I have not been so frustrated in a long time. Perhaps not since I was working with Shannon. I would never have thought an angel would be so incapable of listening.
I have been careful with what I write here, because I know that Sabasa has read my work in the past. Right now, however, I find it hard to be concerned. This may be the only way to get her to know what I am thinking!
We are meant to be equal partners. We were both assigned to this case, which must mean that Allen needs love in his life as much as he needs art. Sabasa clearly does not see the need in his spirit for companionship.
I will say freely that she has done a beautiful job thus far. Canvases perch on many of the surfaces in his house—resting on the sofa, propped into the windows, or lying flat on his kitchen table. Some of them are blank while others wear jagged slashing lines or hollow silhouettes or shapes that speak words in no language that exists on Earth. He has filled nearly two sketchbooks and a brand new one sits on his desk, waiting for its turn. I have seen enough to know that the finished work—if indeed there is only one; perhaps there may be many out of this feverish work—will be stunning and meaningful and captivating.
But there is a price for all of this. I can see it in the hollows under Allen’s eyes from the hours of lost sleep and the skipped meals. To me he looked like fabric that has begun to wear thin, so that when you hold it up to the light you can see a glow through it. It is a beautiful effect, but not so good for the cloth.
Today I managed to persuade Sabasa to let Allen take a break, and he went out to get a coffee. Part of his mind remained with the work, but I could see how the changed environment was a relief to his spirit. Having intended only to grab his coffee and run, he changed his mind and settled at a table in the corner of the shop, sipping his drink and watching people come in and out.
Then the door opened and Megan walked in, and Allen’s heart jumped.
I promise you, I did nothing to arrange this. If I had thought of it, I may have tried, but it had not occurred to me. That she was here, at the same moment that Allen escaped from his inspiration, seemed like a sign to me. I urged Allen to his feet, and he was none too reluctant. “Miss Gilbert!” he called, crossing the shop to her.
She was surprised, and none too pleased, to see him. Nevertheless she smiled at him. “Mr. Gray,” she said, shaking his hand. “I was wondering if you’d fallen off the planet.”
He laughed, feeling a little guilty. “Something like that. I do want to apologize to you, both for never getting back in touch with you and for my behavior at our meeting the other day. I have no excuses for my rudeness.”
I made certain that Megan knew how sincere his regret was, and her displeasure eased, a little. It went away entirely as Allen rescheduled their meeting right then and there and continued to make conversation about her house search and her life in general.
She was telling him about the bakery where she works when an urgent hiss drew my attention away. “Asa’el! What are you doing?” Sabasa asked.
I was confused. “I am helping my charge to make a connection.”
She was not close by at the moment, so I could not see her face, but I could feel her disapproval. “At this stage, Allen cannot afford distractions. I thought we agreed to that?”
“Did we?” I asked, unable to keep a certain chill out of my voice. “I do not remember making any such agreement, sister. Maybe that was your own thought entirely.”
She sighed. “I thought you understood. If he loses this idea, he may give up on art entirely. Is that what you want?”
“No, of course not, but I think something else to think about might refresh his mind—”
Now Sabasa’s voice was cold as well. “I do not try to tell you how to join hearts, do I? So perhaps you should not tell me how to inspire creativity.”
This was beyond my patience. “You have not allowed me even to attempt to join hearts! This is the second time this woman has walked into his life, which tells me that they have a real chance to make something that might last. But if I miss this opportunity, that chance could be lost, and just as with inspiration, the first days are critical, so please—”
Abruptly Sabasa hushed me, and I realized she had stopped listening to me. I very nearly left then and there, and I would have if not for Megan and Allen, who had begun to talk about art—his art, in fact.
He was feeling nervous, speaking about his idea for the first time. It took a few breaths for me to dispel my anger, but I managed it and set a wing behind him to give him confidence. His voice grew a bit stronger. “—and so I’m just exploring the place where those ideas meet. The line as boundary, as communication…things like that,” he ended a bit lamely, unsure of his reception.
It was immediately apparent, however, that Megan was fascinated. “Wow,” she said, leaning over the table with a smile. “So, have you thought about the line in language? Like—oh, you crossed a line or draw a line in the sand or…I don’t know, party line or punch line or a fine line…just the way people use that in language. There are so many meanings behind a single line.”
“The shortest distance between two points is a straight line,” Allen murmured, clearly caught up in this line of thinking—which phrase I promptly suggested to him.
“Yeah, I think you’re on to something,” Megan said, almost as excited as Allen was.
“Which he should get back to before he loses this,” Sabasa put in, and I felt her return like cold water thrown across my back.
“You have small respect for Allen’s memory if you think he cannot retain a thought for an hour,” I snapped.
I regret my tone of voice, but it startled Sabasa into silence, and that I cannot regret. It allowed me to turn back to Allen and focus his thoughts on Megan, who so easily and eagerly supported his ideas.
“I really appreciate your help,” he said, “and your understanding. It’s wonderful to have someone to talk to about this.”
Perhaps it was petty of me to send this thought arrowing back at Sabasa, who retreated a bit farther away, still watching.
“Hey, I’m happy to be someone to bounce ideas off of,” Megan said. “After all, you have my email, and you can use it for more than business.”
“I appreciate that,” Allen said, smiling, and Megan’s heart skipped a bit. It was encouraging to me, to see that the attraction is not just one-sided.
Allen got up, holding out his hand to her. “Well, you have work before dawn tomorrow, right? I shouldn’t keep you.”
“No, it’s fine,” she said, accepting his hand and getting up herself. “It was worth it.” Impulsively she stepped forward and kissed Allen on the cheek. “I’ll see you again soon, Allen.” And she glided out of the coffee shop, whistling.
The kiss stayed on Allen’s cheek all the way back to his house, and the feel of it did distract him from his work that evening. Sabasa said nothing about this, but I was aware of a lofty sense of reproach from her for the rest of the evening, and finally I had to leave or begin arguing again. But I cannot help but notice before I left that Allen does not seem quite so worn.
Am I wrong? Is not love just as important as inspiration, if not more so? Surely there is a better way to maintain a balance between the two of us. Perhaps I will try to talk to Sabasa tomorrow, when I have calmed down.
Maybe it will be better to wait for the next day.