Chapter 22
Alder faced his choice when he dropped by the Goat's Beard tavern before heading home and diving into the anticipated argument; should he grab either a couple of sodas or a couple of shots to help numb his emotions. Going home after drinking alcohol might not be such a good idea. No matter what he did to mask the smell emanating from his breath or through his sweat, she knew he’d been drinking. He was well aware Maria knew about his beers earlier at the park. Somehow, she would be able to gauge if he had had any additional alcohol. Alder didn't know that she had learned that his eyes lost a bit of their brightness, as they became more blood shot the more he drank.
Thinking through his choices, stopping by the tavern at all wouldn't be a good option. No matter how much he wouldn't want to transition from soda to a harder beverage, he knew his willpower was nil. It was best just to head straight home. Alder wasn't sure why; the drinks normally won out, but not this time. Traffic was again surprisingly heavy for a Saturday evening with the main highway home shut down for more than an hour.
Arriving at the house, pulling into the driveway, the urge caught up with him to back the Nissan up, head down the street, and drive the two miles back to the tavern. He knew that if Maria happened to see him pull up or pulling away, that would be three infractions to contend with. He shut the engine off. Walking up to the front door, Alder took two deep breaths before inserting the key and opening. Only a single living room lamp was turned on; all the other lights were off. The early evening twilight through the living room window provided subtle, soft, illumination. Maria sat on the couch, but she didn’t look furious or have her standard demeanor of trying to hold back a torrent of rage. Instead, she appeared distressed; her bronze Latina skin clammy. Alder knew something was wrong. He risked heading over to the couch to sit next to her.
“Honey, what's wrong?” he asked in a tone of genuine concern, successfully communicated to his wife.
“I don't know,” Maria responded, the shakiness of fear in her voice.
“Everything all right?” Alder asked, “Where are the kids?”
“They’re upstairs taking a late nap.”
“Then what’s wrong? You look upset.”
She paused before answering, “It’s Michelle.”
“Is she all right? What happened?” Alder asked in near panic. Maria was comforted by Alder's concern.
“She was upstairs playing earlier and I caught her climbing on the tall dresser trying to get to my makeup and perfume to play grown-up make-believe. Her friend is a year older, so Michelle wanted to be older. Well, I told her not to do that again. I heard the buzzer on the dryer letting me know a load was done. I started to go downstairs when I heard her scream and a crash; I thought there was a flash of bright white light behind me.”
“She didn't hurt herself, did she?”
“It sounded like she did, and when I ran back into the bedroom, a bunch of my makeup and perfume was all over the floor. But Michelle was sitting on the floor laughing.”
“Laughing?” Alder asked, confused at first. Maybe with no one around to see the fall and make a fuss over her, Michelle had taken it in stride. “Kids are tough.”
“That's not the problem. Michelle claimed that when she fell, a pretty man with wings caught her.”
“A pretty what?”
Maria just stared into Alder's eyes. She knew he’d heard her. Alder just wanted to make sure he had heard Maria correctly.
“Did you say pretty man with wings, like an angel?” he asked.
“Yeah, and that's not all.”
“Wha’ do you mean?”
“She said it was the same angel who was with the lady who talked to you in the park.”
“What lady and angel talked to me in the park?” Alder asked, forgetting about the encounter in the bushes chasing the ball.
“I don't know. I just know our daughter is scaring me right now,” Maria noted.
“I'm trying to figure out what Michelle is talking about at the park,” Alder said. He stayed quiet thinking through the events during the birthday party. Then it hit him. “Wait a minute. The only weird thing was when a softball went into the bushes. I went in after it and came across a homeless woman. She definitely didn't seem like an angel. Oh God, you should’ve smelled her.”
“That reminds me. Go upstairs to the bedroom,” Maria gently demanded.
“Why do I wanna go upstairs?”
Maria responded with an intimidating gaze. Alder took the hint and worked his way through avoiding the toys spewed across the stairs. Arriving at the landing and walking toward the master bedroom, a pungent sweet smell hit him, a mixture of what he thought was cinnamon, citrus blossoms, and Rose petals. Inside the bedroom, he saw the king-sized bed exceedingly wrinkled on top, probably the result of Michelle jumping up and down. Alder glanced at the dark cherry wood dresser where Maria kept some of her perfumes and make-up paraphernalia. He reflected on how she kept most of her items on top of most of the room’s furniture with little space left for him. Numerous disagreements had occurred. Now is not the time to start another one, he thought.
Looking at the drawers, he saw where Michelle had pulled out each one just enough to create an improvised stepladder. On the hardwood floor, some combs, a brush, a couple of mascara containers, and several bottles of perfumes were scattered at the base of the dresser. Alder expected the disrupted items to already having being placed back on top of the dresser, especially since Maria worked diligently to ensure the bedroom was meticulous. She was more relaxed with the rest of the house, not wanting to constrict the children’s natural expression and freedom of youth. However, the master bedroom was to remain an adult sanctuary.
The closer Alder got to the dresser, the more pronounce the sweet smell. Each bottle on the floor was intact, their tops securely fastened. Picking up each of the fallen ornate flasks, Alder sniffed each one, opening a couple for a quick whiff. None matched the scent assailing his nose.
“That's odd,” he mumbled.
“What's odd?” Maria said from the doorway, startling Alder, her arms folded and what appeared to be two sheets of paper in one hand that he hadn’t noticed earlier.
“It smells real perfumy in here. Did Michelle break one of your bottles?”
“I thought so too, but I don't have anything like what you smell now. I even asked her if she broke one of my bottles and tried to hide it and clean it up. Then I realized she didn't even have time for that.”
“So where’s that smell coming from then?” Alder quizzed.
“I don't know, but your daughter drew this,” Maria replied, passing Alder the two sheets of paper she held. The off-white parchment had colored crayon drawings of rudimentary figures having wings and, if Alder didn't know better, each brandished a simplistic image of a sword.
“Michelle drew this?” he asked, thinking they were above par for a 4-year-old yet still consistent with a preschool child’s attempt at drawing. “What are they? They look like men with wings.”
“She drew these after the dresser mess. She said they were pictures of the angel that helped her from hurting herself when she fell.”
“She said what?” he responded, his eyes widening.
“You heard me, angel.”
“OK, this is crazy.”
“Alder, what's going on? I mean with you, Stephen, and his imaginary angel, the park?
“You're asking the wrong person hon. I'm just as much in the dark as you. I'm not sure what's going on here.”
After a minute contemplating drawings, Alder left to go check on Michelle. Maria was right behind him. Gradually opening the door, the umber light from the setting sun accented the nightlight illuminating his daughter’s room. Michelle lay napping on the bed, toys and play blocks strewn across the floor. Alder grabbed Maria’s hand, and they stealthily moved to her bedside. Alder’s heart melted seeing his daughter sleeping peacefully. Turning around
to exit, and not wanting to step on any of the toys, Alder glanced at several alphabet blocks on the floor laid next to one another. They formed the word Aurora.
“What the hell?” he bellowed, almost loud enough to wake Michelle.
“What?” Maria whispered, pulling her hand from her husband’s, jolted by his outburst.
“Were you playing in here earlier with Michelle?” Alder asked, turning to his wife.
“No. Why? It was just her and Matthew.”
“Did you do that?” he whispered, reaching a level loud enough to cause Michelle to stir in her bed as he pointed to the blocks on the floor.
“No,” she firmly responded, looking at the blocks and noticing the name, thinking that Michelle coincidentally placed them next to each other. “Who’s name is that? As a matter of fact, who is she?”
“Have I ever mentioned that name before?”
“No, so who is she?”
“It’s not a she; it’s something to do with a project at my company.”
Staring at the blocks for a couple more minutes, Alder withdrew and Maria followed him after glancing at the blocks for several more seconds.
The Fallen and the Elect Page 46
