Two Books in One - Ominous Love and Paradox - The Angels Are Here (19 page)

“Godspeed, Abel,” Tia whispered into his ear. His trembling lips grew into a peaceful smile. The last image that crossed his closed eyelids was that of the newborn child. The Image of his only grandson, Abe and the child’s parents, Beth and David—his beloved son.

“Goodbye, my son,” Abel whispered. Tia took his big hand; blinding white light engulfed his frail body and lit up his dark room like a beacon. Abel’s body vibrated in the stark light as he lay on his bed. Quickly the wrinkles of old age smoothed on his weatherworn skin, the firmness of chiseled muscles of youth returned to his withered limbs. His mind vision flicked, like a florescent light coming on behind his eyelids. He was twenty-five again. He was standing on a sun-streaked beach at dawn holding hands with a young woman. Her long windswept fair hair blew across her face, concealing her identity from him.

He pushed her hair back so he could see her. His hand paused on her cheek. Her eyes were the prettiest green he had ever seen. But he had seen these eyes before, a very long time ago.

“So, we’re grandparents,” the woman said, her radiant face smiling up into his handsome one.

“At last,” Abel said looking back at Rose, taken from him so many years ago. “I have found you—hallelujah!” he shouted, then ever so lightly, kissed Rose gently on her lips. His vision flicked again, he held his wife tightly in his arms. He would not let her go again. The image in his mind began to slowly fade. He held her tighter. Gone...

The
New Jersey hospital room was still now, all but for the cooing of proud parents for their son. David stopped counting tiny toes and looked up, confused by what the young nurse had said.

“What do you mean, my father is so proud?”  he turned and asked the young nurse, Lucina, but the room was empty.

Just then an older nurse burst noisily through the swing doors. She carried a medical chart and a folded blue baby blanket.

“Hi, Beth, David, and this I believe is baby Abe,” she said, marching over to the bed and stroking his little cheek.

“My name is Dorothy,” she continued. “Now let’s wrap your Abe up, shall we, keep him warm, it’s another freezing day outside today.”

“The other nurse… where is she?” David asked Dorothy as she quickly wrapped his son.

“Lucina, not sure, could be anywhere on the ward, lots of babes being born here today,” she said, not taking her eyes off the child that now rested quietly wrapped firmly in his warm blue blanket at his mother’s breast.

David kissed Beth’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon sweetheart, I’m just going out to let everyone know it’s a boy.” He left the room as Dorothy chatted quietly with his wife.

“I have a son,” he announced proudly to a group of his friends that had gathered in the bustling waiting room. They congratulated him. The women hugged him; the men slapped him on the back and offered him the customary cigar. He declined, remembering how the nicotine had ravaged his father’s lungs over the years.

He glanced up and noticed the doctor discussing a medical chart with a young male intern further down the cold hall.

“Gotta go talk to the doc,” he said to his friends, excusing himself. “I’ll be back.” He rushed off down the hall toward them.

“Here he is, the proud new father,” the doctor said, taking David’s hand and shaking it firmly. “No big nights out for you for a while,” the doctor said, smiling jovially.

“Doctor…”

“David, how many times have we been drunk in the same pub?” the doctor asked his good friend. “You can still call me Sammy, even here,” he said, his arms indicating the hospital surrounds.

David nodded. “Yeah, I know, sorry. It’s just that, the nurse in our room, Lucina, she said something and I just wanted to ask her about it.” Sammy watched David intently but remained silent. “Lucina, where can I find her?” he asked, looking around.

“Just saw her leave,” Sammy said, turning to point down the corridor toward the clean glass exit doors.

“When will she be back?” David asked, glancing over Sammy’s shoulder toward a window. He noticed that the snow still continued to fall gently on the rooftops and earth outside. Momentarily he thought about the hot humid Januarys he had experienced this time of the year growing up in Australia. He longed for some of that natural warmth now.

“Won’t, today was her last day,” Sammy said. “Is there something I can do, another nurse maybe?”

David averted his eyes away from the cold outside. “No, no, nothing like that, it’s nothing really, just something she said. I should get back, got tons of calls to make.” He took Sammy’s hand and shook it firmly. “Thanks Sammy, I owe you big time, my friend. Gotta go call my dad in Australia, we have decided to name our son after him.”

Sammy pulled David toward him and gave him a friendly hug. The smile on Sammy’s face faded momentarily. “That’s great, now get back to your wife and child, I’ll be in to check on you all soon.” He pulled away and gave David a friendly slap on the back. “Take good care of that son of yours, Dave, I have a feeling there’s something very special about your lad.”

David nodded and headed back down the long white corridor, reaching for the phone in his back pocket as he walked. His father would be so proud when he heard that they had named their son after him and that they had made plans for their son Abe to grow up in Australia.

He liked the idea of his new son growing up with a Grandfather. Maybe they could both teach Abe how to swing a cricket bat. He dialed his father’s number. After all these years he couldn’t wait another moment to speak with his father, hear his voice. “Come on Dad, pick up.”

Chapter 4—The Rainbow Room

Darwin
, Northern Territory, Australia

“If bluebirds fly over the rainbow, then why can't I?” Grace sang softly to herself. She walked over to her father who was sitting at the kitchen table; he was reading Saturday’s newspaper and drinking coffee from a large round mug with the words
,
‘Golden Eagle Home Delivery Servic
e
,’ written in bold print on the side.

The breakfast dishes were still on the table, he had promised Kate that he would do them while she was out grocery shopping. He figured they could wait until he had finished reading the sports section of the paper. He picked up a piece of discarded bacon off a plate and popped it in his mouth.

Grace stopped and stood by her father’s side for a moment looking up at him, a frown creasing her brow. Then she asked, “Daddy what is a mortaree?” She didn’t pronounce the word correctly, but her father knew what she had meant.

A boy in her school, Patrick Wheat, had died, and she had overheard a conversation the older students were having about it during lunch break.

Brian folded the paper and put it down, stalling. He thought about what he wanted to tell her, something an eight and a half year old would understand. He pushed back his chair, it screeched in protest against the tiled floor. He picked Grace up and sat her gently on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and looked down into her piercing grey eyes. Their mutual devotion for each other was obvious.

“You know Grace, in some hospitals they call mortuaries,” he pronounced the word slowly for her, “the place you go before you go to Heaven to be with the Angels, the Rainbow Room. That is where the little children go that have died, so their parents can sit with them and say their goodbyes. That is where the Angel waits for them. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

Grace rested her head on her father’s chest and contemplated his explanation. It didn’t sound so bad at all. She smiled and gave him a quick hug.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said, sliding down off his lap to return to her position in front of the television to eat her biscuits.
I like biscuits; I wonder if they have biscuits in Heaven. They have angel cakes, fairy bread…
  She pondered on the idea of living on biscuits, Angel cakes, and fairy bread. Then, with a different line of thought, she wondered if parents went to a Rainbow Room and waited with the Angel when they died, so the children could say goodbye.

She considered this notion carefully until Bugs Bunny jumped up on the television screen and said to her, “What’s up doc?”

She giggled and looked over at Hope, who was curled up quietly on a lounge chair; she smiled back as she twirled a loose strand of silky blonde hair in her fingers.

She wished she could tell her father about her friend Hope, wished he could see her, how pretty she was, and smart. She wanted so much to share this secret with him, even if Hope was just a figment of her imagination. But still, she agonized over not telling him.

Hope, sensing Grace’s anguish, hopped down off the lounge chair and made her way over to sit by her friend. She crossed her legs beneath her, smoothed her crisp white Venetian lace dress over her knees, then leaned across and put her arm around Grace’s shoulders.

“Grace, your father will understand you not telling him, honestly. He has his secrets too, everyone does, and that’s okay.”

Grace nodded and felt a rush of relief wash over her, believing Hope when she said that her father would understand this secret. And Hope was never, ever wrong.

Another thought passed through Grace’s mind.

“Are you my Angel, Hope, are you waiting to take me to Heaven?”

“No Grace, I’m not that kind of Angel.”

“Oh good, because I’m not ready to go to Heaven yet. I’d miss Mum and Dad too much.”

“Are you worried about Patrick?” Hope asked.

Grace pictured Patrick with his messy blonde hair and the splatter of freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. He had always been nice to her, and sometimes he would give her one of his biscuits.

“Was he scared, when his Angel came to take him to Heaven?” she asked.

“Not at all, he was very brave, he was just sad for his parents, he knew how much they would miss him.”

Grace handed Hope a Teddy Bear biscuit. “Teddy Bear biscuits were Patrick’s favorite; he always had two in his lunchbox everyday at school for recess.”

Hope took the biscuit and put it in her pocket. “I’ll make sure Patrick gets it okay.”

Grace handed Hope another one. “I think he would prefer two.”

“Then two it will be, and I will make sure he knows they are from you.”

Chapter 5—Accident

Year: 2004

The word accident is derived from the Latin verb accidere, signifying: fall upon, befall, happen, chance.

It was a beautiful sunny day in April; April the 22nd to be precise. The sky was the bluest blue, not a cloud was in sight. Mothers pushed baby strollers along the footpath as they walked the older children home from school, listening to their stories. A fresh breeze blew through the trees, loose leaves fluttered to the grassy ground below. The wheels on an abandoned pink bike still turned.

Grace was almost twelve and she had just finished another day at primary school. She abandoned her bike under the big tree in the front yard and flew through the screen door, letting it bang shut loudly behind her. She dropped her school bag on the tiled floor. She moved as if she had tiny wings on her feet, her insides bursting with pure exhilaration. She could barely wait to share the good news with her mother.

Her father, Brian, wouldn’t be home today, he was still on a three out of a four-week shift at the mine site where he was presently working. He was a consulting mining engineer, he loved the job, but missed being away from Kate and Grace a month at a time. Occasionally, his work took him across continents and Grace would miss him enormously.

She would have to wait and tell her father all about her exciting news during their father and daughter phone call tonight. They never missed a night, not even when he was far away. She would sit patiently, perched on the tall stool by the wall phone in the kitchen until the phone rang, her thin legs swinging freely beneath her. At six-thirty p.m. on the dot, the phone would ring. She would answer it on the first ring.

Today, when she ran through the front door, she found her mother in the kitchen as usual.

“Mum, guess what, there’s a new girl in my class. Her name is Angela and she has just moved into the Palmers’ house next door and she has a dog and…”

Grace came to an abrupt halt, as if she had just been hit hard in the stomach, leaving her winded. She bent slightly from the impact of the imaginary clenched fist. The blood drained slowly from her face. An icy chill froze her spinal cord, paralyzing her where she stood. The moment she saw her mother’s face, she knew something was wrong—dreadfully wrong. Grace thought she might throw up at any second; she could taste the burning bile making its way up her throat. She swallowed hard to force it back down, it tasted bitter. She pulled a face.

There was a solidly built man in a police uniform standing next to her mother, his voice gentle in an effort to comfort her. It didn’t look like it was working. Not at all. The pain that distorted her otherwise pretty face was resolute.

Kate was seated at the pine kitchen table with a vase of flowers sitting in the middle that Grace had picked for her the day before. Kate was crying. Her eyes were red and swollen, as though her tears had burned her. She looked like she had been crying for a while. She was clenching a tissue in her hand as if her very life depended on it. There were several more scrunched up and discarded tissues on the table. Perhaps her life did depend on it.

Before that day, Grace didn’t think she could ever remember her mother ever crying, not like this. This was serious, deadly serious. Her gut lurched.

“Grace…” her mother said, as she failed in an attempt to stand. She continued speaking in a whisper, patting the chair beside her, gesturing that Grace come sit with her.

Grace dragged one foot after the other; it was harder than it should have been, but understandable since her shoes had just turned to solid lead. Her skinny little legs were barely capable of this usually simple task.

She hoped that the longer it took to reach her mother, the longer she could avoid knowing what her mother knew, what her mother was about to tell her. By the look in her mothers pleading eyes, Grace knew that whatever it was, she wasn’t going to like it. Not one bit. She sat down cautiously by her mother’s side, when all she really wanted to do, what her body screamed out to do, was flee. Run as fast as her legs could carry her, to be anywhere but here. Her mind felt numb. Her subconscious mind nagged at her, pushed at her. She forced the thoughts back.

Hope reached out for her, but Grace closed her eyes and continued to push her away, until she had completely faded out of vision. She had no time to play with an imaginary friend, not at a time like this. This was serious... this was real.

“Grace, there’s been…” Her mother paused, gulped back an urge to cry, still unable to say the words.

Grace shook her head in an effort to clear her mind. She tried to focus on her mother’s voice, only taking her eyes off her mother intermittently to glare at the stranger standing by her side, the bearer of bad news, which had made her mother cry. Her small hand fumbled absently at her shirt until she found and held the small golden eagle that hung around her neck in her trembling fingers.

She closed her eyes again, thinking back to a better time.

“To keep you safe, Grace,” her father had said on her eleventh birthday, only nine months ago.

“What keeps you safe, Dad?” she had asked as he placed it around her slender neck.

“You do, Grace, you keep me safe,” he had replied, scooping her up under her arms and swinging her around and around the room until she had felt giddy and begged for him to stop in between her giggles. Kate had laughed too, as she watched them, bringing with her into the room a chocolate birthday cake with pink icing, ablaze with eleven birthday candles.

“Make a wish, Grace,” her parents said in unison as they watched her, lovingly wrapped in each other's arms.

She blew out her candles and closed her eyes to make her wish. “I wish that we will always be together, oh, and I need a new bike…” She exhaled; the candles flicked until dancing flame became nothing more than a whispery swirl of rising smoke.

A giggle echoed through the room, making her smile. Only Grace saw the cross-legged Hope sitting on the far end of the kitchen table, clapping. Grace glanced over at her and mouthed a silent ‘
thank you’
.

An unfamiliar male voice crashed through her happy memories.

“Grace,” The stranger spoke in a gentle soothing voice, dragging her back reluctantly from the happier time. His gentle voice was wasted on her. All Grace was conscious of hearing was her heart beating against her chest, trying to escape, and fighting the long imaginary fingers that squeezed forcefully around her throat. She fought for breath.
In, out, in, out
, she told herself. She thought she might pass out at any moment from the lack of oxygen in her lungs.

“Grace,’ he repeated, “my name is Officer Wade. Your father -” 

Kate held her hand up to stop him from continuing. She closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. Kate opened her eyes and looked up at Wade, then at Grace.

“Let me,” she said. “Grace, your dad…” Kate’s throat made a groaning sound. “Your dad was in an accident, it was a really bad one…  There were men trapped in the mine. He went to help them, but he didn’t make it out, Grace…I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching for her child.

Grace sat there unable to move, unable to believe, unable to respond, unable to touch the ground with her feet. If she did any of those things, she knew that it would all become horribly real. The words would become…a reality…forever. She would be unable now to ever go back to a happier time, when everything was perfect. When her father was still alive.

Her face was emotionless, still, her eyes wide, unblinking. She stared at her mother and watched on hopelessly as she saw a piece of her mother start to fade away, sitting at that kitchen table.

Grace thought that her mother looked smaller, fragile, like a child—like her. They sat hunched together folded in each other’s arms in a dismal effort to support their frail grieving bodies. She blinked. It was real. She cried.

Kate pulled her closer into her arms with the last of her strength. They stayed that way at the pine kitchen table - with its vase of flowers from the garden and the mounting pile of tissues - until the day turned pitch-black outside. Ghost-like black and gray clouds, heavy with rain, quickly engulfed the night sky, blocking out millions of stars from the heavens.

Bolts of forked lightning cracked through the vast darkness of the night, the increasing rumble of unleashed energy rattled the glass louvers violently in their frames. Then the rain started to fall, slowly at first. Then faster, harder. Heavy raindrops, like fists drumming ferociously on the corrugated tin roof overhead. It rained persistently all that night. The stars had closed their brilliant eyes that night and wept, too. Next door, in a brightly lit bedroom of the Palmers’ old house, a small dark-haired girl looked across at the house that sat in darkness, before she turned her face up toward the thundering sky.

Office Wade let himself out the front door, locking it silently behind him as he left. He pulled his coat closed over his broad chest and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He walked slowly toward his car as the wind and rain lashed at his sullen face.

His senses told him he was being watched. He glanced up and saw the small dark-haired child scrutinizing his every move from the house next door. He lowered his head and continued to walk through the slashing rain toward his vehicle. He opened the door to the black four-wheel drive that he had parked in the street earlier that day and climbed in. He stayed there all that night while the unyielding storm consumed the night as he sat guarding the darkened house and its grieving occupants. He noticed that the small dark-haired girl in the window kept the same steadfast vigil.

At daybreak, the bleak rain continued to fall. He scanned the house through the rain speckled car window, all quiet inside. The girl in the window next door was gone. Satisfied, he turned the key in the ignition and drove slowly away down the deserted wet street. Rainwater sprayed up over the pavement as he drove the vehicle through overflowing street gutters.

Grace awoke from a restless night’s sleep cuddled up close against her mother in the big bed her parents usually shared.  She had slept on her father’s side. She had fallen asleep tearfully; the scent of her father on his pillow reminding Grace of her painful loss. It was morning now, she realized as she rubbed her eyes. Her eyes felt grainy, as if someone had sprinkled sand under her eyelids. She heard the rain still beating on the glass window, blurring her vision. She heard the sound of a car driving slowly away down the street. Soon all that she heard was the rain and the soft rise and fall of her mother’s fretful breathing.

This was the first day of the rest of her life without her father. Her heart had never felt the unyielding weight of such a heavy burden.

She remembered a night only a few months earlier, before her birthday, when her father was still alive. He was at home on one of his breaks. There had been a bad storm that had struck in the middle of the night.

The night had been dark; her room had been even darker.

She could hear her parents’ hushed voices talking in the small Formica kitchen, trying not to wake her. She turned on her bedside light and pushed herself up on her elbows to listen. Did she hear other voices too in the wind as it stole through her bedrooms windows?  The curtains lifted in halfhearted objection. Maybe not, she decided.

She heard her mother rush outside and take down the hanging pots that were tangled and overflowing with foliage from the creeping roses. They were covered with soft pink buds that had yet to bloom. They were swinging back and fro violently in the sudden bursts of wind. Her father was bringing in outdoor furniture, and anything else that was in danger of being blown around the backyard and into the neighbor’s yard. Last time they had a storm like this, they had to fish their outdoor furniture out of the neighbor’s swimming pool.

Grace was glad to be tucked up safely in her bed listening to the shrill of the wind through windows, slamming doors. A flash of lightning made the lights flicker on her bedside table. Moments later the lights went out permanently, a power blackout. The storm had taken down some power lines nearby. She reached for the red and blue Spiderman torch in her top bedside drawer and turned it on, shining it toward her bedroom window. Trees and shrubs were bending and scraping at the glass with their thorny talons, trying to get in out of the wind and torrential rain.

Storms like this were common for this time of the year. Soon the storm would pass, and in the morning the sun would be burning brightly for the weekend. She turned over and turned off the torch to go back to sleep. She loved falling asleep to nature’s orchestra of wind and the rain as it drummed on the corrugated roof overhead.