Angels at the Table (Angels Everywhere #7)(40)



Before Lucie made one final trip to the basement for the last load of decorations, her mother announced she had made plans for the afternoon. She was going shopping with a friend and they might take in a movie afterward. Lucie wasn’t fooled. This was a gift of time alone with Aren.

On the way up the stairs, Lucie ran into her neighbor. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said cheerfully. Her mood was high, filled with happy anticipation for her afternoon with Aren.

“Merry Christmas, Lucie.” Her elderly neighbor was hauling a box of trash to the recycling bin.

“Oh, is that Saturday’s newspaper?” she asked, eyeing the date on the paper on the very top of the box.

“It is.”

“Would you mind if I read it?”

“Be my guest.”

Lucie grabbed the newspaper and stuffed it under her arm as she raced up the stairs. She was anxious to look for Aren’s name. He’d asked her to wait to read it, which seemed a little silly. It would be the first time he had a byline and she was proud of him.

“I got Saturday’s newspaper,” Lucie called out as soon as she returned to the apartment. Setting down the last box of ornaments, she pulled out a kitchen chair and spread out the newspaper. After going through every section twice she couldn’t find Aren’s name anywhere.

“It’s not here,” she said, disappointment coating her words. “Not the way I expected, at least.”

“How do you mean?” her mother asked.

“Well, he mentioned that he wrote a short piece about the play we saw and what happened but there’s no real byline there, just a note to check out the restaurant review, but that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Did you read the restaurant review?” Her mother sounded as disappointed as Lucie.

“No,” Lucie admitted.

“Does he write for sports?” her mother asked, as if Lucie had reached for the wrong section.

“No … actually, he’s never mentioned what he writes.” In fact, now that she thought about it, Aren had always been rather secretive about what he did for the newspaper.

“Well, check out the restaurant review,” her mother suggested.

As it was, Lucie was confused. “He couldn’t have anything to do with that. The review is written by Eaton Well.”

“Then don’t read it,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Every time you even glance at his column you get upset.”

“And rightly so. The man is an idiot.”

“Lucie, you shouldn’t say that.”

“I can’t help it, Mom. Eaton Well nearly ruined us. Oh, and look,” she said, pointing to the column. “Sure enough he’s reviewing the same restaurant where Aren and I had dinner last Thursday night.” She picked up the paper and skimmed through the article. Not more than two inches into the column and her fingers tightened, crumpling the edges of the newspaper.

“Lucie, I told you not to read his review. It upsets you every time.”

She swallowed hard, closed her eyes, and set the newspaper back down on the table. Slowly she came to her feet as a tight knot formed in her throat.

“Was it another negative review?” her mother asked.

“It was fair,” she said, her voice cracking slightly as the realization hit her. Aren was Eaton Well. This was the reason he hadn’t wanted her to read the paper until after they spoke. He intended on telling her that he’d been the one who wrote that horrible review of Heavenly Delights. He hadn’t known at the time that she was the chef who’d prepared his meal. The sole had been one of her signature dishes, one she was most proud to add to the menu. And he’d panned it with language so harsh the sting lingered in her mind even now, all these weeks later.

“Lucie, are you all right?” Wendy asked.

“Yes, Mom.” She was on her feet, although she didn’t know what she intended to do or where she thought she would go. It felt as if the room had suddenly shrunk to half its size, as though the walls were closing in on her. She had nowhere to hide; nowhere to run.

“What time will Aren be here?” her mother asked.

“Ah … I don’t recall.” Her head started to spin. Aren would be at the apartment soon. It would be impossible to look at him now, knowing what she did.

“Janice is stopping by to pick me up in an hour. Are you sure you don’t want any help decorating the tree?”

The tree. Lucie had completely forgotten she’d agreed to decorate the Christmas tree. A task she’d been looking forward to doing with Aren. Now it would be impossible. “I’ll get the tree up, Mom, no problem.”

“If Aren has something else in mind, then don’t bother, okay?”

“Sure.” She walked to one end of the kitchen and then back, lost in a fog that refused to clear. What she needed to do was think and that would be out of the question if Aren was with her.

Aren. Aren was Eaton Well.

Lucie had trouble wrapping her mind around what she should have figured out long ago.

“Lucie, are you all right? You’ve gone quite pale. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? I could stay home, if you wanted.”

“No … I’m fine. Go and have fun … enjoy your day.”

“I will.” Her mother hummed as she buzzed about the room, sorting out the stacks on the kitchen countertop and then addressing a few Christmas cards while she waited for her friend to arrive.

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