Heaven-sent Husband
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Liz Ireland
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18.0K
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15
Prologue
Gorgeous young widow of a brilliant aspiring writer wishes to correspond with man of substance. Must be intelligent, self-supporting, have a warm sense of humor and an artistic spirit. Good looks a +! Sincere inquiries only. Send photo and well-written and entertaining letter addressed to P.O. Box…
Abel Lantry lay sprawled on a puffy white cloud, thumping his gold fountain pen against his temple, deep in thought. Writing this thing was turning out to be harder than he’d expected. But he had to keep at it, for Ellen’s sake, and his own.
Oh, he’d seen plenty of raised eyebrows from these cherub types around here over his wife’s behavior. She had practically put her life on hold. Back in school, eternal love had always made for great poems, but up here angels in the know had told him that for a raw recruit like himself, it looked bad. Like he was being selfish, and somehow not letting her get on with her life.
Yeah, right. Like he was sending vibes down below that were causing his wife to have the social life of a hermit crab.
Man, what a mess. Didn’t anything ever work out right? He’d thought that once he’d gotten up here, afterlife would be a breeze. Not so, apparently. As a not very productive graduate student back on earth, he hadn’t racked up the kind of credentials that won the big halos around this place. And then there was the whole business about Ellen…
Well, he was just going to have to fix things the best he could.
He gave his handiwork a critical once-over and felt a smile twist his lips. Not bad, if he did say so himself. Oh, maybe a man coming across this ad in the personals might think Ellen a little immodest for referring to herself as gorgeous, but…well, wasn’t it the truth? Besides, he wanted results. He couldn’t announce that the woman was so reclusive that the heavens were frowning on her. He needed to get his wife some dates.
“And this might just do it,” he said to himself, pleased with his effort. “Man, you haven’t lost your touch.”
No, it wasn’t bad at all, he decided. By far the best thing he’d written since dying. Now, the only hard part left would be trying to find out how to get a P.O. box in heaven.
