by Lynn Ames
She put the phone down and swallowed down a sense of impending panic. Her mother was dying and she just agreed to go home for the first time since she’d left for college fourteen years ago. Dara wished there was a script for handling this situation.
“The themes in Ms. Darrow’s novel—absolute faith in miracles beyond all rational evidence to the contrary, and the power of belief in unseen forces to light our path in this lifetime—speak to the main character’s deep spirituality. These unwavering ideals propel Celeste with grace through experiences that would bring most people to their knees.” Rebecca looked up from her notes and surveyed the lecture hall full of soon-to-be-graduating seniors. “We can all learn a lesson from Celeste. May your paths forward be filled with miracles. Good luck, everyone. It’s been a pleasure teaching you this semester.”
As Rebecca gathered up her notes, she was surprised to hear the sound of applause. She was even more shocked to see all of her students on their feet, giving her a standing ovation. She smiled and took a mock bow. Moments like this reminded her why she chose to teach.
Dara leaned her head back against the headrest in First Class. The plane would land at New York’s JFK Airport in less than an hour. Her hands trembled slightly underneath the blanket and she clasped them together.
You’re not that little girl anymore, Dara. She can’t hurt you now. Go see her, take care of whatever needs to be done, and get back to your life.
“Can I get you anything else, Ms. Thomas? We’ll be landing in just a little while.”
“No, thank you.” Dara smiled at the flight attendant. The poor woman had spent half the flight playing traffic cop, keeping gawking fans from disturbing Dara. “I really appreciate your interceding on my behalf. Sorry to be so much trouble.”
“You were the easy part,” the woman said. “On the other hand, all those passengers turning on their phones to take pictures and tweet them…” She looked at Dara sympathetically. “I don’t know how you do it.”
Dara shrugged. “Goes with the territory, unfortunately.”
“Well, I can tell you. After watching what you had to deal with today, I’m crossing ‘famous actress’ off my list of dream jobs.” The plane’s intercom system chimed. “Oops. Gotta go.”
When Dara deplaned and cleared security, several photographers stepped in front of her. So much for privacy and flying under the radar. She ignored the clicking of the shutters and strode past them to where she could see Carolyn and Stan waiting for her.
“Hey, sweetie,” Carolyn said, as she hugged Dara. “You okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” Dara turned to Stan and accepted his hug. “Long time no see, Stan. You’re looking good.”
Stan pulled away and put an arm around Carolyn. “My wife takes good care of me.”
As always, Dara was struck by the unmistakable love her friends shared. It was so clear that they were meant to be together. Dara swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back the involuntary tear that threatened to escape. Carolyn and Stan had something she likely would never know. She was so happy for them, but there were times like these when the sight of two people so in love left her longing for more in her life.
“I’ll grab your bags. You two go to the car. That ought to cut down on the mayhem.” Stan inclined his head to where a crowd started to gather.
“I’ve got just one bag. A twenty-seven-inch Louis Vuitton, black.”
Stan laughed easily. “That ought to narrow it down.”
Carolyn looped her arm through Dara’s elbow as they walked away. “So now you can tell me the truth, because I know you were lying through your teeth back there.” She tugged Dara a little, momentarily unbalancing her. “How are you, really?”
Dara sighed and leaned into Carolyn. “Honestly? I’m terrified, I’m nervous, I’m angry, I’m sad.” She shrugged. “Pick one.”
Carolyn nodded sympathetically. “I wish you didn’t have to deal with this. I wish I could spare you.”
“It isn’t yours to do.”
“Dara Thomas! Dara, over here!”
Dara ignored the plea of the paparazzo. She had no idea who already had leaked out word of her arrival in New York, but it didn’t surprise her. No doubt someone had managed to send one of those tweets from the plane. She was glad she’d taken the time to shower, blow-dry her hair, and put on her makeup.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Carolyn tightened her grip protectively and steered Dara out the glass doors and across the way to the parking structure. “Where do you want to go first? You’re going to stay with us, right?”
Dara shook her head. “I think I ought to stay in midtown, close to the hospital.”
“Nonsense—”
“Car, please. I know you mean well, but I won’t be much company and I don’t want to feel badly about that.” Before Carolyn could object again, Dara pleaded, “Please, let me do this my way.”
Carolyn stared hard at her. “Okay, but I don’t have to like it. When Stan gets here, I’ll have him make the reservation under his name. He can go check in for you and the paparazzi will be none-the-wiser.”
“For about five minutes.” Dara kissed her on the cheek. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”
“I do.” Carolyn smiled at her. “It goes both ways.” Carolyn unlocked the car. “Do you want to go to the hotel first, then?”
Dara considered. “Tempting. But I think I should head right to the hospital.”
“I’ll have Stan drop us off there and go to the hotel, then come back and get us.”
Dara hugged Carolyn before getting in the passenger seat. “That’s not necessary. You go with Stan.”
“But I want to come in with you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I love you for that and for so many other reasons, but this is something I have to do by myself.”
“Again, let me say I don’t have to like it.”
“Noted.”
CHAPTER THREE
Rebecca put her feet up on the deck railing and sipped her second cup of coffee. School had been out for a week and she was relishing the respite and the peace and quiet. She watched as a buck approached the clearing, its head up, alert for any dangers. Apparently sensing none, it began grazing in the open field. As always, Rebecca marveled at the quiet majesty.
Carefully, she put the coffee cup down on the nearby table. She didn’t want to make any sudden movements that would frighten her guest, nor did she want to spill the coffee on the envelope with the now-familiar return address. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, and frankly astounded that she had lasted as long as she had, Rebecca picked up the envelope and slit it open.
Dear Ms. Minton,
I’m glad your class enjoyed On the Wings of Angels. I, too, hope they go out into the world and discover miracles of their own.
I find it interesting that some scholars (thank Heavens you’re not one of them) somehow view as incongruent the fact that Celeste is a non-religious individual who believes wholeheartedly in the existence of forces such as angels and ascended masters.
Setting aside issues such as religious affiliation or upbringing, let me start by saying that I have the utmost respect for people of all faiths and belief systems. I’m so glad that you accept that beings of light, i.e. angels and ascended masters, exist; as you’ve discovered, not everyone does. As you mentioned having heated discussions with peers on the subject as it pertains to this book, I offer you the following, in case citing a quote on the subject from the author is helpful to you. I’d be most curious to know what you think of my argument.
Rebecca paused, lowered the letter, and heaved a happy sigh. After three letters back and forth, Constance Darrow wanted to keep the dialogue going. She raised the letter and continued reading.
First, I think it would be incredibly arrogant to think that we’re the most evolved beings in the Universe, don’t you? There is plenty of evidence to suggest otherwise. So, even for a non-religious person, it makes sense that there’s somet
hing else out there affecting our fate. From this standpoint, it is easy to imagine that someone with Celeste’s positive outlook and inquisitiveness would investigate the possibilities.
Next, let’s consider and accept that ascended masters such as Jesus, Mother Mary, Saint Francis of Assisi, and Saint Bernadette (who had visions of the Blessed Mother that led her to dig in the dirt at Lourdes), were real people who existed on this earth at some point. The fact that these figures have been adopted by religions and worshipped as religious icons does not, and should not, diminish their power as great beings, period.
Celeste recognizes these historic figures as extraordinary beings that have ascended. She views them as non-denominational figures that belong to everyone. When your colleagues think about it, even from a religious perspective, do they think it likely that Jesus would ever say to someone, “I’m sorry, you’re not a Christian, so I’m not going to help you?”
I don’t know you that well, but I’m imagining you laughing at that idea. And so it is that Celeste can be simultaneously non-religious and a great believer in angels, ascended masters, and miracles. I hope this gives you all necessary ammunition to fight the good fight with your colleagues.
Until next time, happy summer vacation (assuming you get one).
Constance Darrow
“Wow.” In just a few short paragraphs the author had given Rebecca all the explanation she would need to support her perception of the main character as a spiritual conundrum and that fact being a central theme to the novel. More importantly, for the first time, the author had allowed some of her personality to shine through. “Careful, Ms. Darrow, one might begin to guess that you have a sense of humor and a lighter side.”
As she had many times since reading Constance’s first book, Rebecca let her mind wander to the mystery that was Constance Darrow. “Who are you? What do you look like? Are you bookish and frumpy or a looker? Are you old or young? Blond or brunette? Gay or straight? Tall or short?”
It was a game Rebecca played with herself, since she had no real way to satisfy her curiosity. Innately, she knew that asking Constance anything of a more personal nature would bring an end to their correspondence. No. She would stick to talking about issues relevant to the author’s work, much as she longed to know more about the woman.
Rebecca carefully folded the letter, returned it to its envelope, and pondered what she would ask Constance next.
Dara shifted, trying to make herself more comfortable on the hard seat. Machines and monitors beeped and whirred all around her mother’s head and tubes fed from her hands and arms. She looked so frail, so small, not at all like the proud, larger-than-life figure from Dara’s childhood. Her hair, once so long and lustrous, now was completely gray and splayed limply across the pillow. Her face, once exquisite, was a grotesque mask, her skin lax, and her mouth slightly agape.
Despite her intention to stay detached, an errant tear rolled down Dara’s cheek. “Oh, Mother. You would so hate to see how you look right now.”
Slowly, tentatively, Dara reached out and brushed a bruised hand with her fingertips, then just as quickly withdrew.
“It’s okay to touch her.” Dara jumped and put her hand to her heart. The nurse, oblivious to having frightened Dara, prattled on. “I like to believe she can feel that. In fact, I’ve had patients emerge from comas who’ve told me they were aware of their loved ones holding their hands.”
“How long has she…” Dara waved in a gesture that encompassed all of the medical equipment.
“Been in a coma?” The nurse fussed with the sheets. “She stopped responding yesterday morning. Up until then, she was in full command of her faculties.”
“I’m sorry if she gave you any trouble.”
The nurse paused in her ministrations. “Your mom? She was great. Always asking about my kids and telling me to spend more time with them.”
“My mother?” Dara pointed at the still figure in the bed. “That woman?”
Now the nurse turned fully to face Dara. “Of course. Why are you so surprised?”
Dara swallowed several responses. Because she never bothered spending time with me. Because if they gave awards for the most distant and coldest person, she would win hands-down. Because to her, a child was meant to be seen and not heard—an ornament, a decoration, and a testament to her good genes.
If the nurse thought Dara’s silence odd, she didn’t show it. She resumed fluffing the pillows. “She talked about you all the time, you know.”
Dara could just imagine what her mother might’ve said. “I’m afraid to ask.”
Again, the nurse stopped what she was doing and looked at Dara quizzically. “Are you kidding me? Your mom was so proud of you. She bragged about you and said you were so much smarter than she ever was and that you could be anything you want to be.” The nurse laughed. “I think if you’d told her you were going to run for president, she’d have said you’d win.”
Dara blinked hard as her eyes again started to water. Who was this woman in the bed and what had she done with Dara’s mother?
“She asked me to help her with a project,” the nurse was saying when Dara tuned back in. “Wait here and I’ll find it.”
“Find what?” Dara furrowed her brow.
“I’ll be right back.” The nurse hurried from the room.
Dara studied her mother’s face and wondered how much she really knew of this woman. It had been so long since they’d spoken. Was it possible that she had changed so drastically?
“Here it is. Took me a minute to find it. These dang flash drives are so small.” The nurse held the USB drive out for Dara to take. She must’ve seen the puzzled look because she added, “Your mother made a recording for you. She asked me to give it to you if you showed up.”
Dara looked from the drive in her hand to the nurse and back again. “I’m sorry?”
“I came in the other day to check on your mom and she asked me if I could help her with something. So I said, sure. She wanted to leave you an audio recording, but she had no idea how to do it. She told me technology was a mystery to her. So, on my next shift I brought in my son’s laptop and set it up for her, plugged in the microphone, opened GarageBand, and hit Record.”
Dara tried to imagine her mother sitting up in this bed, a laptop on her lap, talking into a microphone. She shook her head, unable to picture it.
“She rang the call bell when she was done, and I saved the file for her. Then she gave it to me for safekeeping and asked me to make sure it got to you. So here it is.”
Dara closed her hand around the drive. “Thank you.” She touched the nurse on the arm. “Thank you for taking such good care of my mother and for helping her with this.”
“You’re welcome. It’s been my pleasure. Like I said, your mom was a special lady.” The nurse patted Dara’s hand and moved away. “I’ve got to look in on a few other patients. If there’s anything you need, just ring the call button.”
What would her mother have wanted to say so badly that she enlisted the help of a near stranger to do it? Nothing the nurse said sounded anything like the mother Dara knew. She stared at the drive in her palm. She was grateful that her computer likely was safely tucked away in the hotel room Carolyn and Stan secured for her. Otherwise, she might’ve been tempted to listen to the recording right now.
“Ms. Thomas?”
Dara turned to see a handsome, middle-aged man in a lab coat striding through the door. “Yes.”
“I’m Doctor Emanuel. We spoke on the phone.”
“Of course.” Dara stood and extended her hand. “Thank you for contacting me.”
The doctor glanced down at the iPad in his hand that contained her mother’s medical files and nodded grimly. “As I explained to you on the phone, your mother’s prognosis is not good.”
“I understand.”
“Your mother has a Do Not Resuscitate order on file.” The doctor’s look was compassionate.
“Okay.” Dara let that information sink
in. “What happens now?”
“That’s entirely up to you. You are your mother’s health-care proxy, so the decision is yours to make. What the DNR means is that your mother has asked that we not take any extraordinary measures to save her life.”
Dara regarded all of the tubes and machines.
“These machines are not considered extraordinary measures,” the doctor said gently. “They are simply maintaining her present condition.”
“I see.” Dara swallowed. “And if they were removed?”
“Most likely your mother would pass away within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”
“And if all things remain as they are right now?”
“You mean, if the machines stay in place?”
“Yes.”
“She likely would continue as she is for an indefinite period of time.”
“But it’s your professional opinion that there’s no chance of her recovering?”
“I’ve been involved in many cases similar to your mother’s. I’ve never seen a patient in this circumstance recover once they’ve progressed to this stage.”
“Oh.” Dara slumped down onto the chair. After a few seconds, she asked, “Did you have a discussion with her about this? Did she say what she wanted?” Somehow, Dara felt unqualified to make choices for this woman who had been a stranger to her for so many years.
“I’m sorry, apart from the DNR and the health-care proxy, she left no specific instructions.”
Dara weighed her options. What would her mother want? She glanced up at the doctor. “Do I have to decide right now?”
“No.”
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take a little time. This,” Dara’s gesture encompassed the room, “is a lot to take in.”
“Of course.” The doctor turned to leave. “I’m sorry to meet you under such difficult circumstances.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
When he’d left, Dara rubbed her tired eyes. “Mother? What do you expect me to do here?” Briefly, she wondered if having her make this decision was her mother’s way of punishing her. Finally, she rose from the chair. She was too exhausted to think clearly. It was time to go to the hotel and rest. She gathered her things and rose. Impulsively, she leaned over and brushed her lips over her mother’s forehead. Then just as quickly, she turned and ran out of the room.
