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PROLOGUE

He stood over the rough-hewn wooden coffin, gazing at the face of his mother—the only person who had ever loved him. Who had ever understood him. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder.

“The angels done took her away, boy. We cannot contend with heaven. The angels know what’s best.”

He looked up at his grandmother, a hard woman who had spent her life trying to crush her free-spirited daughter with her heavy-handed judgments and religious bondages. A daughter who should have been adored, cherished. Who had spent her brief life searching for joy in a world that had refused to embrace her. They’d taken away her pretty shoes and forbade her to wear makeup, jewelry, or ribbons in her hair. Slowly but surely, the light in his mother’s eyes faded, and eventually she forgot about him. Forgot that he needed her. Left him here alone with his grandparents, people he loathed.

In that moment, he made a decision. He would contend with heaven.

And he would spend his life finding a way to make the angels cry.