It's a Wonderful Death - Sarah J. Schmitt Page 0,61

was call for him, worried he wouldn’t know how sorry she was.”

“Did this surprise you?”

This time Grams looks everywhere but at me. Finally she says, “It was the first time in many years that I felt like she was kind.”

Grams always could be a little harsh.

“Thank you,” Sal says. “If there are no further questions—”

“I would like to say something, if you don’t mind,” Grams announces and then continues before anyone can object. “I can’t say that I have always been proud of the decisions my granddaughter made in her first timeline. She was thoughtless and used people to get what she wanted.”

Did I say a little harsh? I meant brutal.

She continues, still avoiding eye contact with me. “I always chalked it up to be her trying to figure out where she fit in. But I never stopped hoping that she would find her way. Her untimely death made it possible for her to make right what she did. I believe she has been changed to the core by the encounters she has experienced in the new timeline. To take away her chance to make a difference a second time goes beyond unfair. It takes away the hope she has of redeeming herself. It’s cruel.”

“Anything else?” Sal asks, looking pretty happy with her passionate plea.

“Yes,” Grams says, and now she’s looking at me. “I love you.”

If this were a court of law, Azbaugh would be calling Grams out of order, but it doesn’t matter. I feel her love pouring over me from across the room.

“I love you,” I whisper with a secret wink.

She winks back as Sal dismisses her. Instead of walking back to her seat, she makes a beeline for me and scoops me up in a tight hug. “I don’t care what happens here, you have already made a difference in the future,” she says into my ear. “You remember that. Sit up tall. No matter what anyone says, remember that you are a better person. No one can take that away from you. Do you hear me?”

I nod, tears slipping over my cheek. “Thank you, Grams. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.”

“While this little scene is indeed touching, could we move on to the next witness?” Azbaugh asks, sounding bored. “I believe you were going to call upon the angel Yeats, right, Salathiel?”

Great. I hope my new self isn’t as much of a pain in the butt as my old self.

Chapter 25

Yeats descends from the balcony and strides to the front of the room, his white robes swirling at his ankles. He ignores the chair and instead turns to face Sal. “I will tell you what I know,” Yeats says.

“Brother, you have been a Guardian for many people both good and not so good. Would you agree?”

“Yes.”

“What is your relationship to RJ?” Sal asks.

That’s a silly question. Everyone knows he’s my Guardian.

But Yeats answers with sincerity, “RJ is a charge of mine. I am one of her two Guardian Angels.”

“In what other capacities have you dealt with your charge?” Azbaugh interjects.

This question catches me off guard. What other experience could he possibly have, you know, other than my entire life?

Again, Yeats answers the question matter-of-factly. “While RJ was alive, and prior to her acts direct by this Tribunal, I counseled another charge, a boy, whose death, according to the Akashic Records, was a direct result of RJ’s actions.”

“What?” I shout before I can stop myself. Out of the corner of my eye I see Yeats pivot toward me, a look of disapproval and warning registering loud and clear. I can’t believe he has the audacity to give me looks of accusation when he just betrayed me in front of the Tribunal. Daniel isn’t dead. He’s alive. Why should I be held accountable for something that never actually happened?

“Rowena Joy Jones!” Azbaugh yells, slamming his hands down on the bench. I really hate it when he says my whole name. “You are a guest of the Tribunal. Unless you are spoken to, do not utter a word.”

I can’t stay quiet any longer, not when I’m being accused of murder and technically, Azbaugh is talking to me. I decide to push my luck. “But he said I killed someone. I’m pretty sure that’s something I would remember doing in any timeline.”

“Enough, Ms. Jones,” Azbaugh repeats, his eyes glowering down at me. “I will have you removed and you will await our decision in isolation.”

I slip back against my chair, clench my fists, and dig