Entertaining Angels

by Judy Duarte

  Now all she had to do was find a place to stay for the night.

  A gray-haired lady dressed in teal-blue slacks and a cream-colored sweater began a slow shuffle along the sidewalk. A worn black tote bag hung from the crook in her arm.

  “Excuse me,” Renee said, easily catching up with her. “Can you tell me where I can find the community church?”

  The woman cocked her silvery head to the side and squinted, as though she was new in town, too. Then she lifted her free arm and pointed a gnarled finger in the same direction she was heading. “This is Main Street. Follow it down about eight or ten blocks. You’ll come to Applewood. Turn left. That’ll lead you to Mulberry Park. The church is on the same side as the playground, although the entrance is actually on First Avenue.”

  Renee wasn’t all that good with directions, but she figured a park and a church would be tough to miss. “Thanks.”

  She continued to tag along until the older woman turned down one of the side streets, and Renee trudged straight ahead. The sore on the side of her foot burned and stung something awful, and she found herself limping.

  She counted blocks as she went, and while it seemed as though it took forever to reach Applewood, it had probably only been a few torturous minutes. Fortunately, the little old lady knew what she was talking about. The park lay straight ahead.

  Renee glanced beyond the playground and easily spotted the church, one of those white, old-fashioned types that had stained glass windows, a bright red double door in front, and a bell tower with a steeple on top. Trouble was, the parking lot was practically deserted, and Renee felt like kicking herself for being so dumb and listening to a bushy-faced hippie.

  An old guy wearing a pair of denim overalls and a blue plaid shirt was sweeping the grounds with a push broom. When she asked about the soup kitchen, he told her it was already closed for the day.

  “Come back between eleven and two tomorrow,” he added, while he continued to sweep.

  She wasn’t all that hungry yet, but she would need to eat something by tonight. She still got a little pukey sometimes, and it helped to have food in her stomach.

  But after buying the cheeseburger and the bus ticket, her three hundred dollars was dwindling fast.

  She ran a hand through her hair, her finger snagging on a snarl. She wished she’d taken time to comb it better this morning and to pull it back or something. But she wouldn’t stress about that now. Not when she needed to find a place to sleep. A place that wouldn’t cost very much.

  As the old man continued to stroke the sidewalk with his broom, she called out to him again. “Excuse me. Sir?”

  The swish-swish of his movements paused, and he turned around to face her. “Yes?”

  “I’m looking for a motel, and I was wondering if you could tell me where I can find one.”

  “The Happy Hearth is on Fourth Avenue, just past the post office. And the Welcome Inn is on Bedford Parkway.”

  “Thanks.” She bent over, something that wasn’t quite as easy to do as it used to be, and ran her finger along the frayed edge of the sandal strap, where the skin on the inside of her ankle had started to bleed. If she thought the old man might have a first aid kit on him, she’d have asked him for a Band-Aid. But she doubted he did. So instead, she asked, “Which of the motels is closest?”

  He stroked his chin with the hand not holding the broom handle. “The one on Bedford, I suppose.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip.

  “You new in town?” he asked.

  For a moment, she was afraid to admit it. But if he got too inquisitive or mentioned her age, she always had the fake ID to back up her story, and it was a pretty good one. So she nodded. “Yeah. Just arrived today. I’m looking for a job, too.”

  He studied her for a moment, as if really looking at her—inside and out—which was something most people never did.

  So she stood tall, tried to conjure an aura of self-confidence and maturity, and smiled. “I’m a hard worker. And I can do just about anything. So if you know of anyone who’s hiring …?”

  “Not off the top of my head.” He rubbed a hand over his thinning hair as if trying to joggle his memory. “But if you’re in a hurry, you can cut through the park. The jogging path that runs past the ball field is a shortcut to Bedford. Just head east. When you reach the street, hang a right.”

  “Thanks.” She took a step, then froze. “I don’t suppose you know what the rates are?”

  “I had to put my brother-in-law up there a couple of years ago, and it cost sixty bucks a night. But I suspect it must be more now.”

  Renee nodded, forcing her expression to remain positive and upbeat while her spirits were sputtering by the minute. Her money wasn’t going to last a week. But what else could she do?

  More scared and desperate than she dared admit, she limped across the street and made her way to the park. Before crossing the newly mowed lawn, she removed her sandals and carried them.

  The soft, cool blades of grass massaged her aching feet, as she continued on her way. She scanned the tree-dotted grounds, the empty playground, the baseball field, where a preteen boy pitched to a man squatting behind home plate.

  It was a nice park, she decided.

  If she knew where she’d be sleeping, she might have hung out for a while. But night was closing in on her, and an imaginary time bomb was tick-tocking in her head.

  Could her life get any worse than this?

  Yeah, it could.

  If she ran out of money before she got a job, she’d really be in a fix, especially with a baby to think about.

  Up ahead, a great big tree grew in the center of the park. Underneath the shade of its branches, a concrete bench rested, offering a seat to a weary traveler.

  It seemed like she’d been walking since early this morning. Her legs ached, and she needed a rest.

  What would it hurt if she sat down to rest for just a minute or two?

  Instead of hurrying to find the motel, she padded to the bench, removed her backpack, and plopped down.

  She’d known that her decision to have the baby meant that she was on her own, but she hadn’t realized how scary that might be, especially since it would be dark soon.

  If she was a religious person, she might pray at a time like this. But she didn’t know what to say.

  She’d gone to Sunday school with one of the foster families she’d lived with, but she couldn’t remember too much about it. Just that they sang songs, listened to stories, ate oatmeal cookies, and drank a lemonade-based punch that was yummy.

  Still, she was running out of options at this point, so she clasped her hands, letting them rest in her lap, and bowed her head.

  She didn’t close her eyes, though. She just stared at her toes and the red, angry wound on her foot, felt the tears sting her eyes and clog her throat.

  “If you’re there, God—” She looked up through the dancing leaves in the tree, spotting a dappled glimpse of the sky. Oh, God, please be there. She glanced back at her feet and sighed, hoping her words didn’t fall on deaf ears. “I don’t know where to go or who to trust. And now I’ve got a baby to look out for.”

  No answer.

  A story she’d heard at Sunday school came to mind, and she wished that she could remember all the details now. But it was about a bunch of people who’d been in the wilderness for forty or fifty years. And God had sent a cloud to show them the way to go. He’d given them some kind of heavenly food to eat, too.

  What she wouldn’t do for her own personal cloud and a decent meal right now.

  So she took it a step further. “Can you please help me? I need to find a cheap place to live and a job.”

  She waited for a while, as if some big booming voice would shout out from the heavens and tell her exactly where to go and what to do.

  Still no answer. But then again, she supposed she really hadn’t expected one. Over the years, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy hadn’t meant the same to her as they had t
o other kids, and she’d learned to deal with it.

  Of course, God was supposed to be real—at least, to a lot of people.

  So, in spite of a niggling doubt, she cleared her throat and gave it a parting shot. “If you won’t do it for me, then would you do it for the baby?”

  A light breeze kicked up, and tree leaves rustled overhead. It wasn’t the James Earl Jones impersonation that she’d been expecting, but it sure beat the silence that had mocked her before.

  Aw, come on, Renee, she chided herself. Shake it off. You’re wasting what little daylight you have left.

  So she stood and slipped her arms through the straps of the backpack, adjusting her load for comfort, then made her way to the gray block building that she hoped was the public restrooms.

  When she spotted a door that said WOMEN, she muttered, “Oh, thank God,” but not to anyone in particular. Then she grabbed the handle, pulled it open, and stepped inside.

  There were two stalls to choose from and a table for changing babies. But her gaze immediately dropped to something pink on the floor—a hooded jacket that had been discarded. She picked it up, felt the white fur-like lining that was almost new.

  She checked the tag, looking for a girl’s name in it. Some mothers did that. Put a label or marked in their kids’ coats and stuff.

  While growing up, Renee sometimes had articles of clothing that still bore the name of the kid who’d gotten them firsthand.

  Gretchen, whoever she was, had once owned a hand-knit sweater with a tag that said it had been lovingly made by her grandmother. Renee didn’t know if Gretchen’s mom had given it to the Salvation Army because it had been outgrown or if it was because of the ink stain on the sleeve. Either way, it was cool to think someone’s grandma had made something that ended up in Renee’s drawer.

  But the jacket she’d just found didn’t have anyone’s name on it.

  It was a little too small, and while she probably could still use it herself, she carefully folded it and placed it on top of the paper towel dispenser. Then she chose a stall and did what she came to do.

  After flushing, she went to the sink, where she washed her hands then dried them on a paper towel. While standing near the trash can, she noticed a bluish-green plastic Wal-Mart bag leaning up against the wall. Out of curiosity, she reached for it and peered inside, spotting a couple of empty Tupperware containers, a plastic fork, a child-size box of apple juice with the little straw still attached, an orange, and a package of unopened graham crackers.

  She placed the sack on the sink and rustled through it a bit more, then gasped at what she found.

  Wow. Too weird.

  She pulled out one of three Band-Aids, the designer kind with cartoon characters on them.

  If she didn’t know better …

  But she did know better. Someone had left the remnants of a picnic lunch in the bathroom. And either that same person or another girl had left behind a jacket when packing up to go home. No need to think of it as a miracle or anything. It had just been a losers-weepers kind of day.

  But it still seemed like someone had placed these things here—just for her.

  “Thank you,” Renee muttered to the cold gray walls or to Whoever might be listening.

  Again, silence followed, which was just as well. She’d probably freak if some booming voice said, “You’re welcome.”

  She grabbed a couple of towels from the dispenser, then used them to wash the wound on the inside of her foot and to dab it dry. When she was satisfied that it was clean, she applied a Nemo Band-Aid.

  On the way out, she paused at the door. Normally, she didn’t take things that didn’t belong to her. But it was beginning to look like the jacket might be part of a heavenly gift package, so she went back for it, thinking it could come in handy if it got any colder before she reached the motel.

  She took time for a quick drink from the water fountain and refilled her sports bottle. Then she slipped on her sandals and started her trek once again, crossing the park and following the jogging trail on her way to Bedford and the motel, just like the old man at the church had told her. But she hadn’t taken more then five or six steps when a flash of light caught her eye.

  Squinting and using her hand as a shield, she tried to determine where it was coming from.

  Somewhere in the canyon that lay beyond the park, she guessed.

  The reflected light continued to shine and flicker as if someone was sending a message in Morse code. She tried to ignore it, but couldn’t. Maybe God didn’t always use clouds to show people the way.

  Okay, this was probably just a fluke and way too weird to contemplate, yet in spite of her better judgment, she cut through the brush, drawn to the light like a moth.

  About twenty yards in, she found a path that seemed to lead right to the source, a big tree with a wooden structure built in its branches. A bicycle rim hung over the small doorway—some kind of ornament or decoration, she guessed. Apparently, the chrome had picked up a sunray and shot it at her.

  Her curiosity now appeased, she turned to go, then froze in her tracks. She’d asked for a cheap place to spend the night, and an abandoned tree house wouldn’t cost her a dime.

  She glanced up at the sky. “I don’t suppose you meant for me to stay here tonight.”

  No answer.

  Slowly turning around, she made her way to the tree, surveying the sturdy structure and pondering the possibilities. Seven or eight wooden steps had been nailed to the trunk to allow entrance to the little house.

  Just think of the money she’d save.

  And six feet above the ground, she’d be safe from snakes.

  She placed a foot on the bottom rung and began to climb until she reached the opening. Inside, two fringed throw rugs—one blue, the other green—covered the floor. Both were frayed and had seen better days. They were dirty, too. But she could shake them out.

  There were a couple of comic books in the corner, as well as a ball of string and an old red coffee can.

  On a wooden ledge about eighteen inches from the ceiling, three red candles, each used to various degrees, sat upright, held in place by globs of melted wax.

  Well, the place definitely had possibilities.

  And it wasn’t far from the park, so she had access to a bathroom and running water …

  Renee pulled herself through the opening, then removed her backpack and, with the bag of stuff she found, began to settle in for the night.

  What was it Jesse, the hippie guy, had said?

  You’ll find everything you’ll need in Fairbrook.

  Maybe he’d been right.

  But two hours later, as darkness huddled over the canyon and a pack of coyotes yipped and howled just steps away from the tree, Renee wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter 2

  Just as Craig neared Fairbrook’s city limits, the Ford Taurus rumbled one more time, then groaned and shuddered to a complete stop.

  Giving in to temptation, he finally let loose and swore under his breath, a reaction he’d been holding back for the past two hundred miles.

  Ain’t nothing wrong under the hood, nearly a legion of mechanics had told him time and again.

  Which meant what? That the problem was behind the wheel?

  Craig glanced at the clock on the dash. 10:36.

  Unable to help himself, he looked heavenward, rolled his eyes, and slowly shook his head.

  Deciding he’d better push the car to the shoulder of the road and walk the rest of the way to town, he threw the transmission into neutral and climbed out of the driver’s seat.

  With the door still open, he placed one hand on the steering wheel and began to push with the other.

  “Need some help?”

  Craig nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of an unexpected male voice. He turned to see who was there. Darkness separated them, yet footsteps crunched on the gravel at the side of the road at his approach.

  Moments later, the man stepped into the light of the head lamps. His hair
was long and shaggy, and he wore a bushy, silver-streaked beard.

  If Craig were a gambler, he’d wager that the guy was homeless based upon his appearance and his clothing—a baggy dark shirt and jacket, frayed jeans with a gaping hole in the knee, and a pair of bulky leather sandals.

  Continuing to maneuver the rattletrap hunk of metal and tires out of the road, Craig thanked the stranger for the offer. “It’s all right. I’ve just about got it now.”

  The guy nodded toward the city lights. “I’m heading to Fairbrook, too. Would you mind giving me a lift?”

  Was he blind? Strung out on something? This car wasn’t going anywhere unless it was attached to a tow truck.

  The pent-up frustration that had been building over the past few hours called for a retort, yet everything Craig had been taught at the seminary tamped down a snide comment. “I wish I could drive you into town, but I’m afraid we’ll have to walk.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” The man nodded toward the hood of the car.

  Who was this guy? A down-on-his-luck mechanic?

  “Sure. Go ahead.” Craig crossed his arms over his chest, shifted his weight to one hip, and watched the man release the latch, then lift the hood and peer inside.

  He didn’t do much, just wiggled a wire or two. Then he lowered the hood with a bang and brushed his hands together. “Why don’t you give it another try now?”

  Craig blew out a sigh. With all the trouble he’d been having with this vehicle, he was ready to throw up his hands. Or to stomp his feet and shake his fist. The hold on his temper was stretched to the limit.

  Since none of the service station mechanics who’d taken a look could find anything wrong, it seemed futile to think that this shabby stranger would have any more luck with a lot less effort.

  But whatever.

  Craig slid behind the wheel, turned the ignition, and pumped the gas pedal. The engine started right up.

  The stranger came to the passenger side, opened the door, and peered across the seat at Craig. “How about that ride now?”