When Angels Cry by Maria Rachel Hooley

blunt chin and thick eyebrows.  Those nameless arms became his —the legs , the chest, the fingers.   She saw herself naked next to him, her head on his chest, her long hair spilling down her breasts , h is fingers touching her neck and shoulders.
    “Kaylee?”
    “ Hmm ?”  She jumped, and a flush heated her cheeks.   She folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her arms, trying to brush away the coolness kissing her skin.
    “You all right?”
    “Yeah.  I was just thinking.  W hen you live the lifestyle of the rich and shameless , that’s what you get —people who assume you’re all about money.   I guess that says more about me than anything else, and to think this used to be a lifestyle I enjoyed.   You coming? ”  She glanced at Bastian and stepped into the hallway. 
    Bastian followed her.  “Yeah.  No point in simply hanging out in the bathroom, is there?   What changed your mind?”
    Kaylee smiled at him.  “It doesn’t matter, Bastian.”
    “What are you about, Kaylee?  We’ve established i t’s not money.”
    She crept along, forcing him to take small steps to keep pace with her.   Together they walked down the floral-patterned hall.  The thick burgundy carpet appeared so clean Bastian wondered if anyone had ever walked on it.  The whole house was immaculate.   Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, illuminating the clea nliness.
    “I don’t know , exactly.  That’s kind of like asking what I want to be when I grow up.  Never mind the fact I’m already grown up.”  Kaylee frowned and chewed her lip.  When they ’d reached the stairs and started down, Kaylee fell into a long silence.  She took each step slowly and held tightly to the railing.
    Bastian broke the silence.  “I know you’re probably really tired of me being here .  Just as soon as the snow blows over, and I get a jump, I’ll get out of your hair . ” 
    “It’s nice to have company.  Can I get you anything?”  Kaylee stopped at the bottom and turned toward the living room where s he headed to the couch, waiting as Bastian pulled off his coat and sat.
    “No thanks.”
    Bastian peered around the room again .  N o matter how many times he scanned the walls and furniture, he seemed to miss a score of minute details such as the painting of an angel above the piano.  The gossamer wings draped its figure in a cascade of soft feathers so multi-dimensional it almost seemed he could touch them.  He squinted, trying to place the artist.
    “Nice painting,” he commented.  “Who’s the artist?”
    Kaylee sat next to him.   “Me.”
    “ Nice work ,” Bastian nodded.  “ Why’d you choose an angel?”
    Kaylee leaned back and propped one arm behind her head.  “Why not?  Maybe I want to believe there’s something beyond this world.”
    “There is that, I suppose .  Perhaps I will take something to drink after all —a beer , if you have it.”   Shifting uncomfortably, Bastian stared at his hands, watching his fingers brush against themselves.  
    Kaylee stood and patted her pink button-down shirt free of creases.  “You’re as uncomfortable talking about faith as I am about money.”   
    “No, not really--I just don’t have any.”
                  Kaylee started to go to the kitchen but stopped short.   “Spiritual or otherwise?”
    “Either.”  
    Kaylee slipped through the doorway and returned with two capless brown bottles.  “ I hope you like Budweiser.  These are the last two bottles left over from a party I hosted last summer. ”  As she offered one to Bastian, the charms on her silver bracelet jangled together. 
    “Never met a beer I didn’t like.  Thanks.”  He took a drink as Kaylee joined him.  He pointed to her forehead.  “How does it feel?”
    “Been better.”  Touching the Band - Aid, Kaylee winced.   She sipped from her bottle.
    “Yeah.”
    “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere for a while.”  Kaylee looked at a lead