Diving for Pearls: The Complete Collection (The Pearl Makers)

by Melissa Storm

  “Lulu’s given her a reason to keep going,” Father says to Mother one night after Emily’s gone to bed. “All of a sudden, she’s decided to try.”

  Mother grimaces. She wants to be Emily’s savior—or, at least, not to be the reason her daughter needs saving.

  I tiptoe away from them and use my cold, wet nose to push open Emily’s door. I’m supposed to sleep downstairs in my bed, but I could never be comfortable away from my little girl. Although I try to be quiet, I’m still a bit too clumsy to make it up on the bed by myself. The comforter bunches under my paws and I fall to the floor with a thud.

  “Lulu,” she whispers, reaching down to stroke my head. “Good girl. C’mon.”

  And her encouragement is all I need to master the leap, landing on the mattress with a grace I didn’t know I possessed.

  She wraps her arms around me, pulling me close to her chest. Sleep comes easily.

  * * *

  Soon, the time comes for Emily to return to school. My days used to be full of love and play and cuddling, but now I must spend them glued to the front door waiting for my little girl to return. As an angel, I could follow her wherever she went. My corporeal form, however, does come with some drawbacks, and this is the biggest one.

  After what feels like an eternity, the front door bursts open. Mother steps on my tail and hisses at me to “step aside.”

  Something is wrong.

  Emily wheels past me without saying hello. She snorts, trying to hold back her sobs, but I can tell she’s absolutely distraught.

  “Don’t cry, little one. It will all be okay,” I say, which translates into “Woof, woof. Yip. Ruff!”

  She looks up, her eyes a scratchy red. “Lulu.”

  I walk to her side, and she buries her hands in my fur. I will her to tell me what happened so that I know how to comfort her. Luckily, it works.

  “Rachel says she doesn’t want to sit next to me anymore, because she’s worried she’ll catch crippled. Then no one wanted to play at recess, and it was just such a terrible day.” She sniffles and looks at me, a smile creeping across her face.

  I use my big, flappy tongue to lick the tears from her face, and she giggles.

  “But you’ll still play with me. Won’t you, girl? You’re not like mean old Rachel. You’re my very best friend.”

  Yes, I am. And I will be forever. She wipes at her tears as I retrieve our favorite tennis ball and place it on her lap. A robust game of fetch ensues.

  * * *

  In the weeks that follow, her classmates slowly remember what makes Emily Emily—her goofy smile, gentle heart, loving nature. Rachel still doesn’t want to sit next to her, but now Emily has made a new friend, Julie, a new girl who just moved in from out of state. Julie talks with a slight stutter, but Emily is quick to confront anyone who mentions it, which means the two are mostly left alone. Quite a pair they make, but Emily claims I will always be her very best friend no matter what.

  We’ve developed a routine. The repetition of our daily interactions seems to help Emily feel normal, and feeling normal is what little girls stymied by differentness need most of all.

  Each morning, I wake her a few minutes before Mother comes into the room. I scoot down the bed on my belly and lick her toes. Even though her toes don’t get much use these days, they still deserve love—and I am the one to give it to them, each and every morning. After a few licks on her feet, I move up to her hands. That usually wakes her, but when it doesn’t, I drag my tongue across her cheek, and she’s up like a lightning bolt. We sneak in a few cuddles, and then Emily pretends to be asleep so that Mother can believe she is the one waking her gently each day.

  The sun peeks through the blinds, alerting me to the time. I creep across the bed and begin our morning ritual. After a few quick licks on each foot, I am about to move up to Emily’s hands, but something unexpected stops me in my tracks. It was so quick and so subtle, I almost decide to ignore it as a trick of the eye. But then it happens again.

  A twitch. Emily’s foot. It moved. Not much, but it moved!

  I lick her more this time with vigor, and she giggles in a half-conscious state.

  “Lulu, that tickles.” I bark and continue my effort.

  Mother rushes into the room at the sound of my call, and Emily sits up in bed. Both are just in time to notice the third twitch.

  “Oh, Emmie!” Mother cries. “Look! You’re moving all on your own!”

  “Does this mean I can walk again?” my little girl asks. Her expression is filled to the brim with hope.

  “I don’t know, but I’d say it’s a very good sign.” Mother picks Emily up, and together the two swing about the room. Both are crying tears of joy.

  * * *

  The doctor tells us Emily is on the verge of a miracle, but that it will require patience and hard work to get her all the way there. She increases her physical therapy visits to three times per week, which means I'm often alone at home for the entire day. Still, I do not care. I use this time to rest up, so that I can support Emily extra whenever she is at home with me.

  After all, I need every bit of help I can get when it comes to taking care of Emily. We each have to play our parts to make sure she gets her miracle.

  Several months after the first twitch, another comes. This time, it’s Emily's leg. Her entire body is regaining strength from the bottom up. The progress is slow and comes in bits and spurts, but Emily's spirits remain high. She is such a determined little girl. She is also growing by the day, and soon she will be bigger than me—but that doesn’t lessen my love for her one bit.

  Today, Mother brings home a new red toy for me to play with. It’s big with handles on both sides, and it’s very nice to chew.

  “Here, girl,” Emily calls, transitioning herself from her chair to the couch.

  I run over, panting so hard from my excitement that I can barely breathe.

  “Get the toy,” she urges.

  I drop it in her lap, and she invites me to take one of the handles in my mouth so that we can play some tug.

  Emily pulls hard. She’s strong from years of pushing herself around in that chair, but still I am stronger.

  I grr and growl theatrically to make the game more fun.

  Emily laughs and tugs so hard my paws drag across the carpet and into the couch. She’s so much stronger than last time we played, so I decide to put all my strength into our game too.

  I grit my teeth around the toy, grind my heels into the floor, and pull as hard as I can. Expecting the sudden weightlessness that comes with victory, I am shocked when Emily doesn’t let go.

  Instead, she holds on tight with her right hand and pushes into the couch with her left. Moments later she is standing. She is standing. She is standing!

  As soon as she realizes what has happened, the shock causes her to fall straight back onto the floor.

  Mother rushes in, a concerned look on her face.

  But Emily is smiling through a blur of tears, pushing down on her palms, and slowly rising again.

  * * *

  Emily and I continue to play, and our games become better as her mobility improves. In the span of just a few years, she’s progressed from her chair to a cane. Now, she is finally ready to graduate from both. She has gotten her miracle—just like I always knew she would.

  Today is a special day. We are having a funeral for Jessie, which is what Emily chose to name her cane. Everyone is here to say their goodbyes—Mother, Father, Emily, Julie, me, even Paul, a new boy who just moved into the big house down the street.

  Emily lowers what used to be her third leg into the hole she dug prior to the gathering. She insists on doing everything herself now that she is able. “We’re here to commemorate the life and work of Jessie,” Emily drawls as Julie and Mother pretend to weep.

  “While I can’t say I’ll miss her. I appreciated her while she was here. Rest in peace, Jessie.” Everyone mumbles “Rest in peace, Jessie” as they shovel dirt into the hole and the worn plastic st
ick disappears into the fresh earth.

  Once everyone has adequately said their goodbyes, Julie jets off to her after school job and Emily’s parents go inside to watch their favorite Thursday night TV show. This leaves just me, Emily, and Paul together outside.

  Emily takes a seat on the garden bench and motions for me to lie at her feet.

  Lowering myself to the ground has become a more difficult task than it once was—Emily’s grown stronger as I have grown more fragile—but I ignore my bones’ protests and curl up beside Emily near our favorite bed of irises.

  Paul stands close by as he and Emily chat about their classes and friends at school. Emily is in eighth grade now, which means we have been together for more than six whole wonderful years. Emily’s eyes hold a special sparkle, a look I would recognize anywhere. She is in love, and Paul is the object of her affection. I’ve had an inkling of her crush ever since Paul first wandered into our yard to ask Emily for help finding his way around the school on his first day. They became fast friends after that.

  Sure enough, moments later she shifts their discussion to the topic of the upcoming Sadie Hawkins Dance at their school. “It’s next week, you know,” she explains, tossing her companion a smile. “And I just thought it might be nice for the two of us to go together.”

  Paul stiffens, the air takes on a bitter scent, and I can tell he is about to break Emily's heart. I scramble to my feet as fast as I can, but I am too slow.

  “I don’t really think of you like that, Em,” he says. “Besides, I am going with Rachel May.”

  “Oh.” Emily reaches out for me and wraps her fingers into my fur, but says nothing more.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you thought this was… thought we…”

  Emily grimaces and tugs at my fur. She won’t even look at Paul as he tries his best to make awkward small talk. He is crazy for choosing mean old Rachel May over Emily, and I’d tell him so if I could. Instead, I focus on being there for Emily as this first crack works its way into her heart.

  Eventually Paul gives up on talking and goes back to his home.

  Emily and I sit in the garden for another hour before she finally gets up and goes back inside.

  * * *

  Four more years come and go. Paul and Rachel break up almost as quickly as they come together, and Emily moves on to date a much nicer boy named Ethan. He is here with us now, sitting in our backyard garden and scratching the exact right spot near my shoulder. I cannot keep myself from thumping my foot to show Ethan my vast appreciation, no matter how much my joints howl in protest as I make my happy, jerky movements.

  “Atta girl, Lulu,” he says and gives me a pat on the head before grabbing Emily up into his lap and laying a big kiss on her. I’ve never seen her as happy as she is with Ethan. He has made my job much easier these past few months, often voicing the sentiments I can only feel, letting Emily know how much we both love her, making sure she is taken care of.

  And I know I don't have much time left. My bones have become brittle, and Emily is now a big blur of colors where she was once a defined form. My body has aged even though my spirit doesn’t feel any different than it ever has.

  Emily knows this too, I think. Sometimes tears form in the corners of her big, beautiful eyes—but she never lets them fall. She’s too strong. I’ve made sure of it. I try to tell her that part of being strong is learning to be vulnerable, but nothing I say translates properly to human language. Besides, she hasn’t needed me quite as much since we said goodbye to Jessie and hello to Ethan. My little girl is practically a woman now.

  A soft crunching sound drifts through the air, and I am too excited to stay put. Barking furiously, I rush around to the front of the house—just in time to greet the mail carrier on her rounds. This part of the day sits near the top of my list when it comes to the pleasures of being a dog, rivaled only by being able to play and cuddle with Emily, go swimming in our grandparents’ lake, and eat delicious steaks.

  The mail lady is ready for me. She pulls a small, bacon-flavored treat from the pouch at her waist and tosses it toward me. “How you doing today, Lu?”

  Snap! I catch the morsel effortlessly and swallow it in one big bite.

  Emily emerges from the side yard. “Anything today?”

  “Actually…” The mail lady reaches into her shoulder bag and pulls out a stack of envelopes held together by a thin red rubber band.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Emily plucks the bundle and pulls out the letter on top.

  “Have a good one, dear.”

  Ethan joins us just as Emily has torn into the envelope emblazoned with a fancy seal, and the mail lady has taken her leave. “Is that—?”

  “Shhh!” Emily scolds, but a smile creeps across her face. Her brows press together, and she mouths the words soundlessly as her eyes scan the page. After a few moments, she refolds the paper and takes a deep breath.

  “Did you…?” Ethan’s voice trails off, and a worried expression crosses his normally cheerful features.

  Emily’s eyes dance with a secret, then her head moves up and down. Finally, she screams just as loud as she can, “I got in! I'm going to be a Wolverine!”

  “Oh, Emmie. I'm so proud of you!” Ethan grabs her hands, and together they bounce up and down, releasing all their happy energy into the universe.

  I jump up and down too. Their excitement is contagious. I don’t care that my joints pop and creak beneath my weight. I am just so happy that all of Emily’s dreams are now coming true.

  * * *

  The grass outside my window is starting to yellow as the humidity dances through the air in waves and sunbeams filter through the thick glass, chasing away the beginning of a chill. It is almost time.

  Emily appears at the bottom of the staircase, a large suitcase pressed into her side. She gives me a pitiful look and says, “I'll be back down soon, Lulu, okay? I just have to pack this one last bag,” then bolts up the stairs.

  I cannot follow. It is too hard on my brittle hips. Now I spend most days glued to my spot in front of the window. Hip dysplasia, they call it. The beginning of the end for dogs like me.

  My eyelids become heavy, and I doze amidst the warmth of a thousand sunny memories.

  A soft hand combs through my fur. “C’mon, Lulu, let's go outside.” Emily smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She stands and helps to pull me up by my armpits.

  Together, we pad through the kitchen and out to the garden. It is our spot.

  Emily sits on the dried mud and motions for me to join her.

  I lay my head in her lap and enjoy the feel of her velvety skin beneath my muzzle.

  “You know what happens tomorrow, don't you, girl?” Emily whispers, stroking my fur gently as she speaks. “Ethan and I are leaving for college. I’ll be very far away, and I won't be able to see you as much as I’d like.”

  One tear, then another, escapes down her cheek. “They don't let dogs come, and even though I think it’s a silly rule, there’s no way to change their minds. Besides, Mom is going to take such great care of you. Dad too.”

  More tears cascade to the earth and embed themselves among the irises. It’s funny how her sorrow will ultimately help something so beautiful to thrive and grow. It is here in the dirt where Jessie was buried, where I will soon be buried too.

  And Emily knows. Every word, every touch, every glance tells me so. She hasn’t needed me for years now, though she has continued to love me—and I to love her. My purpose was fulfilled a long time ago, yet I’ve selfishly stuck around for the pure joy of her company, of being able to feel her eyes on me, to know she loved me back.

  It has always been I who needed her more. Emily is such a strong young woman, and she is ready for the next phase of life. So too am I.

  Emily wipes the tears from her face and rises. “Let’s go back inside, Lulu. It’s starting to get dark.”

  But this time I don't obey. Instead, I close my eyes to this life and open them in the next.
I hover close to my little girl, but can no longer smell the sweet perfume of our garden nor taste the dampness of the summer air. Still, I can watch. I can stay close to Emily and protect her as we both venture forth into the next chapter of our lives.

  Emily raises her head to the sun and smiles. And although it is impossible, I know she understands. Our love for each other is too perfect for even this to keep us apart.

  Perhaps it is she who is my angel.

  A Reader’s Guide to the Pearl Makers Universe

  Welcome to the universe of the Pearl Makers, a special class of angels who guide humanity toward Heaven. To better understand this world, you’ll need a few quick definitions first.

  Guardian Angels are split into two classes. The protector angels are very much in line with what most people think of when they consider guardian angels. Protectors are assigned to a mortal at birth and are to guide them toward Heaven through as many births as it takes for them to learn all of life’s lessons. The warden angels are also guardians, and they too guide their charges toward Heaven. However, a warden’s job entails making life for his charge as difficult and rife with hardship as possible. Wardens are assigned to those mortals who commit such terrible deeds that they must be punished in order to make recompense and eventually better their souls.

  Only two realms exist within this world, Heaven and Earth. Hell is not a place, but rather a condition. Those mortals who are assigned warden angels are put through hell on Earth and must suffer until their souls achieve purity.

  Normally, once a soul ascends, it will cross through the Gates and enter Heaven, thus becoming a Pearl. However, when a warden’s charge achieves purity, the charge must then become a warden himself as the final part of his sentence. Only once his charge reaches Heaven will he be able to join him.