying the man who was the real love of her life."
"What drivel! How could anyone believe such utter nonsense? We'd be in a sad state of affairs if we all had only one mate who could make us happy. What if you're born and raised in the States while your 'love' is a Russian or something? Now just explain to me how that is supposed to work out."
"I don't know." Angel sighed. "I just know that I love Jim and I want to marry him and spend the rest of my life with him."
"Finally! You've said ever since you were a little girl that you never planned to get married. That you were going to be either an exotic dancer with many men or a recluse with no men."
"Hey, I was just a kid when I used to make those cracks. I can't believe you even remember that silly stuff."
"When you have a child, Angel, you'll understand. A mother doesn't soon forget a statement like that coming out of her daughter's mouth — especially when it comes out at the Thanksgiving dinner table with the whole family in attendance. Why, Great-aunt Carrie nearly choked on her breast meat!"
Angela giggled. "I was just making a play for attention. That was the year Cousin Tory was born and everyone was making over her so. 'Oh, what a dear little baby! So sweet and pretty. Sure to grow up a beauty!' And me with a front tooth gone, skinny legs, and frizzy hair. I was jealous. Besides, I was only five years old. Kids that age are liable to say anything. I never meant it."
"Now you tell me, after I've worried so all these years." Shirley Gentry uttered a long, martyred sigh into the phone, then quickly recovered. "So, what about Jim? Do you think you can make him pop the question tonight?"
"Mom, please! These are the eighties, remember? Women don't play those sorts of games any longer. We're upfront and straight with guys. We're equals. Modern women don't connive and manipulate. If we have something to say, we just say it."
"Fine, dear! Just say it, then. 'Jim, you're in love with me and I'm in love with you, so I think the only sensible thing for us to do is get married. We have my parents' blessing. When should we set the date?'"
"Oh, right!" Angel rolled her eyes. She could just see herself delivering that little speech to Dr. James Randolph Rhodes. "Listen, Mom, I've really got to go. Jim will be here any minute. Love to Dad. I'll call when I get to Maine. Promise!"
"You'd better call me after Jim proposes tonight. I'm going to wait up."
Angel smiled. "You bet I'll call if that happens! Hey, I love you, Mom."
"Of course you do, darling. I'm your mother; you're supposed to."
"But I would anyway. You're a peach!"
"Oh, Angel, don't get mushy. I'm all dressed to go to the club for the golf banquet. You'll get me teary-eyed and have my makeup running."
"You two have fun."
"And you'll call me later?"
"If I have news. 'Bye now."
In spite of the need for haste, Angel sat staring at the phone for a few moments, mulling over the conversation with her mother. A mischievous grin stole over her face. She reached into her jewelry box on the dresser and rummaged around for an old string of glass beads she'd had since she was a kid. She draped the glittery strand around her neck.
"Just for fun," she murmured.
She lifted the hem of her gold-threaded caftan and glanced at her bare feet, deciding to leave them that way. Next she reached over to the vase on her bedside table and broke a daisy from its stem. She pinned it in her hair and smiled at her image in the mirror.
The doorbell rang just then.
"Here goes, Mom. Wish me luck!"
One final glance around told Angel that everything was ready. Candles nickering, table set, spicy supper perfuming the air, and an old album from the fifties, Johnny Mathis's Open Fire, Two Guitars, lending romantic atmosphere as the sad-sweet strains of "I'll Be Seeing You" wafted softly through the apartment.
A little shiver ran through Angel just before she opened the door. "This is it, kid," she told herself. "Better make it good."
No fantasy Angel had ever dreamed up could have prepared her for the look, the essence, the powerfully charged reality of Jim Rhodes when she opened the door. Droplets of rain glistened like diamonds in his dark hair and beard. Behind him, in the distance, lightning flashed through bruised clouds, silhouetting his tall form against the turbulent night sky. His raincoat was open, and his white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, gleamed liked blue neon in the darkness. Her breath caught when she saw the glow of his smile.
He leaned down and kissed her — softly, sweetly — then pressed gifts into her outstretched arms. He'd brought a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, along with a note that read simply, "And thou."
Best of all, he brought love. Angel could feel it, a tangible force between them as his eyes moved over her — touching, caressing — his warm gaze lingering an instant here, another there. After a moment frozen in time, he reached up and stroked her cheek.
"You look wonderful, sweetheart."
Angel was still fighting to find her voice when Jim slid his hand from her cheek, under her rampant red curls, and around to cup the soft nape of her neck. Kneading her warm flesh gently, he drew her closer, closer still, so close she could feel his breath on her face. Her lips parted. Then his mouth covered hers. It was a beautiful kiss, so light and sweet that it radiated his warmth all through her body, then settled with a bright glow in her heart.
Angel came away breathless, trembling.
"You taste even better than you look." His words were a husky whisper. Smoothing the tip of his tongue over his lips, he considered, then said, "Honey, a hint of lime, and, of course, ambrosia."
Fighting to control her rampaging heart, Angel took Jim's arm and urged him into the house. For a time, all she could do was cling to him, staring up at his smile and at the dancing lights in his silvery-gray eyes. As perfect as this moment was, she couldn't keep from thinking about tomorrow night. Twenty-four hours from now many miles would separate them. Her heart twisted at the thought.
With some determination, Angel forced all gloom from her mind. Right now, they were as close as two people in love could be, both physically and emotionally. She meant to keep it that way for the next few hours.
Angel set the bread and wine on the table, then turned back to Jim. He stared at her, his eyes reflecting the candlelight glowing behind her. Then he puckered his lips and let out a long, low whistle.
"What is it?" Angel asked.
"You!" Jim tilted his head and rubbed a hand back and forth over his forehead, a familiar gesture that meant he was amazed, puzzled, or thinking things through. "It's you, darling. I've never seen you this way before."
"What way?" Angel warmed through and through, anticipating some extravagant compliment. Jim was a man who wore his feelings on his sleeve, but he rarely put them into words. She had only to look at his face to know when she had pleased him. But since he voiced his private pleasures and emotions so seldom, vocal praise always came as a special delight. A gift from on high.
He didn't disappoint her. "That white gown and the shimmer of light from the candles on the gold threads ..." He traced one finger down the bodice of her caftan. Angel caught her breath. "Your pretty beads ..." He lifted the strand from her breast and rolled the glassy baubles between his fingers, tugging her gently toward him. Angel quivered. "The flower in your hair ..." He caressed the velvety petals, then let his fingers slide through her long, bright-as-flame hair. Angel stood very still, feeling an exotic heat course through her blood. She closed her eyes and let her tongue glide out to moisten her recently kissed lips.
Jim slipped his arms around her, gathering her voluminous gown close to her body. He held her against him and whispered, "Are those naked toes I see peeking out?"
Angel blushed. Maybe the bare feet were a bit too much.
"You know what they say about barefoot angels, don't you?"
"No. Tell me."
"Later." His whisper was uttered so close to her parted lips that the word flowed into her mouth — a rush of sweet, hot air. Jim's tongue followed, fanning a new and urgent heat. Angel sizzled through and through.
Lightning flashed, shooting eerie blue light through the room. Thunder shook the house. But Angel never noticed the storm outside; her own inner whirlwind was too strong, whipped by Jim's touch, his kiss, his embrace. Some kind of magic was building in the night — a bubbling, boiling cauldron of emotions that threatened to burn them both alive. In the midst of such passionate turmoil, Angel forgot about proposals and marriage and happy-ever-afters. All she could think of was love. She wanted it this night, this moment, with this man.
And she might have had it if a buzzer in the kitchen hadn't broken the spell with its gratingly raucous alarm. Jim's hands slipped from Angel's breasts. His arms dropped to his sides. He stepped away.
"Crab cakes," Angel muttered, her voice quivering like the rest of her, as if that single word explained and excused everything.
"I don't suppose they'll keep?" There was a note of pleading in Jim's voice.
"They get mushy," Angel whispered back apologetically.
"Lord, save us from mushy crab cakes." He offered his arm to escort his barefoot chef into her tiny kitchen.
Jim poured wine while Angel padded back and forth, carrying food from the oven to the small pine table beneath the front windows. He murmured sounds of hunger and awe as each delicious aroma assailed him. Angel beamed at his praise. She might not be much of a housekeeper on a day-to-day basis, but she could cook, and she loved to. She had outdone herself on this meal, and she knew it. Shrimp cocktails on cracked ice followed by spicy, crispy crab cakes, spinach salad, and perfectly chilled white wine. And for dessert, crystal bowls of golden, caramel-drenched flan with a dusting of nutmeg.
Conversation was sparse during dinner, consisting mostly of sighs and murmurs of pleasure. They ate quickly, as if they both knew that as wonderful as the food was something even more delicious awaited them afterward.
Filled to capacity and then some, they lingered over coffee and brandy. All the intimacy and the dread returned in full force — just the two of them with their cups and snifters, holding hands and thinking about tomorrow.
Jim played with her fingers. "Angel?" he said in a hushed voice.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Almost Heaven"
by .
Copyright © 1995 Becky Lee Weyrich.
Excerpted by permission of Diversion Publishing Corp..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.