the most adorable children you've ever seen."
"Erin," Annabelle moaned,
"don't-"
"What's wrong with you? You used to be
happy and laugh and have fun." Erin stared, making Annabelle
uncomfortable. "You used to dream. I remember once," she smiled,
"you saw a tiny man in the tool shed."
"That was a just dream."
"Oh, I don't think so. You talked about
him for years."
Annabelle hadn't thought of that dream
for what seemed like centuries. She'd been barely twelve and had
just read Peter Pan to Erin. Again. Annabelle had just entered that
hormone-driven romantic time, and she often imagined herself as
Wendy. In her own private version, of course, Peter stayed with
Wendy/Annabelle in London, and they grew up and got married and had
many children and lived happily ever after. She'd cried when
Tinkerbell drank the poison and clapped louder than Erin had to
save the fairy's life.
Then one night she'd been sitting by
her window, gazing into the spring night.
Annabelle smiled at the memory. "He
wasn't tiny. As a matter of fact, he was taller than
Daddy."
"Was he handsome?" Erin
asked.
"Very," Annabelle said, warming to her
topic, "with wheat-blond hair and eyes the color of the sky. And,"
she went on, telling Erin what she'd never told another soul, "he
had these wonderful big wings that looked like gossamer and
twinkled with blue and green light."
"Wings?" Erin whispered the word, then
her brow furrowed. "You mean...?" Suddenly, her brow smoothed and
she sat up toward Annabelle, her face full of mischief. "You mean,
your dream man was a...a...fairy?"
The word was so unexpected, and had so
many other connotations, it caught Annabelle off-guard, though
she'd often thought the same thing.
Tonight, after the stress of hearing of
her sister's tragedy and being drawn into God-alone-knew-what, the
idea hit her funny bone, pushing aside all worry, fear, and
tension, and dragging her spirits out of the tank. She laughed. And
laughed. And laughed, until tears fell from her eyes, and she had
to hold her sides to keep the stitch in her side from bending her
double.
"Oh, Erin!" She dragged in a breath. "A
fairy?" She sputtered. "Oh, I hope not! That would be such a
waste!"
Erin's scream of hilarity was muffled
as she dove face first into her pillow.
A knock at the door signaled a visitor,
giving Annabelle and Erin time to stifle their howls to mere
snorts. Annabelle hoped they hadn't been heard. She didn't want to
end up sharing a room with Erin permanently.
She covered her mouth with her hand to
mute her giggle at that idea.
"Excuse me, is this Miss Tinker's
room?"
Oh, my, what a sexy voice, Annabelle
thought. It was also familiar, honeyed with a hint of an accent.
She turned to see if the figure matched the voice.
"Yes," Erin said, sniffing in a giggle,
"I'm Erin Tinker."
"Miss Tinker, I'm so glad to meet you
at last."
A man came into the room, dressed as
one might expect a university professor to be, right down to the
elbow patches of the tweed jacket he wore over his cream turtleneck
sweater. Annabelle smiled and half-expected him to whip a pipe out
of his pocket. "I'm Gaelen Riley, Lucas's older
brother."
Erin's face shone with sudden delight.
"Gaelen!" She reached out toward him. "Lucas has told me so much
about you."
Gaelen Riley stood by the bed. As he
bent to take Erin's hand in both his own, very large hands, the
warm light burnished his wheat-gold hair. Funny, Annabelle had
never though blond men appealing before.
"And he told me of you." Dr. Riley
smiled. "If I'd known he wasn't exaggerating about your beauty, I'd
have made it my business to meet you sooner."
Blushing prettily, Erin turned to draw
Annabelle into the conversation.
"This is my sister,
Annabelle."
He started to turn toward her, then
froze for an instant before completing the motion. "Annabelle?" he
said, even as his sky blue eyes twinkled.
Annabelle started working up a fine
head of steam. Imagine a grown man thinking her name was
funny.
Then she
"Erin," Annabelle moaned,
"don't-"
"What's wrong with you? You used to be
happy and laugh and have fun." Erin stared, making Annabelle
uncomfortable. "You used to dream. I remember once," she smiled,
"you saw a tiny man in the tool shed."
"That was a just dream."
"Oh, I don't think so. You talked about
him for years."
Annabelle hadn't thought of that dream
for what seemed like centuries. She'd been barely twelve and had
just read Peter Pan to Erin. Again. Annabelle had just entered that
hormone-driven romantic time, and she often imagined herself as
Wendy. In her own private version, of course, Peter stayed with
Wendy/Annabelle in London, and they grew up and got married and had
many children and lived happily ever after. She'd cried when
Tinkerbell drank the poison and clapped louder than Erin had to
save the fairy's life.
Then one night she'd been sitting by
her window, gazing into the spring night.
Annabelle smiled at the memory. "He
wasn't tiny. As a matter of fact, he was taller than
Daddy."
"Was he handsome?" Erin
asked.
"Very," Annabelle said, warming to her
topic, "with wheat-blond hair and eyes the color of the sky. And,"
she went on, telling Erin what she'd never told another soul, "he
had these wonderful big wings that looked like gossamer and
twinkled with blue and green light."
"Wings?" Erin whispered the word, then
her brow furrowed. "You mean...?" Suddenly, her brow smoothed and
she sat up toward Annabelle, her face full of mischief. "You mean,
your dream man was a...a...fairy?"
The word was so unexpected, and had so
many other connotations, it caught Annabelle off-guard, though
she'd often thought the same thing.
Tonight, after the stress of hearing of
her sister's tragedy and being drawn into God-alone-knew-what, the
idea hit her funny bone, pushing aside all worry, fear, and
tension, and dragging her spirits out of the tank. She laughed. And
laughed. And laughed, until tears fell from her eyes, and she had
to hold her sides to keep the stitch in her side from bending her
double.
"Oh, Erin!" She dragged in a breath. "A
fairy?" She sputtered. "Oh, I hope not! That would be such a
waste!"
Erin's scream of hilarity was muffled
as she dove face first into her pillow.
A knock at the door signaled a visitor,
giving Annabelle and Erin time to stifle their howls to mere
snorts. Annabelle hoped they hadn't been heard. She didn't want to
end up sharing a room with Erin permanently.
She covered her mouth with her hand to
mute her giggle at that idea.
"Excuse me, is this Miss Tinker's
room?"
Oh, my, what a sexy voice, Annabelle
thought. It was also familiar, honeyed with a hint of an accent.
She turned to see if the figure matched the voice.
"Yes," Erin said, sniffing in a giggle,
"I'm Erin Tinker."
"Miss Tinker, I'm so glad to meet you
at last."
A man came into the room, dressed as
one might expect a university professor to be, right down to the
elbow patches of the tweed jacket he wore over his cream turtleneck
sweater. Annabelle smiled and half-expected him to whip a pipe out
of his pocket. "I'm Gaelen Riley, Lucas's older
brother."
Erin's face shone with sudden delight.
"Gaelen!" She reached out toward him. "Lucas has told me so much
about you."
Gaelen Riley stood by the bed. As he
bent to take Erin's hand in both his own, very large hands, the
warm light burnished his wheat-gold hair. Funny, Annabelle had
never though blond men appealing before.
"And he told me of you." Dr. Riley
smiled. "If I'd known he wasn't exaggerating about your beauty, I'd
have made it my business to meet you sooner."
Blushing prettily, Erin turned to draw
Annabelle into the conversation.
"This is my sister,
Annabelle."
He started to turn toward her, then
froze for an instant before completing the motion. "Annabelle?" he
said, even as his sky blue eyes twinkled.
Annabelle started working up a fine
head of steam. Imagine a grown man thinking her name was
funny.
Then she
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