We angels know that there is no such thing as coincidence. If one truly knew how to read the Choice Web in whole—though that is an impossible task to anyone but the Father-King himself—then there would never be any surprise to anything that happens. The humans’ actions will lead them to the consequences of such actions, and other consequences will play out in their lives, and with practice, an angel can find his or her way in the knot of these pathways.
Sometimes, however, it seems—and it may be so—that the Father-King has reached down and given one of those strands a tug, to bring it closer to one that needs it. That is what brings the wonder, the thought that such an event must be impossible, the feeling of “fate.” That is what I feel now.
I have met the fire woman again.
At first, I didn’t believe it. I thought that I was imagining things, just wishing that someone could help me in this moment of crisis. But then the flare of her aura resolved around her, and I saw her shaking the rain from her long hair, the dampness unable to hide its brilliance.
How could she have been there, so far from where I first encountered her? Did the Father-King send her to me?
There was nothing more I could do for Ramona—strong emotions can be like a wall to our influence. So as the fire woman came into the restaurant, I went to her and did what I could to draw her attention to Ramona. After all, had she not had wisdom to share before? Perhaps she would again.
It was easier than I expected. Many humans will look away from those in distress; they fear discomfort, and they have too much respect for “privacy,” which is really solitude most of the time. But the fire woman saw Ramona and hesitated only a moment before crossing the room to stop beside Ramona’s booth.
“Okay, I’m going to need you to be honest,” she said bluntly, startling Ramona out of her pained hunch. “Even if you’re honestly telling me to fuck off. Are you all right?”
Ramona stared up at the woman. She wanted to deny, to escape the woman’s scrutiny, but it was impossible: her eyes were swollen with tears, and the fire woman’s gaze was too direct, too kind. She swallowed and shook her head.
The fire woman nodded as if Ramona had said something interesting. “Okay,” she said, and I could feel her make a decision. “Now, this is not a come-on whatsoever, just common human decency. Let me buy you a drink.”
This made Ramona laugh a bit, and I was encouraged.
“Come on, you need it.”
The fire woman pulled Ramona to the bar, and the two of them ordered drinks with high alcoholic content. I was uncertain as to the wisdom of this, but they returned to the booth with the drinks, and the first sip did seem to steady Ramona a bit.
“I’m Freya, by the way,” the fire woman said, extending a strong hand over the table.
Ramona took it lightly, surprised by the force of the woman’s grip. “Ramona.”
The fire woman—Freya; it is a pleasure to know her name—nodded and stirred her drink. “Okay, Ramona. So what is going to make you feel better? We can talk about it, or we can not talk about it—I’m pretty good at that small talk thing. Or we can do both.”
Ramona was slightly bewildered, and I can understand why. Most humans do not talk to strangers in this way. But the fire woman’s face was kind, and her smile bright, and her aura so warm and clear that even humans could feel it. Ramona wanted to not be alone now, and this Freya seemed to be capable of solving any problem. I even believed it myself, that she would be the one to make things right.
“Small talk, I think,” Ramona said. “For a while, anyway.”
“Oh, sure thing,” Freya said, shrugging and sitting back.
And they talked. I learned much about Freya—Freya Cobb, who is twenty-eight. She is an editor’s assistant, which is a job that occasionally takes her traveling—that is why she was in the south when I first came across her. She is in Albany on business once again, though I have the impression that there is another reason she is not speaking aloud. Freya lives in Boston, alone but for two cats, named Marius and Enjolras. Apparently it is ironic, then, that she calls them Merry and Jolly. She explained to Ramona, but I do not quite understand—it is something to do with a book. Freya was educated at Princeton University, which impressed Ramona, and she majored[1] in psychology.[2]
All this she told Ramona in a light, breezy tone, offering many smaller details and encouraging Ramona’s responses. By the time half an hour had gone by, Ramona was much more relaxed, and beginning to tell Freya a bit about herself.
Up to that point, Freya had given Ramona her undivided attention. She would glance occasionally at the door, but it didn’t occur to me that she might be waiting for someone. That changed when it opened to admit a tall young man, and Freya was suddenly not listening to Ramona’s description of her work.
I looked at the young man. He was handsome, with a scruffy chin, but wearing a fine suit and carrying a large phone. He wasn’t looking at it, however; his eyes went around the restaurant and found Freya’s bright hair. She met his gaze and signaled to him with one finger raised.
He didn’t like that; his brows furrowed. But he went obediently to the bar and took a seat.
I leaned closer to Freya—she worried for a moment, I presume about that man. But then she pushed the worry away and returned her attention to Ramona.
She had come to meet him. I was worried, in turn, that she would try to extract herself from Ramona. I knew that if Ramona thought for even a moment that Freya did not want to speak to her, she would lapse back into her despair. But Freya’s interest and absorption in Ramona did not waver, even when the scruffy man finished his first drink, looking periodically over at her.
The talk soon turned to men; Freya breezily mentioned that she might have someone—this someone being, perhaps, the man at the bar who was looking through his phone with a frown?—but she quickly turned the talk back to Ramona, asking if there was someone special in her life.
Ramona hesitated, and I knew that Freya noticed the return of her sadness.
“I thought there might be,” she said, “but I was wrong.”
Freya remained silent, waiting, spinning her straw on the table.
“I haven’t known him very long,” Ramona went on, “but I like him very much, and I thought he might—but he doesn’t.” The tears came again, and she closed her eyes, wishing she could be strong.
Freya absorbed this. Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. “What makes you think that he doesn’t?”
Ramona took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she said.
“Yes, it does,” Freya said quietly. She leaned over the table a bit more. “Ramona, why do you think he doesn’t like you?”
She began to draw the story of the encounter from Ramona. She never pressed or demanded—her voice was firm but kind, her eyes warm and wishing to help. She made Ramona want to confide in her, and the very act of speaking the words aloud made Ramona feel better.
“I guess I was a little hasty,” she admitted after telling the whole story. “I just couldn’t stay there.”
Freya was frowning thoughtfully into her glass, long since empty. “Why do you think you felt that way, Ramona?” she asked. “Why did you have to leave so quickly?” Her phone buzzed again, and she picked it up and put it away into her purse. At the bar, the scruffy man frowned.
Ramona blushed and stammered for a moment, to which Freya listened patiently. “I’ve been there before,” she said finally, or rather mumbled, staring at the tabletop. “When he tells you…he’s not interested. Usually it’s not…nice. But I knew that Jesse would be—that he’d be very kind. And I just couldn’t face it.”
It was at that point that the scruffy man, tired of waiting, got up from his seat at the bar.
I had been watching him, seeing his growing impatience, and at this I panicked. I regret it now, but I was so anxious to see Ramona come through, and I didn’t know how to do it on my own. So instead of let him come and interrupt the conversation—which I felt certain would drive Ramona away in an instant—I crossed the restaurant and spoke as forcefully as I have to any human, telling him not to interfere, that Freya did not want to see him.
It was rash and even unkind of me, but it was effective. The man stopped, looking down at his phone, sighed loudly, and left the restaurant.
Even from across the room, I could feel the sting of regret in Freya. I turned, and it seemed for a moment that she was looking at me with that sorrow and faint reproach. It was a chilling feeling.
But then she turned her attention back to Ramona, dismissing the man from her thoughts. I tried to do the same.
They were talking about Ramona’s past relationships when I came back. It was a rather dismal list.
“—Roger, who kicked me out of our apartment so he could have his new girlfriend move in. I never got the security deposit back, either. After him was Frank, who was bossy and hated it when I touched any of his things. Then there was Arthur. He was really sweet, until he came back and told me that he was gay.”
“I had a boyfriend like that!” Freya gasped, and the two of them laughed together.
Ramona sighed and shook her head. “It just seems to me that I always attract the wrong kind of man. A bum magnet.” She laughed. “Like Pretty Woman.”
This confused me—I would not have thought Ramona would call herself pretty. Though she is, really.
“But Jesse isn’t like the others?” Freya asked.
Ramona rubbed her eyes again. “No. No, he’d have let me down very gently.”
Freya put her chin in her hand. “What makes you think he would have let you down at all? I mean, you didn’t stay long enough to let him explain, did you?”
Ramona blinked, uncertain. “Well—he pulled away so fast—”
“Maybe he was just surprised,” Freya suggested.
This hadn’t occurred to Ramona. I leaned close, urging her to listen, to believe it.
Freya leaned across the table, clasping her hands in front of her. “The way I see it, Ramona—and it’s just my opinion—but I think the problem isn’t that you’re afraid that Jesse might not like you. The problem is you’ve already decided that he doesn’t, without letting him have any say.”
Ramona did not know how to answer that.
“Now, if that’s because you genuinely don’t think he does like you, fine, although I still say you should talk to him,” Freya went on, waving one hand. “But if you are thinking that he can’t like you, because none of those other guys did…then honey.” She smiled at Ramona, a smile full of compassion and exasperation. “You’re an idiot. Just because you’ve had a string of bad luck doesn’t mean you don’t deserve the good when it shows up.”
There were tears in Ramona’s eyes again. I could feel with her just how much those words were what she had needed.
“And you never know,” Freya said, shrugging. “Maybe he really needs you. Maybe you’re the person who could help him the most.”
Yes! I cried into Ramona’s heart. You are! Believe me!
And she did. It was a tiny feeling, a little hopeful light, but it was clearly there, and I could see how I might use it to access her heart, to give her strength in the coming days and begin to overcome her humility at last. If I could have, I might have kissed Freya, I was that happy and relieved.
“What do you think I should do?” Ramona asked.
“Well, duh, go talk to him!” Freya insisted. “Find out what he thinks. If he likes you back, that’s great! If he doesn’t—at least you know, and you can go find the one who will. Because he’s out there, girl. You are too sweet to be alone.”
Abruptly Ramona began gathering up her things. “I have to go,” she said, suddenly determined to contact Jesse before she lost her nerve. “Thank you so much!”
“Here,” Freya said, snatching up her receipt and writing something on the back of it. “Shoot me an email when it’s all settled.” She pushed the receipt into Ramona’s hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling. “Go get him, girl.”
Returning the smile, brimming with anxious excitement, Ramona dashed out of the restaurant, not even pausing to put on her coat.
I had to go with her, I knew that—she would need my support with Jesse. But I lingered a moment, curious about this woman who has helped me twice. What brought her to this place, when it was impossible that we should meet again?
For a moment she sat still, smiling after Ramona. Then her smile turned rueful, and she looked at her phone. Perhaps she was regretting having missed the man she’d come to meet.
There was a story there, one that I badly wanted to know. But my obligation was to Ramona, and so I left the fire woman sitting in her booth, her bright aura undiminished, but her bright eyes somewhat sad.
[1] This is the word she used. I am assuming it means this subject was her primary focus while at school.
[2] A study that would seem to involve observation of the human mind.