Quiet Angel (42 page)

She wanted to stay this time, to never wake up. But off in the distance, she could hear a series of voices begging her to.

“You’re my best friend. I miss you.”

“Sweet Layla, come back to us.”

“Wake up, Angel, wake up.”

Layla felt her fingers start to tingle, and she looked down at them, the bright light making her skin glow. She could feel her lips now tingling, too. Then she heard Gage begging.

“Kiss me back,” he said. “Wake up and kiss me back.”

*

Gage crawled in
beside her amidst the tubes and wires, thankful his friends and family had gone to eat. He needed to be alone with his wife. He cradled her in his arms. He couldn’t imagine not hearing her laugh again, not seeing her dimples pop out again. He’d only just found her again. He couldn’t lose her now. This had to be a nightmare or some evil joke, or perhaps payback for not always being upfront with her. He ran his fingers through her chocolate brown hair and, his lips quivering, planted kisses all over her face. He buried his head in her hair, breathing in her lavender. His mother said not to give up hope. He never had—not even in the years they were apart. Deep inside, he always felt he’d find her again. He wasn’t going to give up now. He looked down at Layla’s peaceful face. “Remember when we first met on the beach. . . .”

*

Layla heard his
voice, their story, their beautiful life together so far. She listened to him talk about how they watched the sunset together during their summer, how nervous he was to hold her hand the first time, how lucky he was the first time they made love, how they danced together in the Italian moonlight, how she was a better high than flying.

“The story of my life begins and ends with you,” he said. “And it’s not finished. We only just started.”

His voice grew stronger, closer, as he went on about all the things they still had to do together—to find a home of their own, to build out the Angel Wing of Hope Cottage, to get her charity cross business off the ground, to finally get her up in the glider, to make lots of babies. Her body started to tingle at the thought, a warm sensation blanketing every inch of her.

He finished their past, their future, and the room fell quiet. He had no idea where to go from here.
Help me, Dad.

A small white feather no bigger than a penny floated down and landed in her chocolate hair. He picked it up and rubbed it gently between his fingers. He looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing but tiles and an air vent. And there was nothing but wires and machines all around. He felt the bed pillow; it was solid and full of foam, not punctured, either.

Her voice echoed in his head, her words by the fountain in Forsyth Park.
A feather means an angel is near.

He reached for the leather cord under his shirt, lifting it over his head. He stared at the wings in his hand. He’d never taken them off before. But he knew Layla needed them now. She needed them back. He slid the cord over her head, lifting her up to place it around her neck. “You’re going to wake up,” he said and fixed her hair around the wings.

*

Layla felt her
feet land on sand. She breathed in the salty air and looked out to the ocean. There wasn’t a soul in sight, and everything was perfectly still, even the water, except for a few gentle waves lapping her feet. She called out to Aria, and a blinding white light appeared in front of her. She reached towards the light, but it burned out as quickly as it came, making way for the angel’s sweet face and white wings.

Hovering in the sky, Aria looked down at Layla like a proud mother, one whose child had managed the world’s worst and thrived and survived, one who knew her work was nearly done and it was time to let go. Layla whispered a few words to Aria. The angel gave a tiny smile and nodded her head. The ugly chapters were over. It was time for peace, time for quiet. Layla’s time was just beginning. The angel closed her eyes and disappeared over the horizon.

Layla opened her eyes and blinked a few times, not sure where she was. Things were blurry. There were strange beeps all around. The scene began to come into focus—the hospital room, the machines, the IV drip. She felt a medical band on her arm and saw the words “State of Texas.” She saw her husband sitting in a chair beside her. He looked like hell. His eyes were heavy, closed. “Hey,” she said. “Babies?”

Gage burst from the chair, kissing her. “You’re awake! Thank God! Thank you, Dad!”

“Babies?”

He nodded, tears in his eyes. “The doctor said you have a ‘beautiful uterus.’ Those were his exact words.”

Layla smiled and threw a hand over her mouth. She felt a pain in her abdomen.

“Take it easy,” he said. “You have a few stitches. Took out your appendix. You’ll be fine.”

She touched the wings around her neck. “Things must have been pretty bad.”

“They’re good now,” he said. “But probably best you wear them for a little while.”

“He’s dead,” she whispered.

“I know.”

She looked in his eyes, her lip quivering. “I left you in the middle of the night—again. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I won’t run again. I was worried about. . . .”

“It’s OK.” His lips landed softly on hers. “I’m sorry, too. I won’t keep stuff from you, even if you’re sick or I think I’m protecting you.”

“I know why you kept it from me.” She took in her husband. “How long have I been here? How long have
you
been here?”

“However long you needed.”

Layla smiled. “Aria came to me.”

“I thought so,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “She saved you again.”

“No, you saved me. I was with her, but I kept hearing you. I said ‘goodbye’ to her. I don’t need her anymore. Your love saved me when I was 16. Your love saves me each day of my life.”

“Angel. . . .”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Layla said, reaching for his face. “You were always
my
angel.”

18 MONTHS LATER

The Angel Wing
of Hope Cottage was billed as the most modern and innovative sexual abuse treatment center in the United States. And Gage spared no expense in the design. When Layla had an idea for a butterfly garden in a courtyard area, a place where survivors and angels could spend some quiet time together, it happened—no questions asked.

And they incorporated whatever Sarah wanted, too. The only thing Gage asked was that each survivor who was interested in learning to fly be allowed to take lessons. He thought it might give a sense of perspective and control. And of course, he’d provide the instructors and the planes free of charge.

After a year and half, the Angel Wing was opening its doors today. Layla peeked out from a window inside. The spring sun was shining down. Media was getting ready for the dedication ceremony, and people were taking their seats. She saw everyone she loved: Poppy, Dash, Emerson, Helen, even Ava. At 16, she was old enough and wanted to support her aunt and uncle.

Layla caught a glimpse of Gage shaking a few hands, his eyes searching the crowd, no doubt for her. She’d told him she was coming out early. She hadn’t told him she was speaking today. He would’ve had a heart attack. As it was, she promised she’d sit during the whole ceremony. But she hadn’t really sat all day. There was too much to do.

She looked at her sundress and rubbed her hands across her huge belly, now two days overdue. “Stay in there a few more hours, or I’ll never hear the end of it from Daddy.” Gage had been almost impossible to live with since she told him she was pregnant, threatening to call Mateo, paying her OB to be on call every day. She figured an ambulance was parked around the corner.

Sarah patted Layla on the shoulder, and Layla gave a little nod she was ready. They came out of the building together and stepped onto a little stage to a round of applause. Gage smiled and shook his head at his wife, subtly biting his bottom lip. She could see his eyes moisten and could tell he was proud of her.

“Thank you for coming. This has been a great team effort. I’ll keep this brief,” Layla said and patted her belly. “Time is short for me these days, and if I stay on my feet too long, my protective husband may storm the stage.” The crowd chuckled, and Layla took the chance to take a deep breath. “I’m Layla Montgomery, Gage’s wife. I’m a wife, soon-to-be mother, friend, daughter, former bookstore owner, artist, yogi. I love sundresses and first edition books. And I’m a child sexual abuse survivor.” She twirled the wings around her neck.

“Let me say that one more time.
I’m a sexual abuse survivor
. I never thought in a million years I’d make that public. I once told Gage I didn’t want to be the face of child sexual abuse. That was a mistake. Of all the things I am in my life, all the things I represent, being a survivor is one of those things. And even though it’s not anyone’s business, I refuse to hide from it anymore. As you know, a couple years ago the media had a field day analyzing my choices, wondering what the heck I was doing as a teenager. I’m not saying every choice I made was the right one, but every choice I made was to survive—to survive to marry the most wonderful man, to survive to talk to you here today, to survive to have a daughter of my own.”

She looked down at her belly. “This is the reason I’m finally speaking publicly. My daughter gave me the courage. I wasn’t brave enough to talk before. I just let the media and others wonder about my life. But I don’t want that for my daughter. I don’t want people wondering about her. I want my daughter to be brave and fearless, and I can’t ask her to be those things if I’m not myself.” She pointed to the Angel Wing behind her. “Enough about me. This new building is beautiful, amazing, special—as you will see in a few minutes. It is a refuge when the world has become too much, when you are silenced, or when you aren’t believed. It is a place of quiet and peace amidst the chaos. And the girls—they’re coming later today—will be able to get the help they so desperately need from the minute they walk in the door. I’m grateful for that.” She paused for a moment.

“But you know, I’m sad, too, because
every room, every bed
, is reserved. That means there are at least 100 separate incidents of sexual abuse Hope Cottage needs to deal with, that the girls need to deal with. And those are just the ones we know about. How many more survivors are out there? How many survivors are lurking in the shadows, keeping quiet—because they were told to or feel they have to—without anyone or anything to turn to?” She let the question hang in the air. “I don’t want any more survivors. I don’t want Hope Cottage to have to build another building. The abuse of children has
got to stop
, and it has to stop
now
.” The crowd applauded.

“Underneath each seat, you should have a box.” Layla waited while the crowd pulled out leather cords with angel wing pendents. She held up hers. “I’ve had this for as long as I can remember. It was a gift from my father. He told me to always wear it and not to take it off unless you give it to someone you love. A long time ago, I gave it to my husband, Gage. A while back when I was sick, he placed it back around my neck, and when our little one is born, we’ll give it to her together. Every girl who comes to Hope Cottage will receive one, to remind them that she has her own angel, that she is an angel, that there are angels looking out for all of us. Go ahead and put yours on. Share it with someone you love. We all need a little help. We all need a little hope.”