Angelica doesn’t want to awaken and listen to the other headstone angels who crumble to life at dusk.
“This place is full of too many what could have been’s,” another angel whispers. “Too much listening to quacks and not enough listening to herself cost my lady a half decade.”
Angelica stirs and strokes the gravestone. Having beaten cancer, her charge bought it at ninety miles an hour, happy as hell in his new Corvette.
Angela opens her eyes, smiling with pride. The man she guards listened to himself and the quacks, outran Death, then met him on his own terms.