by Ann Crawford
Christopher punches more information into the computer. Blake reads the results and then stands up, looking over his shoulder. “They’re right over there.”
Brooke follows the direction his finger is pointing. “Right over there” in such an enormous hall in this case equals about two football fields in Earth terms. When Brooke finally sees the cubicle he’s pointing out, she finds herself looking at an empty desk.
“She must be a night owl, too.”
At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Emily turns away from the door and pretends to be asleep. Sam crawls into bed and, after a moment, taps her on the shoulder. Emily ignores him and continues to pretend she’s asleep. At this point, since both of them know, it’s not really pretending; it’s out-and-out dissing.
A few moments later, Emily hears a snore. Sam’s angels disappear to the great office in the sky. Emily looks at the clock: 12:12. She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling.
Emily looks at the clock again: 2:22. She continues her concentrated study of the ceiling, made possible by a waning gibbous moon shining through the bedroom window. Stephanie computes, Jasper whispers, and Angela watches David pace.
“Emily,” David pleads, “you have to—” He turns to Angela. “Oh, I’ve said it all ten thousand times before. I’m not even exaggerating about the number.”
“I know you’re not, but say it again,” Angela says. “Time number ten thousand and one might be the time that she hears it.”
David stands over Emily, positioning his head between her and the ceiling. Her eyes would be looking at his if she could see him. “You,” he says to her, “are here to do really great things. You do them sometimes—in your dreams. It’s not like you have to win the Nobel Peace Prize or anything like that, but you could devote your life to your own version of greatness, the greatest you there could be.”
A tear rolls down Emily’s cheek. David could swear she saw him, for just an instant; he and Angela exchange glances. Emily holds out her hand to the semi-darkness—that’s only the second time she’s done that, and it’s the first in many years. David takes her hand and lowers his cheek to it. Emily smiles through her tears. David tries to catch a tear as it slips down her face, but of course it passes through his finger. When he examines his finger, though, he could swear it was ever so slightly damp.
At Jack’s angel team’s desk, while Sapphire whispers and Christopher computes, Brooke and Blake pace, occasionally looking over at Emily’s angels’ still-empty desk. Angels have exceptionally keen eyesight, as you can probably well imagine, so seeing something the distance of two football fields away is not a challenge.
“What does she do,” Brooke wonders aloud, “nighttime security guard?”
“Lady of the evening?” Blake suggests.
“Oh, that would be great for an ex-con.” She pauses, but speaks before Blake has a chance to. “I know, it’s all divine.”
Christopher looks up the information. “She works in a flower shop.”
“That wasn’t a nighttime occupation, last I knew.”
The clock now reads 3:33. David, Angela, Jasper, and Stephanie huddle around Emily, who has returned to her study of the ceiling, all the brighter with the moon lower in the sky and more fully shining in her window.
“Emily, there’s more for you to do,” David says.
“Emily, you can give so much more,” Angela joins in. “It would bring you so much more happiness. If this is your definition of happiness, you need to expand your dictionary to the cosmic edition.”
“But,” David says, “perhaps for right now a good night’s sleep would help get you going.”
Emily rolls over and shuts her eyes. Her four angels smile as they look at each other. Did she hear those words? After a moment, they disappear…
…and appear at their desk.
“Whew, thought she’d never fall asleep tonight,” David says to no one in particular.
To their great surprise, Emily’s four angels notice an angel team staring at them from across an expanse of two hundred yards. There’s something about a deliberate stare—it’s felt, no matter how far away it is.
“Was it something we said?” David asks Jack’s team.
Angels also have exceptionally keen hearing, as you can also probably well imagine, especially for whatever is meant for them to hear. Even intergalactically, let alone in the big hall.
“We have to talk to you,” Brooke says. She and the rest of her group transport themselves over and converge on Emily’s angels’ desk.
Emily’s four angels cluster around her as she folds laundry in her bedroom. While Stephanie and Jasper attend to their tasks, David and Angela walk in circles around their human.
“I told you,” Angela tells him, “this is your special project. So get going.”
“Emily,” David says, “we’ve found the perfect man for you. The problem is, you’re still married, but on paper only, not in your heart. You’ll need to change that.”
“Life,” Emily says to the air, “if you want me to leave him, you’re going to have to take him from me—in a good way, thank you, don’t kill him or anything like that—because I’m not leaving him. I made a promise. I don’t like to give up on things.” Emily stops her folding in mid-motion and looks around her. “Where in the world did that come from?” she asks her cats. They lovingly oblige her with no response except slow blinks of their huge eyes. Emily returns to her chore.
After recovering from their shock, her four angels hoot, holler, and give each other high fives and fist bumps. Highly annoyed, the cats slip out of the room—too much commotion for their old cat selves.
“She’s getting it!” David shouts.
Sam appears in the doorway. “Emily, I think it’s time we go our separate ways.”
The only one of Emily and her four angels who doesn’t do a double take is Emily. Her angels look at Sam’s angels for an explanation; they shrug.
“Beats us,” the angelic version of the fat slob says. “Just happened.”
“Well, that was quick!” David says. “Way to manifest, Emily!”
“Okay.” Emily continues her folding.
More than just a little surprised at her nonchalance, Sam leaves. Emily sits on the bed, lets out a long sigh, smiles, thinks for a moment, and—out comes the wail.
“At least she doesn’t keep it all bottled up inside,” David says.
“Perish the thought,” says Angela.
Jack and Emily’s angels crowd around double the amount of computer screens, which they’ve moved to be side by side on a larger desk in a larger cubicle. Jack’s day-in-review plays on a monitor:
In street clothes, Jack shakes hands with numerous inmates and then several prison officials, even the office secretary.
As he leaves the gate, he spots Ben and Chelsea racing across the sidewalk. Jack bends down and his children fall into his arms while Irene stands by her car at the curb. The angels concur that picking up an ex-son-in-law from prison is a class act for an ex-mother-in-law.
Irene opens the door of an apartment and leads Jack and the children inside. The elegant-but-still-appropriate-for-a-single-dad living room has a large window facing the ocean. She shows Jack, Ben, and Chelsea their bedrooms one by one, although the family tour is a cumbersome affair as the three stay stuck together like glue, needing to maneuver slowly through halls and doorways.
Jack’s room has a king-size bed and well-appointed sitting area in front of a large window also facing the ocean. The theme for Ben’s room is Modern American Little League—on the bedspread, the curtains, even on the walls. Chelsea has a fairy-princess motif, complete with a canopy of pink lace billowing out from a decorative light in the center of the ceiling, plus an enchanted forest on the wall painted by Jack’s former coworker from years ago.
Irene opens the refrigerator and cabinet doors to reveal a fully stocked kitchen. As she leaves, she hands Jack a check for ten thousand dollars. He tries to give it back to her, but she refuses it. (By th
is time, you’ve probably sensed that she knew about Lacey all along, of course; Jack would never request any assistance from her, but she wanted to help him, and she had to wait until his release before she could do anything for him and keep it private.)
Jack, Ben, and Chelsea clutch each other as the Ferris wheel at the Santa Monica Pier reaches its apex. The children point to the setting sun over the Pacific. Jack’s expression reveals that he wants for absolutely nothing in this moment.
Jack sits first with Chelsea and then with Ben at bedtime.
There was no reading this night; the children just wanted to talk to their father, alone, for the first time in three years. That was a year shy of being a third of Ben’s life and a year shy of being half of Chelsea’s life. But what they end up creating out of this experience are their own books in the future. Right now, back to the task facing the two angel teams.
“They could meet online,” Blake suggests.
“Too cliché,” Angela says.
“How about an airplane?” David offers.
Brooke pretends to snore.
“How about a car accident?” Jasper asks. “I mean, not a bad car accident—just bad enough to get them out of their cars so they can bump into each other.”
“Hmmmmm,” say seven other angels in unison.
“There might be something to that,” says Angela.
“That might be a good play.” You know that was Blake.
Stephanie types in some information.
Blake reads the screen. “Hey, look, a huge traffic accident is supposed to happen in three weeks in L.A. right near the Staples Center the afternoon before a big concert. Lots of reasons why—thousands of ’em, really. Is there any way we can get her there in time?”
“Oh, but of course there is,” Sapphire says, a slight edge of peevishness in her voice. “We’re angels.”
David and Brooke whirl around to face her direction, their utter astonishment utterly apparent, but she ignores them both. After they slowly turn back to the computer monitors, she glares at their backs.
Blake nudges her. “Just keep the focus on your position in the game.”
Grabbing her microphone, Sapphire returns to her whispering, peevishness notwithstanding. “What? I’m whispering, I’m whispering,” she hisses to mollify the incredulous expression on Jasper’s face.
“Some divine discontent brewing,” Blake explains to Angela.
“One of the most powerful forces in the world,” Angela replies.
David fiddles with some dials for a moment. “I don’t think Emily has to be actually in an accident. I don’t want her waylaid any more than she already has been.”
“Well, she doesn’t have to have a bad accident,” Angela says. “Like Jasper said, maybe she could just be nearby one big enough to get her attention.”
“That’ll have to be huge,” David says.
“How are we going to get Jack there?” Brooke asks. “He’s never in that part of town at that time of day.”
“Well at least he lives somewhat near there now,” David says. “Closer than he was before, anyway.”
“We can make sure he gets a job near there, too,” Blake says. “Or at least one that will send him over to that area then.”
“On it.” Christopher starts inputting data.
“But how in creation are we going to get Emily to L.A.?” David asks.
“One of the primary reasons she’s been staying in Idaho is for her mother. She won’t need to do that much longer.”
The other seven angels pause as they realize what Angela has just stated. Stephanie switches the dial under one of the monitors to reveal Barbara asleep in a hospital bed. Light radiates from her while numerous light beings hover nearby.
“No, not long,” Christopher says.
The eight of them look at the monitor revealing a sound-asleep Emily, a somewhat blissful expression lighting up her face. Jack’s monitor shows that he has entered deep sleep, and a blissful expression beams on his face, as well.
Stephanie returns to studying the information on her laptop. “There’s an art-and-flower show coming up the same time as that huge accident. Marion goes to those periodically.”
“She could pass the baton to Emily,” Blake says.
The angels smile. Except one.
As Emily enters the hospital room the next day, she is momentarily mystified by the diffused light filling the space, especially around her mother. Barbara takes a few seconds to realize who she is and speaks with some difficulty.
“Em’ly.”
Emily takes her hand. “Mom.”
“Angels,” Barbara says.
“Angels?”
“I see angels.” Barbara looks around at her three angels who are beaming at her. She notices Emily’s angels who are beaming, too, but not quite in the same fashion. The humor of the sight gives her a brief surge of energy and clarity. “I see your angels, too. Oh, they’re having a wild time with you. Imagine my surprise with that.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, Emily.” Her voice softens and Emily leans over to hear her. “So tired. Ready...for rest...then on...nex’ a’venture.”
“Go with the angels, Mom. Please say hi to Dad and Lisa for me when you see them, and I know you will.”
“My Emily. You...one...most glori’sss treasures...my life.”
Emily kisses her mother’s hand. “I love you so, so much, Mom.”
Her mother’s eyes close. She takes a small gasp—was it of delight? probably—and her grasp on Emily’s hand loosens. Her crowd of light beings cheers a warm welcome to her as her light body starts to disengage from her physical form.
Emily sets her mother’s hand on the bed, but doesn’t let go of it. The diffused light has become more luminous; Emily’s no longer mystified by it—more like mesmerized by it. She raises her other hand and holds it out in front of her, as if aware of touching gossamer.
Her mother’s life force fills the room as she crosses the threshold to the next world. Emily could swear she hears her mother’s cries of ecstasy at being reunited with her husband, daughter, parents, and many, many others.
Hours and hours pass; still, Emily remains by her mother’s side. The light and palpable energy has faded from the space. Finally, she kisses her mother’s hand one last time. After gathering the photographs, vase, and her mother’s other personal belongings, she leaves the room. She wonders how the nurses had known to leave her alone, and she notices a special photograph of lilies had been put on her mother’s door.
After consulting with the nurses about the next steps regarding her mother’s body, Emily climbs into her car and just sits. And sits. And sits. And sits some more. Her angels brace themselves for a wail, but it doesn’t come.
Once home, Emily moves the two rocking chairs closer to each other and sits down in one. Her hand reaches out to hold the arm of the other chair. Her angels again brace for a wail, but again it doesn’t come.
Emily leans back and shuts her eyes as she basks in the afternoon sunshine. The hand not holding the other chair gravitates to the chest area slightly higher than her heart. Stephanie switches on the sound control for Emily’s mind-chatter; she moves the dial to maximum and turns to the rest of the team, eyebrows raised. All is quiet in there.
Wait! There goes a blip of something just as Stephanie starts to turn the dial down. She turns it back up and waits a few seconds. She’s about to turn it down again when the blip comes back: “Thank you.” The words softly reverberate through Emily’s mind over and over.
For the first time, her angels stop performing their tasks and simply meditate.
After giving a final adjustment to the placement of his desk accessories, Jack leans back in the comfy executive chair and gazes out the window. Somewhere out there in the haze, about ten miles away, is the ocean.
This was sure easy, he thinks. (Christopher pats himself on the back.) He’s never landed a job this quickly, and he’s never had to put ex-con
on an application before. He’s also never had an ocean view, let alone three—the one here and the two at home. Well, on a clear day that ocean will be in view, he laughs to himself.
His angels had been hard at work on the job front, especially Christopher. With extensive research, they found that a fellow inmate knew someone who knew someone who knew someone, and Jack finds himself now in a high-rise (relatively speaking) office building in Beverly Hills serving several high-end clients. Fun, socially progressive accounts, too—he’s never had those before.
But his angels are not resting while he rests at night, of course. They’re very hard at work—angelically—arranging events to make sure he’s where he’s supposed to be on meeting day.
“Have one of his clients meet him across town for lunch.”
“Have his boss send him downtown for something.”
“Have his ex-wife call him to pick up the kids at that friend’s house over there.”
“No, he can’t have the kids with him that day.”
“Oh, no, of course not.”
And it continues.
About two miles away, in another cubicle in the great hall, another group of angels is working on a truck driver’s life coordinates in conjunction with the life coordinates of those he signed up to have an impact on.
“Okay, when he goes in for the repair, make sure the mechanic misses repairing that other part.”
“And who is he going to hit?”
“This car here, which has the schoolteacher in it, which will hit that SUV, which has the fireman in it, which will hit that car over there, which has—”
And sixty miles away, eight feet away, eighty-nine miles away, the angels for other people who will be involved in the accident diligently attend to their charges, too.
In one cubicle: “Well, she wanted to slow down. This will certainly help her do that.”
In another cubicle: “He wanted a new car anyway. And his new love-to-be is applying for a job in the dealership down the street from his office.”
