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He looks up. “Yes, please.”
I motion through the door. “Out there.” He steps aside, allowing me to pass. I turn, finding him behind me. Bob is right at his side as he slowly limps his way through the snow, keeping pace with me.
We approach the broken pine tree, and the stranger looks in the sky. “You found me here?”
“Bob did.” I nod to my dog.
“And you drug me to the shed?”
“I did.”
“Thank you, Lucy.” I stare at him, not sure how to respond. Bob barks, licking his hand. “Thank you, Bob.”
“Are you cold? I have a jacket that might fit you.”
“No, thank you,” he answers. If he is a murderer, at least he’s polite. “I must go. I’ve been here too long.” He turns, limping toward the clearing.
“You’re going the wrong way,” I call after him. “Why don’t you come inside and get warm? I’ll get you something to eat, and we’ll see if the roads are clear enough that I can drive you somewhere.”
“That is kind, Lucy, but I cannot ask you to do that. As soon as my head clears, I’ll be fine. My memories will return shortly.”
“You didn’t ask me for help, Bob did.” I smile at my dog who’s staring at the winged man like he’s in love. “Besides, you’re injured and confused. Let me see if I can stop the bleeding on your…your wings.”
“My body and mind will heal rapidly.”
“At least let me give you a shirt,” I argue.
He closes his eyes and relents to my insistence. “Thank you.”
Minutes later, we step inside my small cottage. My visitor has to turn sideways to enter. His wings are larger than the doorframe, making it difficult. “Have a seat.” I point at a small table. “I’ll get you some hot tea.”
“You are kind, thank you.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me. I’m doing the same thing anyone would do.”
During the winter, I keep hot water going most of the time. I’m able to make a hot cup of tea quickly and set it in front of him. He takes a small sip and closes his eyes in response.
“This is perfect.”
“What’s your name?”
“Zaph,” he answers.
“Zaph?” I repeat, pouring a cup of tea for myself and sitting across from him. “Can I ask you something?”
He smiles without answering. “They’re real.” He stands, setting his cup on the table, and large black wings rise on either side of him, filling my small kitchen.
“What are you?” I whisper.
“What do you think I am?”
I stare at the beautiful man in front of me. “What I think you are is impossible.”
“Is it?” he questions. “Nothing is impossible, Lucy.”
“You’re an angel,” I whisper.
Zaph’s eyes close. “Yes,” he answers just as softly.
