The Search Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

emotional pain and funnels it straight into her trapezius. She wraps herself tighter in the cape.
    The agency will nullify the adoption. Even if they allow singles to adopt, would they give an already vulnerable infant to a woman whose marriage combusted during the process? Where’s the stability in that?
    Another pain pierces her shoulder.
    A group of teenagers peer through the window of the place next door, vacant since her beloved neighbor Birdie Gross died, bringing the close of the tea shop she ran for twenty-seven years. Eleanor looks up. Now, replacing the flowery Birdie’s Tearoom sign is a black backlit sign reading, in knife-slash font, death by vinyl punk, funk, and junk. The logo is a d stylized into a skull, and inside the store, two mohawked males graffiti a wall with spray paint.
    Birdie would die a second death.
    Music thumps from the new store. As Eleanor unlocks her own door, she finds the music even louder inside Pretty Baby. “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. Loud enough to hear Freddie Mercury’s murderous confession to his mother. She flicks on the lights and sinks onto the stool behind the cash. It was wrong to come in. She should have stayed home to come up with a plan. What to tell Nancy. How to save the adoption.
    Outside, Ginny fumbles with her keys, her eyes practically closed, a steaming coffee in her hand. That the doorwasn’t locked escapes her notice. She walks in to drop her coat on the floor beside the diaper pails. Eleanor at the counter doesn’t register at all. It’s the light switch that does it. She looks up, confused that the lights are already on. Finally, she sees Eleanor and her mouth drops open.
    “You won’t believe it …” Eleanor begins.
    But Ginny wanders over and touches Eleanor’s clothes. “A cape? Are you freaking kidding me? And what’s with this wool skirt over pants? And a scarf?” Ginny says. “It’s like you’re trying to sneak a new wardrobe, several new wardrobes, past Customs.”
    Eleanor is willing to admit she overdresses. But only to herself. “Runway models dress exactly like this, for your information.” She pulls her cape closed. “Anyway …”
    “Careful, I see a bit of skin here,” Ginny mumbles as she tugs Eleanor’s sweater sleeves down over her hands. “And here.” She pulls Eleanor’s scarf higher up her neck as Eleanor swats her away. “Wait a sec. Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere warm?”
    “He bolted.”
    “Who bolted?”
    Eleanor shoves her hands into her pockets and feels around for bits of thread, paper. Anything to busy her fingers with. “Jonathan.”
    “What, he left?”
    “He …” Her voice cracks. Somehow relaying the story to Ginny is making anger bubble up her esophagus. “I’m going to kill him.”
    It was almost morning when she heard the front door open—after four o’clock. Jonathan had come back. Eleanor lifted her face off the pillow in the dark, her neck tight andsore from sleeping on her stomach—though she wasn’t really sure she had slept more than a few minutes at a time.
    Instead of calling out to him, she laid her head down again and closed her eyes. Waited. Prayed.
    Silence, then he was in the room. He must have tiptoed across the squeaky floorboards in the hall. She felt his gaze travel over her bare shoulders, the tangled mass of hair still damp from the scalding shower she calmed herself with before bed.
    The pain of his silence was exquisite.
    Say something. “It was all a mistake. I’m in. Let’s go.”
    The clock flicked to 4:12. If he spoke, she decided, she would refuse to say anything back. Nothing short of “Let’s get on the next flight” would draw a word from her.
He’ll realize
, she thought.
He’ll see just how badly he’s damaged things
.
    The sound of him scratching himself. She forced herself not to look.
    Say something! S
he wanted to scream it. He moved away in the dark.
    Hangers clinked softly in the closet. She opened her eyes. Watched the blurred shadow