She sank down on the sand and stared out at the ocean. Zach squatted beside her. "Sarah, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I only wanted to help."

"So far you haven't been very helpful," she said, not looking at him.

"I know. I'm sorry. What can I do now to make it better?"

She still didn't look in his direction. "Just leave me alone, okay? Just go away and leave me alone. I don't need a guardian angel, I don't want one, I don't need you, I don't need anything. Please, just go away."

She sat there on the sand for a long time, and when she finally turned around, he was gone.

* * *

It was late by the time she got to the store, but no one seemed to have noticed that the store didn't get opened at its usual time. Except Sophie--she met Sarah at the door with a disgruntled look and an accusatory meow that said, "See? I was right! Even when you remember to buy cat food, you never feed me on time!" She wound around Sarah's ankles as the walked to the office, nearly tripping Sarah in the doorway in her rush to get to the food bowl. She stood there, tail waving, while Sarah dropped her bag and found the cat food, then immediately attacked the bowl once it was filled.

Sarah sat and watched Sophie eat. She didn't want to think about anything, especially not Zach. An angel. Who was he fooling? Not her. As much as she would like to believe that there was someone watching out for her, as much as she maybe did believe that, she didn't believe that that someone was going to show up in person, or camp out on her doorstep. That was just too freaky. Crazy. And that's what he must be--crazy.

She had two or three customers buying newspapers and browsing, but no huge influx of business. She spent the time between customers sitting at the counter doodling on a pad--random spirals, something that looked like strings of pearls, and the occasional angel wing.

Jason came in at noon in a flurry of good cheer, bearing a sack of submarine sandwiches he'd picked up on the way. Sophie jumped up on the counter to get her share of his sandwich, and Sarah retreated to the office, where she turned on the computer and pulled up the Dead Letter Office website, where she'd been visiting more and more often lately. She followed her usual procedure of opening up the letter page, but as she sat, fingers poised over the keys, she suddenly thought, What if he knows about this? and she shut the page without typing anything.

* * *

"Jason?" she asked.

"Hm?" He was sprawled in one of the overstuffed chairs in the corner reading a schoolbook and making an occasional note on a pad he was holding underneath his chin.

"What would you think if someone said they were an angel?"

"Like what kind of a someone?" He sat up, and the pad dropped to the floor, along with the pen he'd been balancing on top of it.

"I don't know. Just, you know . . . someone."

"Someone just walks up to you and says, 'Hey, I'm an angel'? I'd say they're probably crazy at worst and delusional at best." He leaned over and picked up the pad and pen, and sat them on top of his book on the floor. "What's going on, Sarah?"

"Oh, nothing. It's no big deal. Forget about it. Listen--why don't you go on and get out of here. There's nothing happening here tonight, you might as well take advantage of it."

"You sure?" He was already picking up his things and moving toward the back of the counter where he'd stowed his backpack. "You sure you're okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine. I'll close up. You're opening tomorrow, right?"

"Yup. Okay, if you really don't mind, I'm outta here."

She smiled at him. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

She took the long way home that night, walking along the beach with her sandals stowed in her tote bag. There was just a sliver of moon, not enough to really see where she was going, so she walked slowly, being careful where she stepped. The shorebirds were still active, running ahead of the tide on their sticklike legs, then running back when the water receded, picking up the tiny shellfish left behind in the sand.

She hardly noticed where she was going, and she walked farther than she intended--far beyond where she would normally turn off to go home. Behind her was a big highrise hotel: she'd ended up on somebody's private beach. She dropped her bag on the sand and sack onto an empty cabana lounge chair. The hotel had taken in the cushions and left the wooden chairs in tidy rows along the waterfront. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but she didn't notice. She just sat there and looked out into the black night over the ocean.

Was it possible that he really was an angel, or was it more likely he was just crazy? Or worse--was he bothering her for some other reason? She couldn't imagine what it would be, but imagining any number of scenarios was easier than believing in angels that came to earth and walked around and talked . . .

She hadn't brought a sweater with her, and it was getting cold, so she eventually roused herself and headed for home. She'd think about it tomorrow. Or tonight, probably, if it ended up being one of those nights when she couldn't sleep.

It was, of course. She tried and tried to sleep, counting sheep, taking deep breaths, trying first one position and then another, to the everlasting annoyance of Dinah, who eventually retreated to a chair in the corner of the bedroom to avoid the thrashing limbs. Poor Dinah, Sarah thought. She has to put up with me every night.

* * *

The next day dawned hot and bright, and she must have slept at least a few hours, because she didn't feel bad at all despite the restless night. The next few days were busy in the store, and she almost forgot about Zach. She hadn't seen him since that day on the beach, and she convinced herself that when she had refused to believe him, he'd simply gone away to bother someone else.

"Good riddance," she thought, and put him out of her mind.

She didn't think about how it was she could do that--put him out of her mind--when she couldn't put James and Gaby out of her mind. Well, certainly they were much more important in her life than he--the "angel"--was, but still, she never wondered at how easy it was to forget such a unique thing happening in her life.

Still, forget him she did, and things got back to normal, or as normal as things ever were in her life now. She worked, then she went home, ate dinner, and didn't sleep. She spent long hours in the middle of the night, talking to James and Gabrielle on the computer, sending her letters out into the void to be broken up into so many fragments of neutrons. Protons? Something like that anyway--they were scattered to the wind and the elements in some manner, she had no doubt. And maybe they reached their destinations. Maybe they didn't. It didn't matter much, writing them was the important part.

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