Arms of an Angel (4 page)

“
You left your scarf/wrap
thingy in my car. It smells wonderful, by the way. And you have no
way to get hold of me should the need arise.”

Claire’s laughter sounded gaily through the
phone. “I thought perhaps you were an angel, Dr. O’Bryan, but I
think you’re a mind reader instead.”

“
Perhaps,” he answered.
“Most likely I was thinking how nice it would be to hear your voice
and what an ego booster it would be if you called when I realized
you didn’t have my number.”

“
Well, now I do, and I thank
you for thinking of calling. But I do have to ask… how do you know
my wrap smells good?”

Garrett laughed. “I knew you’d catch me on
that one the moment the words left my mouth. You never disappoint,
do you Claire?”

“
I certainly try not
to…”

The conversation continued with the expected
tones and volleying banter for a few more moments before they again
said farewell. Each stated again how much they were looking forward
to Sunday brunch.

“
Good night, Garrett,”
Claire’s voice caressed his ear.

“
Yes it was,” he said. “See
you Sunday.”

* * * * *

Claire was surprised to see it was nearing
10:00 the next morning when her eyes finally fluttered open to
stay. After but a moment’s hesitation she threw back the covers and
climbed from the comfort of the silky sheets. The carpet was soft
beneath her bare feet. Her robe caressed her body with a velvety
delight and Claire realized her senses were on edge. She was
feeling life full out. No drugs, scant alcohol, no man to share her
bed. This was reality.

Another reality hit her as she entered the
bathroom and met her own reflection in the etched glass mirror. The
deeply cut lines framed her like a beautiful portrait. As she
stared at herself, she realized how easily she may not have
awakened that morning. Had it not been for the chance crossing of
paths with Garrett… he really was her Clarence.

“
Oh God,” she whispered,
“forgive me. Make me see that I am not worthless. No matter what he
told me…I can be something to someone…” A sob replaced her words as
tears began to fall. She didn’t bother to stop them. It had been a
very long time since she’d cried.

Throughout her long, steamy shower the tears
came. Though thought did not accompany them, Claire felt refreshed,
purged when she emerged from the glass cage. She had the
overwhelming desire to do something she hadn’t done in years…paint.
With a smile she toweled off, dressed quickly and headed to the
sunroom.

Claire opened the double
doors that led into the spacious corner room. The light filled her
eyes, flooding in from the floor to ceiling windows on two sides
meeting in the far corner. Claire had always loved this room. It
had been her favorite place as a child; a haven and a place where
fond memories were made. This was the one room Claire had left
untouched after her parent’s death when she’d moved into the unit
full-time. The sunroom needed no redecorating to reflect her. It
had always been
her
room.

She pulled open the carved wooden doors of
the spacious storage closet and marveled at its contents just as
she had as a little girl. She looked over the vast array of art
supplies, so well stocked it rivaled the local shop. She wondered
how many had gone bad after years of non-use.

With a deep breath she picked up the old
market basket and began to fill it with whatever she believed she’d
need. Brushes, jar, pallet, paint tubes… She tucked a canvas board
under her arm and grabbed a folded tabletop easel. Satisfied she
pushed the doors closed with her foot and went to the table by the
windows.

What a view, she thought as she looked out
over the city with a renewed love for the sights. She wondered if
Garrett had met his destination and was now in the throws of a
country brunch. She smiled as she turned back to setting up her
table.

Two hours later, Claire was satisfied with
her creation. It was different and perhaps not as good as some of
her past work. After all, it had been years since she’d painted;
not since her father had said it was a worthless pursuit and would
take her nowhere. The cancer had hit right after that; another blow
to her usefulness in life, according to dear old Daddy.

Claire fought against the pain. Her whole
life she’d tried to please him. And then she’d tried to show him he
was right. That had almost resulted in her own end. She looked at
the painting; an angel slightly resembling Garrett reaching out to
an unseen victim. Only her hands were visible. They were Claire’s
hands, wearing her mother’s rings. The fingertips of the left hands
were barely touching.

Claire was suddenly starving as well as being
struck with an overwhelming desire to see an old friend. She
quickly rinsed her brushes, returned her supplies to the closet,
and busied herself with the task of looking presentable.

Old Joe…she thought about her friend. She
wondered if he’d remember her. Five years was a long time.

A quick bite was eaten at
the corner deli as she watched the crowd bustling by. She wondered
if there was ever not a crowd in the historic neighborhood. She
looked across the way to her building and counted up the rows of
glass windows to where she’d sat not long before. She was glad to
belong to the history; to be a
living
part.

With intentioned slowness, Claire strolled
the three blocks to Old Joe’s art gallery. She knew it was still
there. She’d seen it, even seen him a time or two from behind the
windows of a cab or looking out of a would-be suitor’s car.

The chimes jingled as she opened the creaky
old door, pressing hard as the sign directed.

“
Be right with you in a
couple,” the familiar voice called from somewhere in back. “Feel
free to look around.”

“
Take your time. I’m in no
hurry,” Claire hollered back. Joe immediately came through the
drape covered doorway.

“
Little Claire Orion. I
thought you’d left me for good, Angel.” He came toward her and she
hugged him tightly. Claire blinked to hold back tears.

“
Just took a wrong turn,
Joe. Thanks for welcoming me back on course with open arms.” She
patted his scruffy cheek as he released her. “It looks like you’re
doing well, old friend.” She gestured to all the pieces of artwork
and the vast number with sold tags.

Joe smiled and nodded. “Thanks to you,” he
chuckled. “From a street vendor being told to pack up or else, to a
shop owner. All because a perfect little girl made mighty demands
upon her wealthy father.”

“
This old shop was sitting
idle because it wasn’t pretty enough for one of his own ventures
and, quite frankly, he paid me off because I knew who the woman was
who had vacated it.” She elbowed Old Joe. “It didn’t take a rocket
scientist to know his only interest in an artist would be the
pictures she could paint in his bed.”

“
Now, now Missy. No speaking
ill of the dead. I worried about you after. Tried to get in touch
with you but they shooed me away up there at your big fancy
building. Think they thought Old Joe was a gold digger when all I
wanted was to check on my angel. No Ma’am - always wanted to make
my way doing just exactly what I love. And thanks to you, I been
doing just that for nearly thirteen years now.” He hugged her
again.

“
I’m sorry I never came
back, Joe.”

“
Ah. You’re here now. Let it
go. Always look forward, Angel. No matter what you’ve been through
or what life throws at you, the future has the potential to hold
greatness. Don’t you ever forget that.” He led her to a small table
in the back. “I don’t suppose you want milk and cookies anymore.
Look at you. What a fine woman you made. Though there was no doubt
in that coming about.”

Claire laughed. She felt like the same little
girl inside, especially here with Joe. “How about tea? You always
had tea when I had my milk?”

Joe nodded and began preparing their drinks.
“You still paint, Claire? I still have requests for your work. I
kept the last three, marked sold but still on display. People
always want them…”

“
I painted this morning for
the first time in five years, Joe. Not a great job, but a beginning
still.”

Joe nodded. Claire looked away.

“
When they took away my
ability to make babies, I thought I could still leave a legacy with
my artwork. Then
he
told me it was all worthless, all of it. Then he died… and I
wanted to die. But, instead I threw myself into becoming numb…
until last night.” She looked back at her old friend. She’d always
talked openly with Joe. He’d listened without judgment for all
those years while she harbored the pain of her father’s rejection.
He’d tried to be a positive male role model in her life. But a
father’s love and approval, or lack thereof, was hard, if not
impossible to replace.

“
And last night?” Joe
prodded gently.

Claire smiled. “I’d planned to end it all.
Instead I went out for a final meal and met my own angel… I don’t
know how it will all end, Joe. I don’t even know him. All I know is
that I didn’t do what I’d planned… and I got up this morning and
painted, then came to see you.” They stared at each other then
laughed. Old Joe handed her the tea and hugged her again.

“
I’m so glad you
did.”

“
Me too.” She nodded. “Me
too.”

They talked for over two hours with little
interruption before a group came in that Joe knew would require his
full attention.

“
You know, Claire, I’ve got
a couple of kids I’d like you to meet. They come by every now and
again…live just down the street. They remind me of another little
girl I used to know,” he told her as she helped him clear their
dishes.

Claire was quiet as she rinsed the glasses.
Joe couldn’t tell what she was thinking but he knew he’d piqued her
curiosity.

“
There are others who, to
those looking in, seem to have it all. But, they’re eaten up with
self-doubt and hurt. Sometimes all they need is someone to help
them learn to believe in themselves. You rich kids…nobody ever
seems to think you have a care. And, even if they did know, nobody
knows how to help.”

“
What can I do, Joe?” she
asked, her voice quiet, thoughtful.

Joe shrugged. “Look inside, Angel. What could
have helped you make that turn before last night?”

Claire seemed distant. She was wondering
whether it would have made a difference for someone within her own
ranks to have told her that her dreams mattered, that what she
wanted to pursue was all right. She’d had Joe. But her dad didn’t
respect him. Would it have mattered?

“
Think on it,” Joe whispered
as he steered her toward the front of the shop and changed the
subject. “Can I expect more paintings then, my dear? I’d like to
take the sold sign off those three up there. The gentleman in the
dark blue has been after them for a while now.”

Claire was hesitant. “I’ll try Joe. I may
have lost my touch along with my heart. What say we let him have
two? Keep the one with the little girl. I’d forgotten all about
her, but for some reason, I don’t want to let her go.”

“
Artist’s whimsy,” Joe
chuckled and motioned for her to go before him. The group eyed them
as he hugged her at the front door. “When do you see him again?” he
whispered.

“
Who?” Claire asked. She was
watching the group admiring her painting, though the gentleman in
blue was openly admiring her. She smiled at him which, of course,
he returned.

“
Flirt!” Joe teased. “Shall
I introduce you? No, no. You’re to meet your angel.
When?”

“
How did you know?” she
asked, the surprise causing her to step back.

‘
It’s Old Joe,
Claire.”

She hugged him tightly. “10:30 tomorrow.
Sunday brunch.”

“
Come see me soon,
angel.”

Claire nodded and left. She saw Old Joe
removing the sold tag from her paintings and knew he must have told
the group she was the artist because they all turned to stare at
her through the window. She kept walking. She’d return in a few
days to give Old Joe her phone number. He’d surprise her with a
request for new pieces at a rather healthy price. She wondered if
Old Joe remembered their deal. Half to him and half to the
childrens’ center. He’d remember. He was Old Joe.

* * * * *

Sunday morning found Claire unusually nervous
as she watched the clock, waiting for the minute hand to tell her
it was time to go down to the lobby. She’d actually done a little
more painting after she’d left Old Joe the day before. Her artwork
seemed different to her now. Something had changed. It lacked the
lightness of her younger work, yet it held a depth she’d never
before noticed. She thought of the painting of the little girl
she’d told Old Joe to hold. It held qualities of both. Claire
smiled to herself as she remembered what she’d told Old Joe when
she took the piece to him.

“
That’s my little girl,
Joe,” she’d said.

“
You with a blondie with all
those dark curls of yours? Hmm. I don’t see it angel.”

“
I’m not an angel, Joe.
They’re only in Heaven. Besides, I can’t be one. Just ask my dad.
He says I’ve got the devil in me and, like all women, I’m already
learning to use it to get my own way.” Her scrunched face a pretty
good indication that she was hurt and confused by her father’s
statement.