Wish for Santa: Average Angel

by Felicity Green

  “Why?” Now, I got a little bit angry. “You have to tell me more, Zack. I thought this was about Vitrella, but now it seems to be about me again, about having to protect me. I’m sick and tired of learning things in drips and drabs. Why don’t you just tell what you know? Why do you have to be so secretive?” I’d worked myself up and realized that I was shouting. “I just mean,” I said quieter and calmer, “that it would be much easier if you would just tell me. Then, I can act accordingly, and we don’t have to have discussions like this.”

  Embarrassed about losing my temper, I put my hands in the pockets of my coat and looked down at the ground, half hiding my face behind my scarf.

  Zack was silent for a while. Then he said something I really didn’t expect. “All I can tell you is that Sam’s father is not from this world.”

  7

  I don’t even remember the rest of my shift at the diner. I went through the motions, taking orders, serving food and drinks, smiling, nodding.

  All the while, I was trying to make sense of what Zack had said to me earlier. He’d refused to tell me anything else other than Sam’s father was a supernatural being. Then, he had just gone on and on about how dangerous this wish would be for me.

  I was just about to serve a cheddar cheese and tomato omelet when it occurred to me what Zack must have meant. The plate hit the counter with a loud clang at the same moment the realization pinged in my head. Mr. Dudley, the regular who had ordered the omelet, looked at me disapprovingly. “Sorry,” I mouthed. Mr. Dudley said something about a refill, but the voice in my head was too loud and commanded all my attention.

  The voice screamed, “Demon.”

  Sam’s father had to be a demon. Did that mean Sam was one too? Was he really looking for his father, or was this some kind of trap?

  Questions whirled around in my head, and in the end, Aunt Jeannie sent me home early. “I’ll be fine. You clearly have something on your mind that you need to puzzle out. Why don’t you do that and come back the day after tomorrow with more focus, okay?”

  I nodded absentmindedly and took my apron off. “Thanks again for letting me take tomorrow off so I can do that work-shadowing thing.”

  I hurried home. I had to see Sam again before I made any decisions. If he was the spawn of a demon, I would notice, right?

  Allison was reluctant to give me the car, though, and then I had Anna pestering me to come along.

  “I don’t know, Stella,” Allison said. “I was planning to do some grocery shopping.”

  “Give me a list,” I suggested. “I’ll do the shopping for you.”

  “Okay,” Allison decided. “But you have to take Anna.”

  I grimaced. If Sam was evil, I really would have preferred that my sisters had nothing to do with him. But I needed to see him as soon as possible, so I agreed to Allison’s deal.

  Either Anna was thankful I was letting her tag along or she was too preoccupied with looking forward to seeing Sam again. Either way, she didn’t make any hurtful remarks during the whole twenty-minute drive to Sam’s foster family. She almost seemed like the old Anna again.

  Allison must have called ahead, because Donna was already expecting us. “I’m really glad you came,” she said after she had shown us into the living room and brought us chocolate milk. “Sam is quite upset, and I think he’ll feel much better now that you’re here.”

  My inner alarm bells started ringing. “Upset? Why?”

  Donna sighed. “This morning, a bird flew against the living room window. It broke its wing, and Sam was quite distraught. Grant helped him splint the wing, and it made a miraculous recovery. Unfortunately, it died a couple of hours later, probably of internal injuries we hadn’t noticed. Sam has been beside himself ever since. I couldn’t even get him to eat lunch. He has been hiding out in his room.” Donna got up. “Let me see if he can be persuaded to come downstairs now that you’re here.”

  “Poor Sam,” Anna murmured.

  A little later, Sam appeared behind Donna as she reentered the living room.

  It was obvious that Sam was trying hard to be brave, but his tear-streaked face betrayed him.

  “Would you like something to drink, Sam?” Donna asked with a concerned look.

  When he didn’t nod or shake his head, I said, “This chocolate milk is really tasty, Donna. Thank you.”

  Donna gave me a grateful smile. “How about some chocolate milk for you too, Sam?”

  He nodded hesitantly.

  “Great,” Donna said, relieved. “I also have some freshly baked oatmeal cookies I’ll bring out.” With that, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “The Fishers seem nice,” I said to Sam. “Do you like it here?”

  He looked at the ground then nodded.

  After a minute's silence, I decided to confront him with what had upset him. “Donna told us what happened to the bird with the broken wing,” I said carefully.

  Sam’s head shot up, and he looked at me with mournful eyes.

  “It sounds really horrible,” Anna put in. “Especially because you tried to save it.”

  I looked at her, bewildered.

  “Well, if an accident happens and the bird dies, then that’s over with,” she tried to explain. “It’s still really sad, but it happens quickly, and that’s that. You have to get over it. But if you can try and save it, there’s hope. You do something and try and pray and hope. And when the bird then dies… it’s a thousand times worse.”

  Sam gazed at her in awe and nodded vigorously.

  Anna blushed and averted her eyes.

  “Well, even so, the important thing is that you gave it your all,” I said. “Even if it feels a thousand times worse if you try and fail. One day, you might help an animal or a person, and for that, you need to always try.”

  Sam directed his eyes at me. In them lay infinite sadness but now also a little glimmer of hope.

  There and then, I decided that Sam was not evil. He was just a boy whose greatest wish was to celebrate Christmas with his dad—no matter who his father was. I had committed to fulfilling his wish for him, and I would follow through. I didn’t know how I would manage that exactly, but I would listen to my own advice and try.

  After indulging in Donna’s cookies, Anna and Sam went upstairs to play and Donna and I had a pleasant chat. She told me that her family was already really attached to the boy and that the pediatrician couldn’t find anything physically wrong with Sam to explain why he didn’t talk. He'd had daily sessions with a child psychologist.

  On the drive back, Anna was quiet. Then, out of nowhere, she blurted out, “I’m sorry, Stella. About the things that I’ve been saying to you. They weren’t very nice.”

  I had to stop myself from flooring the gas pedal out of surprise. I gave my sister a side glance. “Thank you for apologizing. It has been hurtful, so I appreciate it. Can you tell me why you did it, though?”

  Anna shrugged.

  Carefully, I continued probing. “What made you apologize to me now?”

  Anna sighed. “Sam made me realize how lucky I am to have a family. Two parents and sisters too. Others aren’t so lucky, you know? Sam has nobody.”

  “How do you know?” She didn’t respond. I glanced at her again. Anna bit her bottom lip and looked unsure. “Has Sam been talking to you?” Her eyes spoke volumes even if she didn’t. “Anna, I need to know!” I pulled into the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant, put the car in park, and turned to look at my sister.

  “Anna, please tell me!”

  “Okay, but you have to promise that you won’t tell anyone.”

  “I promise.” I added, “You should know that I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”

  Her eyes searched mine, then she nodded. “Sam isn’t really mute. He’s just pretending. He ran away from home. He only has his mom, and she isn’t very nice. He doesn’t want to say where he’s from because he doesn’t want to go back there. He hoped that the authorities would find his dad instead. He doesn’t know where
his dad is or why he has never met him.”

  That fit with his letter to Santa. “Did he tell you where he was from? Or what his last name is?”

  Anna nodded. “I asked him. It’s Sullivan. I said to him, ‘how can they find your dad if they don’t know your name?’”

  “That was clever of you.”

  “I also told him that he would be better off telling people. That Louise was very nice, and that Donna was looking out for him, and that nobody would want him to go back to his mom if she was horrible. That everyone would help him.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell my sister that it wasn’t that easy. If Sam’s mom was his legal guardian and there was nobody else, it was unlikely they would take him away from her unless there were serious concerns for his welfare.

  But I was too relieved that Sam had taken my sister into his confidence and that I had all this information about him now. “You’re right. Good job,” I praised her. “What did he say?”

  “He said he would think about it.”

  I nodded. Good.

  “But you can’t tell anyone, Stella,” Anna pleaded. “I mean it.”

  “I know. I won’t,” I promised again. “We cannot betray his trust. His secret is safe with me.”

  I was very serious about that. This was my chance to help Sam and repair my relationship with my sister. And I intended to take that chance, no matter what Zack had to say about it.

  ***

  After our emotional talk in the parking lot, we forgot all about the grocery shopping. When we came home with burgers, fries, chicken nuggets, and milkshakes but without any groceries, Allison was very cross.

  I had to turn around and drive to the store before dinner. It turned out to be a good thing, though, because I ran into Bertie in the store. Mrs. Mancini—no, Mrs. Donaldson now—had sent him off on a couple of errands. I was surprised that he remembered where he needed to go and how to get home again. Bertie’s health seemed to have improved considerably since he had a wife who looked after him.

  As usual, our brief conversation turned to our mutual friend from the senior citizen center, Vito. Neither of us had heard from him again since he had disappeared literally overnight. One day, I had helped him carry books up to his apartment. I had admired his library of all things angels and demons and had “borrowed” a file on the demon Malachriel. On my return the next day, the apartment had been empty, and Vito had been missing ever since.

  Vito had been a university professor, teaching religious iconography before his retirement. But nobody knew any details. Nobody knew anything about his family, either. So even though the guys at the senior citizen center and I had reported him missing, the police couldn’t do much.

  All we had was a phone number that Vito had programmed into Bertie’s cell phone in case of an emergency. We had rung that number a couple of times, but nobody ever answered.

  My chat with Bertie made me pull out my cell phone that evening after dinner and call Vito’s number, as I had done many times before.

  I nearly had a heart attack when someone answered after the second ring. It was Vito’s voice, and it took me a second to realize it was a recorded personal message for me. I held my breath.

  “Stella. This is Vito. I have something for you. Come to Concord bus station tomorrow evening at five fifteen and go to locker number fifteen. The door is stuck; you have to wrench it open a little. Make sure nobody is following or watching you.”

  That was all.

  I dialed the number again and got the same message. I listened intently, afraid that I had missed something the first time out of sheer shock.

  Puzzled, I hung up again. How had Vito known I would be calling this number today? Or had he left whatever he wanted me to have in the Concord bus station locker until I got the message and picked it up? I just happened to be going to Concord tomorrow for my first day of work shadowing.

  Vito hadn’t even acknowledged his mysterious disappearing act. Why would he leave something for me? Should I notify the police?

  I decided that I needed to calm down and wait until I got what he wanted me to pick up the next day. Maybe all or some of my questions would be answered then.

  8

  The next day, I had to bide my time until I got a chance to search the DHHS database for information on Sam. The morning was spent visiting the homes of children whose parents had been reported for suspicion of negligence and abuse. I completely understood why Louise had suggested that I might change my mind about doing an internship in her department after I had experienced firsthand what her job entailed. It was harrowing.

  Sure, I’d seen things like that on reality TV, but it always seemed so removed from my reality. I soon began to understand that Sam and children like him lived a completely different reality—one in which a baby was kept in a laundry basket next to the sofa while the mother drank and watched TV all day. One in which parents didn’t care whether their toddler had enough to eat because all they cared about was their next hit. But these cases weren’t actually the worst.

  Those were the cases Louise could do something about, because in those cases, it was obvious that the children would be better off being taken care of by someone else. What I found worse were the smart parents who knew better and who knew how to hide whatever they did to their kids.

  During one visit, we encountered a pale and skinny-looking boy who flinched when his father raised a hand to brush the child’s hair out of his face. It was obvious to us what was going on, but there was no proof. There was nothing Louise could do.

  “Not this time,” she told me during lunch in the DHHS cafeteria. “But I will visit again, and I will also speak to the boy’s pediatrician. If there are any signs of physical abuse, I’ll find out.” Her face went dark. “I just hope I find out in time.”

  When she saw how distraught I looked, she continued in an upbeat tone. “But no more visits after lunch. The afternoon will be rather boring, I’m afraid—just a couple of meetings. In the first one, we’ll be discussing confidential information, so I can’t take you along to that.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll just stay in your office,” I said. “I could check my emails on your computer or something.” It had already occurred to me that the system would most likely be password protected. “If you have any work I can do for you, I really don’t mind. Some photocopying or…”

  “It’s nice to see that you’re so eager to be helpful, but really, I wouldn’t dream of giving you boring admin stuff to do.”

  “If I want to see what this job is about, I need to see the admin side of the work too.”

  “True. Hmm… You know, you could do a little bit of data entry, actually. Families that apply for foster care have to fill out this form, and the data needs to be inputted into our system.”

  “Sure, I can do that,” I hurried to say.

  When we returned to the office, Louise handed me a stack of forms and showed me the database. She thanked me profusely and went to her meeting.

  I wouldn’t have been able to access the information I found on Sam if Louise hadn’t thought of this job for me to do—and if she hadn’t been so trusting. I felt glad but also guilty. With sweaty palms and a rapid heartbeat, I searched for Sam Sullivan.

  And I got a hit.

  I scanned the personal information, and the date of birth matched. Sam’s mother, Irene Sullivan, had been reported by Sam’s school, and DHHS had visited her three times already. Sam had failed to show up at school a couple of times, and on numerous occasions, according to his teachers, Sam had arrived at school unsuitably clothed for the weather and without a packed lunch or money to buy food.

  To my relief, there had been no reports and no indication of physical abuse.

  I noted Irene Sullivan’s address and all other information I thought might be useful.

  The subsequent meetings dragged on, and I hardly paid any attention, thinking about Sam’s case. I also got more and more nervous the closer I got to picking up whatever Vito ha
d left for me in that locker. I couldn’t wait to find out.

  ***

  I was way too early and sat in my car in the parking lot, chewing my nails and observing the small station building. A few people went in and came out, and some waited at the bus stops. But nobody stood out, looked in my direction, or lingered. The minutes on the car dashboard seemed to be ticking along slower and slower. When the digits on the clock read 5:07, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I got out of the car, pulled up the collar of my jacket, hunched my shoulders, and pushed my fists into my pockets. I slowly ambled over to the station building entrance.

  A couple of people had taken a seat inside the warm waiting room. I slowed down even more and tried to see out of the corners of my eyes if someone was watching me. Everyone seemed to be preoccupied with a newspaper, a book, or listening to something on their headphones. Nobody had followed me inside. I found the sign that directed me to the lockers. I had to walk to the end of the building and around a corner. I was out of sight of everyone inside the station. That made it easier to know if someone was watching me. That person would have had to stand right next to me.

  Relieved, I tried to pull locker number fifteen open. Vito hadn’t been lying; it really was stuck. I yanked and yanked, but it wouldn’t budge. Great. Now, people might get suspicious, wondering what I’d been doing there for so long. Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead. My heart was beating like crazy. I needed something to jimmy the locker open. A screwdriver would have been perfect, something to use as a lever.

  I dug into my pockets. All I had were my keys. I stuck my house key in the slit and moved it back and forth. My blood was pulsing very loudly in my ears. If someone came around the corner, they would assume I was breaking into a locker. Still moving the key around as though my life depended on it, my eyes darted around in panic. Were there any security cameras?