Angel Song

by Sheila Walsh

  The lace curtains that covered the window were thin enough that Ann could see Tammy’s outline. She considered walking away and pretending she saw and heard nothing—leave her outside and, along with her, the reality her presence brought.

  Instead, she swung the door open slowly and held it for Tammy to come inside. Tammy patted her on the arm as she entered; then Keith appeared from behind her and did the same. “Hi, Annie.” He smiled and stood right next to her, even though his mother had continued to the kitchen. “I made somethin’ for you,” he said.

  He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and began to unfold it. Ann watched his glasses slide down his nose. He pushed them back up, then unfolded the next flap, then the next. The process seemed to take an eternity. Meanwhile, she prepared herself to say something complimentary about the cat or the dog or the sunshine he’d drawn for her, but when the final fold opened, Ann just stared, wondering how to respond.

  “Thanks, Keith, it’s beautiful,” was what she finally managed, though it was less an overstatement and more a lie.

  He smiled shyly and pointed at a stick figure with long brown hair. “That’s you.” Then he pointed at another stick figure wearing hoop earrings, arms reaching up toward a blob of golden paint. “That’s Sarah.”

  Ann pointed at the yellow octopuslike blob. “What is that?”

  “Sarah’s angel. He sings to make her feel better.”

  Keith and his mother hadn’t even been at the hospital until after Sarah died. He certainly had no way of knowing there was any sort of music in the ambulance. “What makes you think that Sarah’s angel sang to her?”

  He shrugged, looking embarrassed, and walked toward his mother. “I’m not supposed to say. I just know, that’s all.”

  Tammy drew him into the circle of her arms. “It’s okay, honey.” She rested her chin on the top of his head and looked up. Her gaze lingered to Ann’s right, exactly where Ann knew the partially drained bottle of vodka sat on the kitchen counter.

  In an effort to shift the focus elsewhere, Ann said, “Why aren’t you supposed to say?”

  Keith turned around to look at her, wiping a tear from beneath his wire-rimmed glasses. “They don’t like it.”

  “Who doesn’t like it? The angels, you mean? Is it supposed to be a secret?”

  “Not the angels, the people.”

  Ann looked at Tammy, who was rubbing Keith’s hair with her left hand. She shrugged. “Some of the people at our church have”—she paused long enough that Ann wasn’t certain she was going to continue—“requested that Keith not talk about seeing or hearing angels.”

  “Really?” Ann thought about this for a minute. She personally could understand how Keith’s declarations might make people uncomfortable, but somehow in this context, it didn’t make sense. “Isn’t that what people at church are supposed to do? Talk about God and angels, and all those kinds of things?”

  Tammy shrugged again and kissed the top of Keith’s head. “Apparently not about angels so much.”

  “Really? Why?”

  Keith leaned close to his mother and whispered. She whispered back, and then he said something else.

  Tammy looked up at Ann, her smile apologetic. “Could we possibly use your bathroom?”

  Ann nodded in the general direction of the bathroom. “Do you know where it is, or should I show you?”

  “Believe me, we know.” Tammy smiled. “Thank you.”

  As the duo made their way toward the bathroom, Ann pulled a glass from the cupboard and stuck it under the faucet. Maybe a glass of cold water would help her feel better. She heard the sound of a car out front and pulled back the curtain over the kitchen sink just in time to see a silver Corvette glide into the driveway.

  Seconds later, a heavyset woman with short gray hair emerged, carrying a large basket in her hand. She walked down the driveway then opened the gate to the half wall that surrounded part of the front of the house. But instead of proceeding across the courtyard to the front portico, the woman stopped. Ann had to lean way over to see what the woman was doing. After setting her box on a chair, she began to unfold a tablecloth and arrange it on the round table.

  Ann scrambled to open the front door but held fast to the door handle in case this woman was deranged and Ann needed to rush back inside. But she suspected there was just a mix-up of addresses. “Can I help you?”

  “No, honey. I’m the helper here.” She spoke in a loud voice with a thick southern accent and wore no visible makeup beneath her small rectangular glasses.

  “I think you must have the wrong house.”

  “Oh, Annie darling, I’m sorry, I do forget myself. I’m Danielle, and I loved your sweet sister. I’m here to help you in any way that I can.”

  “Right on time, as always, Danielle.” Tammy walked past Ann onto the covered porch. “And she likes to be called ‘Ann’.”

  On time? “Can I ask what this is all about?”

  Tammy looked confused. “Well, I told you last night that we’d be here at eight to help you start planning, didn’t I?”

  Through the hazy memories of last night, Ann did remember her saying something like that. “Yeah, that’s right.” Ann combed her fingers through her disheveled mop of hair. “I guess I just assumed that we meant you and Keith.”

  “I’m here, Annie. I came to help.” Keith reached out from behind his mother and touched Ann’s arm.

  “Uh.” Ann took an involuntary step away from him. “I . . .”

  “Yes, you did come to help, didn’t you?” Tammy gently pulled Keith’s hand away. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more specific. I’m so used to Danielle being a part of us that I forgot that you wouldn’t necessarily know that.”

  Danielle had begun setting plates around the table. “I brought muffins and fruit—oh, and I noticed the Hot Now sign lit at Krispy Kreme and just couldn’t help but stop and get some. I hope that works for you.”

  “Sure,” Tammy said.

  Ann looked at Tammy. The shock of last night’s events and the fog of this morning’s hangover left her too weak to comprehend what was happening, much less voice a protest. Yet. “So, what are we doing again?”

  “Right now we’re eating our breakfast—I thought it’d be nice to eat outside. Hope you don’t mind.” Danielle set her basket on the ground, then sat in the closest chair and looked up expectantly. “Tammy, it’s your turn to bless the food. Let’s get going. We’ve got lots to do.”

  Tammy took a seat, and Ann did too, glad there was someone else here to do the thinking.

  “I’ll sit by you, Annie.” Keith pulled his chair close to hers and took hold of her left hand as they all bowed their heads. Everyone except Ann.

  She looked around the group, finally settling on Tammy’s face, as Tammy said, “Dear Father, thank You for providing us with this food and with each other. Thank You for sharing Sarah with us for the time that You did. Thank You that she’s basking in the warmth of Your love right now. Help Annie feel your peace and presence and give us all wisdom in the days ahead. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the group responded in unison.

  Keith squeezed Ann’s hand before he let go. “Amen.”

  “There now, let’s get down to business.” Danielle looked toward Ann. “Would you prefer to have the after-funeral meal here or at the church?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about . . .”

  “There’s been a lot of remodeling at the church; the fellowship hall looks awful right now. I think we should just do it here, don’t you?” Tammy looked at Ann, waiting for a response.

  “Sure, sounds good.” As much as Ann hated to be bossed around, today she was downright thankful for it.

  “I’m glad you agree. I’ve already taken the liberty to make some phone calls. Food should start arriving here by Sunday afternoon so that it’ll be ready for Monday.” Danielle made this statement matter-of-factly, then took another bite of muffin.

  “Danielle, whatever would you have done if she had said sh
e wanted it at the church?” Tammy looked toward the older woman, an expression somewhere between amusement and annoyance on her face.

  “You know, Tammy, I keep telling you and telling you, there’s absolutely no reason to worry about things that could have happened but didn’t.” Her pale green eyes twinkled as she spoke. “But to answer your question, it’s simple. I would have called them back and said there’d been a change of venue. Not a big deal. But since that didn’t happen, let’s get on with business.”

  Danielle looked back at the pad of paper. “We need to pick out an outfit for Sarah, and Annie, you’ll need to go pick out a casket. Tammy, you go with her. I’ll take the clothes over to the funeral home after we get them ready. Okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where’s Sarah?” Keith popped the last of his muffin in his mouth. “I go get her.” He started toward the door.

  Tammy jumped up and took him by the arm. “Sarah’s not here, darling. Remember? She’s with the angels now.”

  Keith looked around, confused. “When is she coming back?”

  It was all Ann could do to keep her composure. Keith’s question—no, that question’s answer—was too much to take. Sarah was never coming back.

  “We’ll be with her again someday. For now, why don’t you color her a picture?”

  “Okay.” Keith wandered over to the far side of the porch and began to sketch on a pad of paper that his mother handed him.

  Danielle rattled off a list with complete efficiency, and in no time, everyone knew her assigned tasks for the day.

  “Thank you both”—Ann could barely form the words—“for organizing all this. I don’t know how I would have done it without your help.” She was so numb from everything—from the accident to this overwhelming show of support from women she didn’t even know.

  Danielle looked surprised by this statement. “Well, of course I organized all this. That’s my special gift. That and giving orders—I’m particularly good at that one.”

  “Got that right.” Tammy rolled her eyes but smiled. “And since my particular gift seems to be taking orders, we get along just fine.”

  “Yep, that’s why I let you hang out with me. I admire smart women—and the fact that you listen to me shows your brilliance.” Danielle rubbed the back of the empty seat beside her and her face suddenly went solemn. “I don’t know what we’re going to do without Sarah. We need her to make the group complete.”

  A choking wave of grief washed over Ann; she needed to control it. “What was Sarah’s gift?”

  “Compassion.” Danielle rubbed her forehead and leaned forward until her elbow rested on the table. “How many times have we sat at this very table and talked things over, prayed until there was nothing left to pray?”

  Tammy reached over and put an arm on Danielle’s shoulder. “She’d want us to carry on as best we can—you know that.”

  “I know, but how can we?” Danielle looked up then, wiped at a tear, and said, “Besides that, she has the best garden patio around. Where’s she think we’re going to carry on?” She began to laugh and cry at the same time, and soon Tammy followed suit. They were wiping their eyes, sobbing, laughing, and hugging each other.

  Keith walked over. “You okay, Mama?”

  Tammy patted his hand. “I’m fine, sweetie.”

  Danielle leaned toward Ann. “Looks like the only thing for us to do is to adopt Annie into our midst. Annie Fletcher, welcome to our little misfit family. We may be a bunch of loons, but at least we’re in this together.” Tammy came and put her arms around Ann, then so did Keith.

  Ann wasn’t sure how she felt about being adopted. But it didn’t appear she had a choice in the matter.

  Sarah’s old desktop computer sat on a small desk on the opposite wall of the living room. A momentary escape was exactly what Ann needed after this morning of sorting through Sarah’s clothes. She needed something to clear her mind.

  Yes, she would sit down, surf the Web. Maybe she’d even do a little research about nonexistent music, figure out what might have happened to her yesterday. After she loaded herself up with facts, she could at least leave this part of the memories behind.

  She typed “auditory hallucinations” into the Google search engine. Dozens of links popped up. She clicked on one.

  A study back in 1894 concluded that 10 percent of the population has experienced a hallucination at some point. Interesting. Ten percent was a large number. If it was a hallucination of some sort, maybe Ann wasn’t so out there after all.

  She scanned and clicked on a few more links.

  As she skimmed site after site, she repeatedly noticed the phrase “quite common in psychotic conditions, usually manifesting as voices.” At least she hadn’t gone the creepy-voice route.

  She supposed she should be thankful for that. And she wasn’t, to her knowledge, psychotic, another reason to be grateful. But the fact remained that she’d still heard something that wasn’t there.

  She kept reading, determined to find something concrete that explained the song she’d heard. Finally, she found an article about paracusia. This was the scientific name for someone who hears things that aren’t there. To Ann, it sounded a lot better than hallucination, especially when it involved her. Even better, it said that this paracusia—such as whistles, claps, and music—is often brought on by extreme conditions.

  Ta-da!

  Conditions didn’t get much more extreme than they were yesterday. Obviously the whole episode was brought on by the stress of the accident. The fact that the nonexistent music in the chapel sounded like Sarah’s song was because Sarah’s injury from the accident was at the heart of her stress. Of course that was it. And the dream this morning was just her mind trying to sort through the trauma of losing Sarah. As the reality of what had happened sank in, the paracusia would diminish. She wouldn’t hear it in her dreams, wouldn’t wake up with the sound seemingly in her room, and she would soon forget how she’d heard those notes in every cell of her body. At least she hoped it would be that simple.

  Chapter 5

  By four o’clock that afternoon, Ann’s head was still pounding, but at least she was alone. For the time being. She drew the curtains shut because she had other things to deal with now, things that had nothing to do with the accident or Sarah or funeral plans. It was not going to be any more pleasant, but at least it was familiar. She pushed the number two button on her speed dial.

  “Marston Home Staging, this is Jen, may I help you?” Jen’s perky phone voice felt soothing through the distance.

  “Hi, Jen, it’s me.”

  “Ann, I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to return my calls.” She said the words in a singsong, teasing voice. “I’m guessing you stayed out a little too late last night? Mmm-hmm. Got your straight-laced sister out for a little pre-graduation celebration, didn’t you? I told you that you could corrupt her if you just tried hard enough. Yep, the more you went on about what a goody-goody she is, the more I knew you would break her down. Score one for the bad girls. Way to go, Ann.” She gave a quick laugh. “And don’t worry about a thing here. Of course Margaret’s been going crazy trying to reach you, but I told her the cell reception was spotty in parts of Charleston and that’s why you weren’t calling back. As usual, I’ve got your back.”

  “Return your calls?” Ann’s cell had been turned off all day, but she hadn’t been expecting to hear from anyone. “Why have you been calling?”

  “Not so fast. Before we start talking business, you’ve got to tell me what’s on the list of celebrations for tonight. Dinner? Late-night dancing? Wine? Tequila shots? Exactly how far off the straight and narrow can you push your little sister? It’s Friday night! Details, I need details.” She paused, obviously waiting for a witty response, or at least Ann’s typical sarcastic one.

  Ann could think of absolutely nothing to say. She took a deep breath, then concentrated on proper diction with each word. “There’s been a little change of plans. Sarah’s not go
ing to graduate tomorrow after all.”

  “What? You flew all the way down there, and she flunked her last semester of grad school? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No, she didn’t flunk. There was . . . an accident.”

  “Accident?” Her voice took a serious tone, but she was obviously still waiting for the punch line. “What happened?”

  “A car ran a red light. It crashed right into the driver’s side. Sarah . . .” Just saying the words brought back pictures of Sarah’s pale face against the sheets, the blood, the humming. “She didn’t make it.”

  Jen gasped. “No.”

  Ann took another breath to make certain she could speak before she tried again. “The funeral is Monday. I don’t think I’ll be back to the office until Wednesday afternoon sometime.” Funny, once the focus of the conversation turned from the accident itself to getting things done, it became easier to speak.

  “Oh, Ann.” Jen’s voice was quiet now. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ann looked toward the counters piled high with food and said, “Me too.”

  There was a full minute of silence. Even the ever-bubbly Jen had been shut down by this news. Finally, Ann said, “Now, back to business. Why did you say you were trying to reach me?”

  “Oh, right. It seems that you, Miss Fletcher, received a phone call from none other than Mr. Patrick Stinson himself.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Ann thought back to the surprise of meeting him on the airplane. It felt like a lifetime ago. “What did he say?”

  “Not much. He didn’t want to talk to anyone but you. I’m gathering you had some sort of an encounter?”

  “I don’t think it would qualify as an encounter exactly.”