by Gay N. Lewis
Sarah glanced upward again. “Mother Goodness, would you send someone down with the file on Carolyn Baker?”
No one appeared.
Sigh. Sarah sat down on her blanket to wait. She touched the freckle on her left wrist to adjust her body temperature. Too bad the humans possessed no powers to do that. Coolness settled over her, and she gazed skyward. Nothing. No one appeared.
Should she make another request? Sometimes answers from above came quickly and at other times, they didn’t. Why wouldn’t The Heavenlies reply to all her urgent prayers? That question stayed a mystery. Reasons for not hearing back? Known only to the Almighty, but poopty doopty, the responses were sometimes difficult to wait for.
Her stomach growled. When had she eaten? Chef Andrew prepared a delicious breakfast for her before she’d left—upscale coffee, cranberry muffins, omelet, and a waffle. Had breakfast been long ago? Such things were difficult to tell. Time didn’t register in The Heavenlies, but now on earth, it seemed hours had passed.
While she waited for the info on Carolyn, why not catch lunch? Uh-oh! Donning a human disguise remained a challenge. But she might as well kill time with a productive activity, and eating hit the list as one of her favorite events. Who to be this time?
She’d done relatively well before when she appeared as an elderly lady. Why not try that again? No one could see her atop this tower, so she felt a certain amount of freedom to assume a masquerade. With a flutter of her hand, Sarah colored her hair white and added several shimmering shades of blue to the sheen. She brandished it into a bun of sorts and perched the thingy on top of her head. Then she supplemented seventy pounds to her petite frame and slipped eyeglasses on. Now. What to wear?
She chose a green paisley dress, panty hose, and low heeled black orthopedic shoes. Okay—that should do it. After dropping from the roof, she surfaced inside the building. In the dimly lit area, the space appeared quite small.
Oops! She’d meant to appear on the street. Oh well. She was inside now. What location had she bopped into?
Judging from a dress hanging on a rack, she decided she must’ve relocated to some kind of interior closet. Wonder what might be behind the wooden door. She cautiously opened the access and ventured out.
“Hey! How did you get in there?” A man yelled at Sarah as he suddenly sat up in a bed.
A woman pulled a sheet up under her chin. “Who is that, Norman?”
“I have no idea.” The man threw a protective arm over the female lying beside him. “Lady, who are you, and what are you doing in our hotel room?”
Merciful heavens! What had she done? Think fast, Sarah. Make your voice sound crackly and old.
“Well, hello, young fella.” Sarah pushed the glasses higher on her nose. “The hotel sent me in to help a couple make a love connection. Do you need any advice? I’m a psychologist.”
“No, my wife and I are very happy—just trying to sleep late. Would you get out of our room, please?”
“Oh sure. Don’t bother showing me to the door. I’ll see myself out. Guess they gave me the wrong room. I counsel people who have problems, but ya’ll look blissfully married. Tootle-loo.” Sarah waved, opened the closet door and disappeared from view. She backed against the wall with her heart pounding and gulping air as if she’d run a marathon.
“What in the world? She went back into the closet.” Sarah heard the lady’s alarmed voice.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get that old bag out of here and you’d better believe I’m going to complain to the front desk.”
In her invisible, miniature form, Sarah watched the closet door burst open.
“What?” Norman squinted around the mostly empty closet. “Where did she go?”
Sarah held her breath.
“The closet is empty.” Wearing orange and white striped pajamas, the lady peered over her husband’s shoulder. “Did we dream her?”
“Both of us?” Norman sounded incredulous.
“What other explanation is there? She wasn’t in the closet when we checked in last night, and she isn’t there now.” The lady glanced at the outer door. “The door is locked and bolted.”
Norman scratched his head. “On second thought, I think I’ll keep quiet about this incident. Forget the complaint. I can’t think of a way to explain a disappearing granny who claims to make love connections.”
“Do you think those mushrooms we ate last night caused us to see things? They were sautéed in brandy, and we both thought they tasted odd.”
Norman rubbed his forehead. “No, I don’t think so. It was just a new dish, and the server assured us they were fresh. We might say we ate poisoned mushrooms, but that sounds nutty. No one would believe we had them in a reputable restaurant. Let’s keep this incident to ourselves.” He closed the door.
“Norman, I’m scared. Do you think we should go to the hospital and have our stomachs pumped?”
“Don’t worry, honey. We’re okay. I don’t know what just happened, but when we are as ancient as that woman who came out of the closet, we’ll tell our grandchildren the story. It oughta make a good fairy tale.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gay N. Lewis has a background in video production and interior design. Her credits include Psalms from the Mountains, The Canadian Rockies, and Many Churches One Vision. As a pastor’s wife and adult Bible study leader, she has written numerous church programs and newsletters. She is a mother of three daughters and four grandchildren and lives in a small town west of Houston, TX.
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