“Good riddance Mrs. Findley,” he says. “She smells like bad breath.”
“Bobby, don’t say that,” Mona says.
“She does,” Bobby says. “Her whole body stinks.” He’s wearing a blue t-shirt and a very large grin. “I’m glad I’m home. I’m glad I’m home.” He starts marching around the room.
Mona turns to me. “Bobby, Jr.,” she says and nods her head
Next she introduces me to Allison and little Bradley. The children all seem very glad to see me. Maybe Mrs. Findley does stink. Or maybe Pete’s has hand in this, too. Maybe he’s up to something.
FIFTY-NINE
The Silver Lining
Bobby, Jr.’s a real handful. We’re making chocolate chip cookies, but he’s managed to eat all but two of the chocolate chips.
“Sprinkle sugar on’em and make sugar cookies!” he says, which is a good idea and about the only thing we can really do at this point.
Allison’s doing the mixing. Since she’s only three, I’ve given her a wooden spoon, but what we need is the mixer. And that is out of the question. I’m afraid one of her fingers will end up in the dough. I let her continue mixing by hand. It’s pathetic. The yolks of the eggs are still jiggling on top of the butter.
“Can I help you mix?” I say.
“Okay,” she says and gives me a look like she’s very relieved.
I really like these children. They’re no trouble at all—except maybe Bradley. He has diarrhea and his diapers are driving me up the wall. Twice I had to go to the bathroom and gag over the toilet.
“Are you okay in there?” Bobby Jr. said, and rapped on the door.
“Perfectly fine,” I answered, but actually I felt like barfing all over Bradley. He’s sleeping now. I hope Mona’s home by the next diaper change. The house just stinks. I’m hoping the smell of cookies floating through the house will take away the smell. It’s so gross, I’m telling you. So making cookies was a brilliant idea.
“Andy’s going to heaven,” Allison says. “Mommie’s taking him there with Rita.”
“Is not,” Bobby, Jr. says. “He’s going to a funeral. Right, Lorelei?”
I hate it when children ask questions.
“Well,” I say, “he’s not actually going to a funeral. Your mother and your father and Rita and her husband and all the grown-up people who love Andy are going to the funeral. It’s a funeral for Andy.”
“What’s a fewnul?” Allison says.
See why I hate when children ask questions? They quickly get very complicated.
“It’s kind of like a party to celebrate someone’s life,” I say.
“Why?” Allison asks.
“Cause he’s going to heaven,” Bobby, Jr. says.
“Right,” I say. “He’s going to heaven and it’s a very special place to be, so they’re having a party.”
“I wanna go to the party,” Allison says.
She proceeds to have a meltdown and starts crying directly into the cookie dough. I’m about ready to go back and hang my head over the john.
“You can go next time,” I say, drying her eyes.
“Okay,” she says, the tears forgotten. She starts licking the cookie dough off the spoon which has been resting in the bowl along with her tears. I’m not eating any of these cookies, no matter what. Seriously, I could be starving to death and even then I wouldn’t touch them, not one bite.
Wouldn’t you know—smoke starts pouring out of the oven.
“Oh, no!!” I yell. “We forgot about the first batch.”
I turn off the oven and open the door. Too late; the cookies look like bits of coal.
“Do we have to eat them?” Bobby asks.
I give him a look that says, you’ve got to be kidding. He puts his hand over his mouth and giggles.
I toss them in the trash can next to the sink and give up on the cookies.
“I can make some finger paints,” I say. “I know the recipe by heart. Would you like to finger paint?”
“Yes, yes!” Allison says jumping up and down.
“Yeah! Let’s finger paint,” Bobby yells loud enough to alert the next city.
Bradley hears the commotion and joins us in the kitchen. He’s managed to climb out of his crib. Apparently I didn’t fasten his diaper as tight as I should have. They’re hanging down around his knees and his diarrhea is very much still with us. The finger paints will have to wait. I need to make a quick trip to the john.
* * *
My mother and Mr. Warren are not sleeping together. They’re discussing sleeping together.
“I promised myself I’d never cheat on him again, no matter what,” she says.
“Again?” Mr. Warren inquires.
“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you,” my mother says. Shame is resting on her face like lipstick. “My husband’s partner did not force himself on me—I—I don’t know why I didn’t tell you the truth to begin—”
So Onetta wasn’t lying. No wonder she looked so strange that day. I thought it was what we were talking about. I guess she wanted to protect me. And she wanted it badly enough she was willing to lie. That says a lot about her love for me. Onetta lying? I could just hug her tight and never let go.
Mr. Warren puts his hand over my mother’s mouth.
“Grace, sssshhhh,” he whispers. “You don’t need to—I mean you hardly owe me an explanation.”
My mother’s relieved. She dabs at her face with her handkerchief. Her face is very relaxed. She looks like a regular person who’s just had a good cry.
“I want us to be together,” Mr. Warren says. “Do you want that?”
My mother shakes her head adamantly that she does.
“Then it’s settled,” he says.
“Settled?”
“He’ll have to give you a divorce.”
“A d-d-divorce?” my mother stutters.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Warren says, and puts his arms around my mother. “We’ll go see him together.”
Oh boy, this ought to be good.
SIXTY
The Golden Window.
“How did it go?” Pete asks when I return.
“Fine,” I say, “but I’m not up for any more babysitting. I’m cured.”
“Good,” Pete says, and laughs.
He’s wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Why are you dressed like that?” I ask.
“We’re going on a trip,” he says. “I want to be comfortable.”
“A trip?” I try to look like I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“And I’d prefer no side trips got in the way,” he explains.
“What do you mean?” I say, feigning stupidity.
“Lorelei, I have been trying for days to show you something that is very important. I’m just doing my job.”
Poor Pete; I’m giving him such a hard time. Whatever it is he’s so intent on showing me I might as well get it out of the way. But first, I do a little negotiating.
“I need to check on Miss Lily. Then I’ll go. Deal?”
“Can’t that wait?” he says.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “That’s why I want to check on her.”
Pete takes out a small note card.
“Alright then,” he says, scribbling in earnest. When he’s finished he hands me the card. Appointment it says in lovely script with gold letters: Tomorrow morning, Lorelei, Silver Lining, 11 a.m. sharp.
“Don’t be late,” he adds, and disappears into the purple and golden mist above.
I turn the card over. It says: St. Peter, Chief Resident Counselor in the same lovely script that’s printed on the front.
He made an appointment with me? Oh-oh—something’s up and it’s not giving me a good feeling. My stomach’s heavier than Stone Mountain and there’s this creepy feeling climbing up my back.
* * *
Before I try and find Miss Lily, I make a quick trip to the Playground for All Heaven’s Children, just to be sure Andy’s not
there any longer. Every time I come back from the Silver Lining I have trouble remembering it’s the what if and not the what is. Everything’s so real in that window that I have to remind myself that Mona has my kidney, she saved Andy; he didn’t really have a funeral. I go check out the playground just to make sure.
I search around until I’m satisfied Pete’s corrected his mistake and Andy’s safely back home. He must be. I don’t find him anywhere. I start looking for Miss. Lily and run into Carla instead. She’s running down the Stairs to the Hereafter like she’s being chased by the devil and what would he be doing here?
“Lorelei!” she yells. “Come help me!”
“What’s the matter?” I say and follow her up the stairs past the Step of Denial. She opens the door to the Step of Acceptance.
“It’s Miss Lily,” she says.
“That’s a relief. I’ve been looking everywhere for her.”
“She’s been here since yesterday,” Carla says, and points to a garden in back of the forest of trees.
“Hurry,” she says.
Miss Lily’s curled up at the base of a statute. It’s a carving of two little cherubs, a girl, and a boy. They’re pretty incredible looking. Miss Lily has her head buried in her arms and she’s crying like her world has ended. I put my arm around her shoulders.
“Miss Lily,” I whisper. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Lorelei,” she says. I swear her face is streaked with more tears than the universe has room for.
“These are my children,” she says and points to the stone cherubs. “I haven’t seen them in years.”
* * *
Carla and I coax Miss Lily back to her Golden Window and order some Earl Gray tea and a bunch of croissants and strawberry jam, hoping to make her feel better. But all she wants to do is sleep.
“If you want, you can tell us all about it,” I say. “We’re here for you.”
“Dear, dear Lorelei and Carla,” she says. “So thoughtful of you—”
She looks like a little bird who’s forgotten how to sing.
“Can we get you anything else?” Carla says.
“I just want to sleep, my dears,” she says. “Sleep and sleep and sleep. I’m so tired.”
I’m worried she’s depressed. Even so, some sleep might be a good idea. Maybe in the morning she’ll feel better. Maybe she’ll tell us what’s bothering her. Maybe we can help. I tuck the covers carefully around her. Carla tips the stars that are too close to her window away from her and turns out her light. We climb over a mountain of fluffy white clouds to my window. Home at last. I kick off my shoes and plop into my bed. It’s heaven. Carla decides to stay over, but for once we’re not hungry and order up nothing. Sleep is all we want to do, too.
SIXTY-ONE
The Garden of Memories for Mothers
Miss Lily’s leading us back to the garden where we found her the day before. She makes her way to the cherubs and motions for me to sit down beside her.
“This is Madeline, and this is Theodore—my children,” she says proudly.
I didn’t even know she had any until yesterday.
“I tried not to mention them all those years they were gone—it upset Mr. Mann, if I did,” she explains.
“What happened to them?” Carla asks and plops down next to me.
“Goodness, it’s such a long story,” she replies.
“We have forever,” I tell her, patting her hand. “Take all the time you need.”
Miss Lily cheeks are flush with color. “I was twenty years old when I had Theodore and twenty-two when Madeline was born,” she says. “Oh, how I loved those babies,” she says, her eyes glowing like miniature candles.
I stretch out on the ground and run my eyes over the horizon. The morning’s picture-book perfect. The sky’s cotton-candy pink and the clouds are orange and yellow balls of fluff. This really is a paradise—I could eat the view for breakfast. The birds are awake and chirping. The butterflies are dancing about. And there’s enough flowers to fill the Grand Canyon. If only Miss Lily weren’t so sad.
“Mr. Mann never wanted any children,” Miss Lily continues. “And when Theodore was born—oh my dear little Teddy—well it was just too much for Mr. Mann. You see Teddy was born blind. And there were all these expenses and special schools and Mr. Mann was very prudent with money, you know. He didn’t like to spend what wasn’t necessary.”
It figures, I’m thinking, but I don’t say a word. I nod my head eagerly to let her know I’m taking in every word and please go on. Carla does the same. We look like two bobble-heads on the dashboard of a car.
“Then Madeline came two years later, less than two years actually, and Mr. Mann wasn’t pleased at all.”
What did he think? Babies make themselves?
“So I kept the children out of his way the best I could. They were such precious children, really,” Miss Lily says, and smiles like a perfect angel.
“What happened to them?” Carla blurts out.
I nudge her with my elbow.
“We took them on a picnic. It was Madeline’s sixth birthday,” Miss Lily explains. “To the lake, near our home—Mr. Mann didn’t want to come, but I coaxed him and oh, dear—”
That’s it. Miss Lily starts crying. “I shouldn’t have—wanted him to come—at all,” she sobs, and tries to catch her breath. “And the most horrible—thing happened—all because I did.”
“What?” Carla says and almost climbs on top of her.
I jam her again with my elbow, harder this time. She sits back down.
“You see,” Miss Lily says, “Mr. Mann had a very healthy, well—a very healthy—”
“Healthy what?” Carla says.
Miss Lily folds like she’s a little shrinking violet. “Libido,” she whispers.
Carla covers her mouth with her hands and giggles. I stare straight at Miss Lily but don’t blink an eye. I nod my head that it’s okay. We understand.
“And he got rather amorous that afternoon, mind you,” she adds. “And the children were off by themselves, and Teddy can’t see, he’s blind remember, and Madeline is only six years old that very day and I am telling Mr. Mann, ‘Really, this isn’t good,’ but Mr. Mann had quite a way about him.”
Miss Lily starts crying again. I put an arm around her shoulder. Carla moves in closer and pats her back.
Miss Lily looks up. Her sweet face is full of pain.
“The children drowned,” she says, and sighs deeply. “Teddy must have fallen in and of course Madeline would have gone in after him. She still had a bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands when we found her.”
I look at the cherubs above us and picture Madeline plucking flowers to place on her cake, Teddy meandering off near the water. I see him stumble into the lake as he calls out to Madeline. I watch her make her way to the edge, the flowers firmly in her hand as she jumps in to grab him.
“We buried them in the very same casket,” Miss Lily says.
“That’s so sweet,” Carla says.
“Oh, Mr. Mann said it was much cheaper,” Miss Lily points out.
By now we’re all crying like little babies.
SIXTY-TWO
The Golden Window
Pete’s driving me crazy. Alright, I missed our appointment, but please— it’s not the end of the world, ah, I mean it’s not the end of heaven, right? Exactly.
“Lorelei,” Pete says, “There is something I need to share with you. Please sit down.”
He’s acting so formal. I must be in bigger trouble than I realized.
“I didn’t mean to miss our appointment, honest; it’s just that Miss Lily—”
“No, no, I’m not concerned about that right now,” Pete explains and folds his hands like he’s going to pray.
He’s making me nervous. I was called to his office with this silly looking proclamation on fancy paper with these big words requesting my presence at once. I didn’t even know he had an office, but, oh, yes he has one, and it’s lined with pictur
es of dogs!
“So what’s with the dogs?” I say, and point to the photos. They’re lined up on the wall like it’s some kind of bank. They have these little gold tags attached to the frames that are engraved with their names. There’s a mutt named Jacky, two cocker spaniels named Jeez and Louise, a German shepherd called George, three poodles—Roxie, Coco and Déde, Bramble, an English Springer Spaniel, a Bloodhound named Archer, a black lab named Jagermeister, a yellow lab called Chamois, two miniature dachshunds named Cloe and Max, a Maltese named Molly, Bruno, a Pit Bull, Arnold, a Rottweiller, a Pomeranian named Gretchen, a Yorkshire terrier named Bailey, and a St. Bernard called Rumpus. There isn’t any room on the wall for anymore.
“Well?” I say, once again pointing at the dogs.
“Lorelei, what I have to tell you is very important—”
“I just want to know about the dogs is all,” I say.
“I like dogs,” he says. “When some of them arrive, I take pictures. It’s a hobby.”
“That’s it? It’s a hobby?” I say. Pete gets more interesting the longer I know him.
“It’s just a hobby,” he says.
“You’ve run out of room,” I say. “Now what?”
Pete opens a set of double doors on the far side of his office.
“I’ll never run out of room,” he says.
The adjacent room stretches as far as my eyes can see. Dogs, dogs, dogs everywhere in fancy frames line the walls. They’re so cute.
“Golly,” I say, and carefully close the doors.
“Now may I have your utmost attention?” Pete says. His face is really serious. He looks like President Roosevelt when he said we were officially at war. I saw a picture once.
The Heavenly Heart Page 15
