Down From the Clouds (6 page)

I wish I could read people like Ella. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but she didn’t tell me. She read the letter, put it back in the envelope, and curled up on my chest until 1:23am. I know because I didn't sleep. I stared at her and the clock, wondering what she thought of me. I knew she loved me, but she signed up for romance, not a mess.

She left that night without saying much. I figured she expected I'd talk when I wanted to. Or maybe she didn't know what to say.

Days later we went shopping for a wedding dress. She wanted something simple. Something resembling the 1920's. Something that would cost us no more than a hundred beans.

I loved that about her.

Not the money thing. The simplicity. The fact that she could take something old and make it beautiful. Maybe she'd do that with me.

"They say it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride's dress before they marry." She peeked through the dressing room in the back of a dingy vintage shop.

"That must mean you like it."

She stepped out. Her cheeks flushed with pink as she stood on her tippy toes and looked down. Soft, white dress from days gone by draped to her knees, hitting her curves in all the right places. "You like?"

Words, tangled up in knots, stayed in my heart and never made it to my mouth. Not like it mattered. Ella and I spoke best when we didn't use words. Our eyes could say so much more. So I used my eyes to show her how I felt. She blushed even more, then slid behind the door and laughed.

I bought the dress for her and we stepped outside. Cold city air stung our noses. I inhaled. Fumes from cars mixed with the fresh scent of snow. The grey evening welcomed us. Delicate snow flakes dusted the high buildings and slushy streets, turning every color into a world of white. I buried my nose in my scarf and pulled Ella into me. She wrapped her scarf around her head and nuzzled against my shoulder.

“Where’d we park?” I said through layers of warm fabric.

She looked up and shrugged.

I smiled. “Great.”

A rush of wind blew a newspaper quite a few blocks away. As it flipped and flopped into the frosty air, I kissed my love. Mid-kiss the nice snow flakes turned into freezing rain. She laughed. I probably looked like a frantic homeless man as I wrapped my scarf around my face, looked back and forth, and bolted toward wherever I thought I had parked.

Ella’s hand in mine, we ran through the city looking for my car. I saw it a few blocks over and across the street. She could barely keep up because of her laughter, so I picked her up and carried her in my arms as I ran full-speed across the street and, why yes, like any prince charming would, I slipped on the curb. We fell in a puddle of mud, sleet, and snow. Ella’s dress flew out of the bag and into the middle of the street. A cab swished by, splashing the dress with specks of brown and grey.

I ran and picked it up, then jogged back to Ella and slipped again, this time landing on my back because I didn’t want to ruin the dress even more.

“Stop laughing,” I said, trying not to laugh myself. “I hate the cold. I’d rather sit in a stove and burn to death than be outside in this.”

Bent over in tears and laughter, she grabbed my scarf and pulled me to her. “Kiss me, Gavin Kessler. I’ll warm you up.”

“Sounds romantic, but let’s get to the car first, turn the heat on, and then get to that part.”

She smiled. “You really don’t like the cold, huh?”

By the time she finished her sentence I already had her and her dress safe in the car. I carefully walked to my side, probably looking somewhat like a penguin because I did not want to fall again and end up with more wet, cold slop on my pants.

I turned on the car. Ella’s dress flew to the backseat. Her lips landed on mine. The local indie station played a folk song as I let her kiss warm me. Better than hot chocolate. Hands down.

She stopped kissing me. Looked at the radio. Back to me.

“Did you hear that?” she said.

“Hear what?”

“That news snippet. I think they said Mwenye.”

I tugged on her collar. “About that kiss….”

She sat in her seat, eyes turned serious. “I think they just said Mwenye is in jail for murder.”

Chapter Six

We parked around the block from Tylissa’s house. She told us to climb the fence out back so the reporters wouldn’t catch us. Last thing I wanted was to be on television with Harold Kessler roaming Pennsylvania, so I obliged. Albeit a nervous wreck. I’m an artist, not a sporty guy. I’m not ripped and I can’t throw a football to save my life. Climbing six-foot fences did not appeal to me. Especially with freezing rain blowing in my face.

But all for the sake of love, I did it.

We climbed over and dropped to the ground. I’m not gonna lie, my ankle seared with pain like you wouldn’t believe. I limped after Ella and followed her inside the back door.

  Tylissa greeted us, face swollen, eyes red. I sat on the ground by the door, pulled one shoe off, and unlaced and slowly lifted the other off. I wiggled a toe and jerked. Okay, so I’m a wimp. I get that. Most women want the big hero with a six-pack to lift them up and carry them into a passionate embrace. Then there’s me. Wincing on the floor over what I hoped to be a sprained ankle and not a broken one.

Ella and Tylissa sat at the kitchen table completely oblivious of me. I hopped over and took a seat. Ella noticed. I motioned for her to sit down and worry about Tylissa instead. She hesitated, then tuned back in to her friend.

“I know he didn’t do it,” she said, anger hiding behind her clenched teeth. Her shoulders loosened, fell a few inches. “But he won’t say that.”

“I don’t understand,” Ella said.

“I wish I could tell you.”

“Why can’t you?”

“He won’t let me.”

Ella rubbed her chin and looked across the table toward me. I shrugged. She urged me to speak. I shrugged again, then mouthed, “What do I say?”

She shrugged. I shook my head and laughed inside.

“Tylissa,” I said. “I’ve met Mwenye a few times now. I have no doubt that he’s innocent, but why can’t you tell others? If you know why or how this happened, you need to speak up. This could mean life or death for him. On the news they said they are considering death penalty because of the gruesome nature of the crime.”

She wiped a tear from her face, and another, and another.

“I know you don’t want that for him. If you can prove his innocence then you need to.”

“I can’t.” Her sobs shook her body until she collapsed on the floor.

Almost immediately a baby cry echoed down the stairs. Ella jogged up the steps and out of sight, leaving me with the heartbroken woman curled up on the kitchen tile. I sat there, helpless, waiting for her to stop crying or for Ella to come downstairs. Didn’t know what to do.

Ella walked back into the room, babyless, and sat on her knees next to Tylissa. No words. Just rubbed her back and waited.

The baby cried again. 

Ella stood. "Could you come with me a second?"

She led me upstairs to a bedroom. "Make yourself at home in this room. I'm going to sleep with the baby and get Tylissa into her bed."

"This is crazy, Ella. You do realize that this is the worst school shooting in our history? It's one thing to walk into a high school, but to kill a bunch of students in a school for disabled children is quite a few clicks worse. And it wasn't a few kids either. According to the news seventy-something kids were reported dead on the scene and 41 were seriously injured."

She nodded. "I can't believe it. Mwenye has such a sweet spirit."

"How did they get him? And why would he admit he's guilty if he's not? This isn't a game. He'll be on death row before we are married."

"I don't know. Maybe that's the media's spin on it. Let's wait until tomorrow."

I peeked out the window. Lights and cameras all over the place. Still.

Ella walked to the baby's room, then turned and came back to me. "Almost forgot." She kissed me. "Goodnight."

"Night, love."

She walked away and said over her shoulder, "Ankle okay?"

I looked down. Forgot. "I guess it was just one of those weird ankle twist things."

I helped Tylissa find an attorney as Ella made fried eggs over English muffins, topped with tomatoes, fresh basil, and balsamic vinaigrette, with a side of her amazing crispy potatoes and onions. Steam hovered as she set three plates on the kitchen table and sat down with us.

"Will I be able to afford this?" Tylissa asked, switching her baby from one hip to the other and picking up her fork.

"It is expensive, but this is your husband's life," I said.

She caught a single tear in her sleeve. "But he will plead guilty." Her head shook and more tears dropped. "We were upstairs when they busted the door in. Just about to go to bed. I thought it was a robber. He pulled my face to his, kissed me, and told me to get a public defender, not an attorney, and let him do what he needed to do. I didn't even know what a public defender was. None of it made sense. Ten minutes after they took him I held the baby in the bedroom. I couldn't cry. I couldn't feel anything. I honestly had no idea what had happened until I started processing his last words to me."

"Can you explain to us what happened?" I said, taking a bite of Ella's deliciousness.

She put her pinky in her daughter's mouth and tried to catch her breath. "He made me promise I'd never tell anyone."

"But he will probably end up on death row."

"I know," she said. "I've known this for a long time."

"And you're okay with it?"

Her breathing slowed. "I promised."

Well, I couldn't have understood Tylissa if I tried, so I stopped trying and just listened, completely baffled as to why and how someone would allow their spouse to accept a guilty verdict in a terrible crime they didn't commit. Promises or not, I couldn't bear to watch someone I love die for something they didn't do. Maybe Tylissa valued faithfulness more than life. Or maybe Mwenye valued faithfulness more than his own life and that's why she couldn't break her promise to him. I wanted to understand. No matter how much my brain cells pondered various scenarios, I couldn't understand. Just couldn't.

Chapter Seven

April washed away the last of the March snow when my resume was turned down for the seventeenth time. I applied everywhere I could think of and wondered why I spent so much time and money in college for a degree that couldn’t guarantee me a job to pay off the loans.

Ella tapped my shoulder as I drove over the bridge from Jersey to Philly. We spent the morning watching the sunrise on the ocean. Ella loved to drive to the beach for no reason. She called me at 3am and said, “Let’s go.” So I went. It happened five times since the day we met. She loved it and so did I.

She propped her feet up on the dashboard. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” I said. Instinct. “I mean, I don’t know. I get spaced out with these windshield wipers. I was just thinking about money. School. Lack of jobs. We just bought a house and I have a savings account that is vanishing by the second. I need to find something quick.”

“You will. And so will I.” She looked over the bridge at the waves. “There’s something I haven’t told anyone.”

“About the accident?”

“How’d you know?”

“Figured you’d be thinking about it. You always bring it up when we cross this bridge, but my question is ... if you can now play violin again, what’s the big deal? Plus, if you wouldn’t have missed that flight who knows if we would’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, but there’s something I don’t tell anyone. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me or thinking I’m a horrible person.”

“I can relate.”

“I know, which is why I am going to tell you something if you promise to let me read the second letter when we get there.”

“Deal.”

She led me down random roads by pointing and repeating, “Oh, oh. I think it was that road back there. Sorry.” When you’re used to driving solo your entire life it gets weird when you share the road with another person. You see things you never saw before when you drive down the same tired roads. Suddenly things look new and different. That’s the beauty of letting someone else drive. You look at life instead of road signs. So I didn’t mind her sloppy directions. I enjoyed seeing her live.

We pulled into a graveyard. She got out of the car, rain boots hitting the rocky path. I loved the sound of shoes on gravel. I crunched my way over to her and put an umbrella over us. She led me down a hill and to a tree, where a lonely gravestone sat, although the teddy bears and flowers probably kept it company.

I read the name. Didn’t ring a bell. Ella knelt down and kissed the earth. “I’m so sorry, Parker.”

She pulled me down to sit with her, beside the etched stone.

“This is Parker,” she said. “And he would be 13 years old today if I hadn’t killed him.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It was an accident.”

“It wasn’t, Gavin.” She pulled a letter from her purse and placed it on the stone. “I’m not the only weirdo who carries letters.” She smiled, moving the letter to a teddy bear’s arms. “I’ve come to terms with it, but it’s true. If I would’ve been paying attention and not speeding, I wouldn’t have crossed the line. We can say it’s an accident all we want, but it was something I could’ve easily prevented.”