Grace had left hours ago but Adam was still in his shed twisting together a sculpture and mentally beating himself up.
…Jerk!... Stupid!... Moron!... Idiot!...
He had been saying stuff like this to himself for quite a while.
A knock on the door disrupted his thoughts.
"It's open," he said, bent over the sculpture.
"Adam," an elderly man in the doorway said.
"Yeah?" he replied, looking up.
"You didn't talk to Joan, why?" the man asked sternly.
"Who are you?" Adam asked, hoping he was wrong.
"Adam, you know who I am," the angel frowned at him.
"An angel," he said, still not quite believing this strange phenomenon.
"Exactly, go talk to Joan," he said before turning to leave.
"But…" Adam searched for something to say.
Adam watched the angel wave over his shoulder as he walked away.
He put his head down on the table banging his head repeatedly against it.
Stupid! Bang! Stupid! Bang! Stupid! Bang!
Once he had a headache he stopped.
He knew what he needed to do, he just didn't know why.
Then he remembered that Joan had said the same thing last year at the hospital.
He finished his sculpture and put it on the shelf.
With a sigh he stood up and slowly made his way back to the Girardis' house.
