Angel Song

by Sheila Walsh

  Ann looked at him and nodded. “Maybe you’re right.” Now she was agreeing with the reasoning of a homeless man she didn’t know? Great. Wonder what craziness was going to happen next.

  “Maybe so.” The man stood up. “Thanks for this now, hear? I hope I see you again sometime. Maybe next time you’ll teach me that tune.”

  “Maybe so.” Ann walked back into the lobby, opposing thoughts pinging around in her brain like a pinball in a machine. When would things ever make sense?

  Chapter 35

  It wasn’t just the landing that jarred Ann as the plane touched down in Charleston. This would perhaps be the last time she ever came back here, and though she looked forward to putting her past behind her, something still hurt.

  There wasn’t anything worthwhile for her here. She didn’t want to be reminded that no one was quite as willing to keep her around as she was willing to be kept around. This town was full of abandonment, and she wasn’t going to get caught up in it this time.

  When she pulled into the driveway that evening, she looked toward Tammy and Keith’s house. She expected Keith to show up at the passenger side window any minute now, like he always did—but he was nowhere to be seen. Surely he wasn’t still sick?

  She glanced toward the house just in time to see the curtains rustling in what she knew was Keith’s bedroom.

  Seconds later the back door flew open and he was hurrying toward her car. “Annie, Annie. I knew you’d be back soon. I just knew it.” He was breathless by the time he rushed over and threw his arms around her, hugging tight.

  Ann hugged back, so amazed at the sense of love that seemed to follow this kid. “You did? How did you know?”

  “It told me so.”

  “Your angel?”

  “No.” He kept his arms tight around her. “My heart did.” His breathing still seemed labored.

  Ann put her hand against his cheek, willing herself not to cry in front of him. “Your heart was right.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He pulled away then, his smile lighting up the whole world. “Never doubt your heart.” He said it as if he were telling her that the sun rises every morning and sets every night.

  Tammy had walked across the yard to join them by this time. “Welcome back.” She gave Ann a brief hug. “How long you here for this time?”

  Ann shrugged. “Couple of weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” Tammy’s voice obviously came out louder than she’d intended because she spoke more softly when she continued. “You’ve never stayed that long before.”

  “Well, a few issues came up with my job in New York that gave me some extra free time, and I decided I would come down here and get the house all finished up, tie up as many loose ends as possible.” Ann ruffled Keith’s hair. “It’s good to see you up again. Last time I was here, you had a pretty nasty cough.”

  “The doctor gave me some medicine.”

  Ann smiled at him. “That’s good.”

  “And Ethan brought me some of his world-famous chocolate chip cookies. That made me feel lots better. You want one?”

  Ethan. Just the sound of his name hurt. Ann looked at Tammy and found her staring back, as if waiting for a reaction. Ann could think of several things she wanted to say, several more things she wanted to ask. Finally, she settled for, “How’s he doing?”

  “Keith, go get Ann one of your cookies, okay?”

  “Okay, Mama.” He started toward the house, moving fast.

  “Walk. You don’t want to end up on bed rest again, do you?” Tammy turned toward Ann. “I think he’s doing about as well as a man can do when he’s got a broken heart.”

  “A broken heart?” She hadn’t expected that. “Right.” She sort of laughed the words, trying to play them off as insignificant teasing. “He’s the one who didn’t want me. I didn’t fit into the right mold to be good enough for him.”

  Tammy turned her face away, her mouth forming a tight line. “Most people I know would kill to have what you keep throwing away with both hands.”

  Ann opened her mouth to argue. Then closed it. Tammy was right. As with any other chance of happiness she’d ever had, she was building a wall around herself. She didn’t want to get close enough that it could hurt her. It was an old habit, and she wasn’t sure she could break it, even if she really did want to.

  “Here you go, Annie.” Keith held the cookie high in the air as if he’d wrestled it free from a throng of cookie mongers. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks, Keith.” Ann reached out and took the cookie from his hand. “This looks terrific.”

  “It is. You got some milk? Ethan’s famous cookies are better with milk.”

  “I haven’t been to the store yet, so I guess I’ll have to do without the milk.”

  “I’ll bring you some over. I can do that. Right, Mama?”

  “Keith, Ann has been traveling all day. Let’s give her some time to herself. Okay?”

  “No, I’m all right. Keith, if you want to bring a little milk over, and maybe a cookie and milk for yourself, I think that would be just great.”

  “Really?” He smiled up at his mother. “Can I?”

  “Sure. But don’t overstay your welcome.”

  “Okay, Mama.”

  Five minutes later Ann and Keith were seated at the kitchen table, each dunking a cookie in milk. “I never knew Ethan could make cookies.”

  “He can’t,” Keith said, his mouth full of cookie.

  “But you called these Ethan’s famous cookies.”

  “He buys these at the cookie store, but they’re real good. So good they’re famous.”

  “I see.” Ann tried to puzzle through that one, but wasn’t sure she got it.

  “I’m glad for Ethan’s cookies. And my angel dreams.”

  “Your angel dreams?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes when I go to sleep, I get to be with them. It’s real bright and warm, and they play their music—even their wings make music. It helps me forget about sad things.”

  “What kind of sad things?”

  “My dad doesn’t want me.” He dunked his cookie again. “That makes me sad sometimes.”

  “What makes you think he doesn’t want you?”

  “He went away. It’s my fault.”

  Ann reached across and squeezed his hand. “That’s not your fault, Keith. It’s your father’s fault. He’s the one who is wrong, and he’s the one who missed out on getting to know you. Or having fun eating cookies with you.”

  “Did your daddy leave you too?”

  That question brought up the usual barrage of memories that Ann did not want to face. “Not really, but my mother left me.”

  “Did that make you feel sad?”

  Ann nodded. “Yes.”

  “That’s why God sends His angels to me and you, maybe. So we won’t be sad anymore.”

  “Maybe so.”

  When Ann finally settled in for the night, sleep wouldn’t come. She sat on the couch, then lay down, then sat back up again. She walked through the kitchen, lit only by the moonlight and the soft glow of the streetlights as they shone through the windows. She poured herself a glass of cold water from the fridge and looked out the window toward Tammy’s house. She thought about what Keith had said about God sending His angels so that we wouldn’t be sad.

  She turned her back and leaned against the kitchen counter. “God, if You really are there, if You really have angels that go around helping people, why don’t they actually do something helpful? Why didn’t they save Sarah?”

  Something Keith had said came back into her mind so strongly that she could almost hear him saying it. “They comfort me like when your mama holds you when you’re hurt. The hurt’s still there, but you feel better just the same.”

  Yeah, well, that wasn’t enough for Ann. She wanted someone who could actually do something, not just sing a comforting song while it happened. She walked over to her table full of paperwork and dug through the stacks until she found the printouts of the Hagar paintings. She lo
oked at the haughty face of Sarah, her back turned, as Hagar was sent away. Then she turned to the next painting and saw Hagar in the wilderness, crying in despair beside her dying son. Yet the angel was on his way. Help had already been sent. If that was the case, then, in this story, God had probably been watching Hagar the entire time, from even before she got pregnant in the first place.

  But why didn’t He do something to help before she got to this point? God, if there was a God, was either all-powerful or all-loving, but He couldn’t be both. Well, if He didn’t have any power, then why did He really matter? And if He didn’t love people anyway, then what was the point?

  Her mind anxious, she knew sleep was still a long way away. She turned on the television but then remembered she’d had the cable disconnected.

  She looked out the window toward Keith’s house again, envying his quiet faith, even if it likely was misplaced. “Keith, for your sake I hope there really are angels, and I hope they are over there with you right now.” She turned out the light.

  As she lay there, thoughts still swirling through her mind, she pictured Keith’s golden octopus high above her head. Watching her. Actually caring what happened to her. Willing to intervene, or at least “hold her like your mama does when you’re hurt.” Was it truly possible that such a creature existed? And was watching her right now? For the first time, Ann kind of liked the idea.

  Chapter 36

  Ann woke up earlier than usual the next morning, surprised by the silence. Not one single note of music. As much as this should have relieved her—and it did, to some degree—it also left her feeling as though something was missing.

  Something was missing, all right, and the medical term for it was paracusia. Maybe she was finally getting over these hallucinations.

  Today was the day to get some things done around here. First thing on the list: remove all curtains and replace them with the more modern, white, semi-sheer blinds she’d purchased two trips ago.

  Within minutes, the whine of the electric screwdriver filled the house. When Ann removed the curtains from “her” bedroom, she saw a bit of the pewter tankard that hadn’t quite been covered up by coats of stark white. Something else she needed to touch up. She put her fingers on the color, remembering how she’d felt that day as she painted the walls something other than her usual. How right its warmth had felt.

  It was amazing how far she’d deluded herself. It hadn’t taken long for things to return to their usual status quo and pull her right out of that. Just as well. All these delusions needed to stop if she was going to get on with her life.

  The doorbell rang. She went to answer it, thinking that Tammy had probably already told Ethan she was back in town. She opened the door, a smile plastered on her face in spite of her herself, and found herself looking into the eyes of Eleanor Light.

  “Hi, Ann. I just stopped by to see how things were coming along. Do you think you’ll have the place ready for an open house next weekend?”

  “Next weekend?” Ann thought of the work she’d need to do before an open house, but what else did she have to do? “Sure, I’ll get it ready. I was just changing out the window treatments.”

  “Ooh, can I see?”

  “I haven’t got them all up yet, but the bedrooms are done. You’re welcome to see the progress.”

  Eleanor walked in, her heels clicking across the hardwood floor. “These floors sure did turn out nice, I tell you what. That right there is going to be a big selling point.” She stopped walking and looked around the living room. “I thought you were painting this another color, something a little warmer.”

  “Well, I tried it, but it just didn’t work.”

  “Really? This house is so cozy and warm, it seems like a warm color would be the perfect match.”

  “I tried it; it didn’t work, okay?” The loud irritation in Ann’s voice surprised even her.

  Eleanor took a step back and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in the sleeve of her jacket. She continued to smooth it long after the point of uncomfortable silence had been reached.

  Ann finally said, “You wanted to see the window treatments in the bedrooms, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Eleanor made no comment or expression to indicate she’d suffered an offense. She simply followed Ann to the bedroom.

  “Oh, these are really pretty.” Ann turned to see Eleanor lifting a small section of the just-removed curtains that were lying across the bed. “I can’t remember what you had in here before, but these are perfect. Good job.”

  “Eleanor, that’s what was in here before. I took them down to add these.” Ann unfurled one of the blinds so Eleanor could get the full translucent effect as it hung against the window. Ann loved the way it diffused the sun but did not completely block it. So clean, so modern.

  She turned to Eleanor, ready to hear her approval. Instead, she saw her looking from the new blinds to the old curtains, a look of confusion on her face. It took her a long time to say anything, but finally she said, “What gave you the idea to change to these modern shades?”

  “The homes I stage in New York are all ultra-modern. I thought it would put a little of me into this house.”

  Eleanor nodded, her forehead wrinkled in thought. “I don’t want to be offensive about any of this—I mean, obviously you wanted the walls white too—but don’t you think white walls and white modern blinds are a bit . . . lacking in color? In warmth? This is Charleston, after all, not some high rise in New York.”

  The words stung. Tammy’s similar comments could be dismissed as those of someone ignorant to good taste. Eleanor’s . . . well, she was a professional. Ann took a slow, deep breath and stated in a very calm voice, “I think there are varied tastes in Charleston, just as there are everywhere else.”

  “That is true. There are some very modern homes in Charleston, where this would look not only beautiful but totally appropriate. This is your home and you can do whatever you think is best, but as your real estate agent, I’ve got to tell you that, to me, it looks as if this home is trying to be something it’s not—like a person putting on a front that says one thing, while deep inside she knows she’s something else. That doesn’t work for people and it doesn’t work in houses.” Her phone buzzed and she looked down at it. “I’ve got somewhere I have to be, but I wish you’d think about it, Ann. Don’t be afraid to let people see what’s really inside.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she did know, and that thought terrified her more than anything she’d yet faced.

  “Trying to be something it’s not.” The phrase rang through Ann’s mind long past dinnertime. She was not trying to be something that she wasn’t; she was trying to be herself. But all of Charleston seemed to be conspiring against her. Well, this was a battle she intended to win. She was strong and independent, able to make her own choices, and didn’t need anyone else.

  She walked into her old room. I am my own person. I am not hiding. I don’t need this room or anything in it. She looked toward the wall socket and added, “Or anything that ever once was in it.”

  That’s when she knew what she needed to do. She went into Nana’s room and found the rolled paper on the nightstand. If she was truly going to bid all this nonsense farewell, it was best to get as much closure as possible. She snatched up the roll. I pulled you out of the garbage last time, but this time, there won’t be a second chance. She got into her car and drove like a crazy woman until she reached the Battery Walk.

  The full moon made it easy to watch the intersection of the two rivers as they flowed together, “forming the Atlantic Ocean. ” Remembering Ethan’s comment almost made her smile—but memories only caused pain, and it was time to purge as many of them as possible. Excess cargo could sink a ship—or a person. This little memento of her mother would be the first to go. She’d never even read the rest of it, and that was for the best. It was another piece of the past to be cut loose.

  Ann extended her hand, watching the moonlight glow faintly on the pape
r. She began to loosen her grip one finger at a time. It was time to let this go. Let all of it go.

  Her fingers seemed frozen in the bent position, in spite of her efforts to straighten them. She looked around, trying to force herself to relax. This was something she needed to do.

  The sound of the ocean and the sight of the mansions and the Ravenel Bridge did nothing to make her task any easier. Finally, her pinky finger straightened, and her ring finger slowly began to follow. It was time to give the Atlantic Ocean one more chunk of broken dreams, like the pieces of wrecked ships that once dotted the sandy bottom. Just one more victim.

  “Ann, is that you?” Eleanor’s voice was suddenly calling to her from farther down the walk. Several people turned Ann’s way.

  “Hey, what’s she doing? Mama, she’s littering. Stop her.” The high-pitched voice came from a well-dressed family walking her way, including a young girl in a flouncy sundress and huge white hair bow. “You can’t drop that into the ocean. It’s pollution. Tell her, Mama,” the girl said in a nasally, irritating tone.

  Ann was so shocked that she couldn’t think of how to respond, or even what to do. When she regained her senses, she clutched the paper—and ran. Hard. She didn’t stop running until she reached her car, jumped inside. and locked the door.

  On the drive home, she began to laugh hysterically. What had that all been about? Like she was afraid of a six-year-old with a hair bow and her thoughts on pollution. And yet, it had thrown her so completely off course that here she was, pulling back into the driveway, letter resting on the passenger seat.

  And what must Eleanor think? That Ann was a nutcase, most likely, and one pretending she was someone she wasn’t, as they were all so fond of saying.

  She took a deep breath and decided to deal with this situation once and for all. Finish reading this letter. Then she could put it behind her.

  She carried the roll back into the living room, turned on the lamp, and dropped sideways onto the sofa, leaning her back against the armrest and putting her feet up on the cushions. Slowly, she uncurled the paper and scanned down the page to where she’d stopped reading the last time. Only two paragraphs left. She rallied what was left of her courage.