Proof of Angels (16 page)

B
Y THE TIME THE
EMT
S ARRIVED AND MOVED
L
IBBY
to a gurney, her eyes had opened. James had already hopped into the back of the ambulance and Tom was making his way to the truck to load his bag. Sean, standing beside Libby on the gurney, took her hand and said quietly, “I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I should have known better. I should have helped you. You're going to be all right. James will take good care of you. I'm so sorry I said those terrible things to you the other day.”

Libby blinked back a tear and it rolled slowly down her face, landing in the crease of her upper ear.

“It's okay, Libby. I know. You're going to get better. You're going to be great. We all mess up. We all deserve a second chance. Today you got one. I got one, too,” Sean said, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

Beneath the oxygen mask she mouthed two words, “My angels,” and squeezed Sean's hand.

“What did she just say?” James shouted from the back of the ambulance. “What did she just say to you?”

“It was nothing. She's going to be all right.” Sean made a thumbs-up gesture to James and winked.

“We'll follow you guys and meet you at the hospital.”

After the ambulance pulled away, Tom came over to Sean to help him walk to the truck.

“Do me a favor, Tom.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Can you run back down to the house and grab those pictures on the mantel above the fireplace? I think she should have them with her. I need to take Mirabelle home with me, too.”

“You can't handle both dogs, Sean.”

“Sure I can.”

“No, let me help. My girls will love watching her.”

“What about Melissa?”

“She'll understand. They're my friends, too. Sean, I want to help. Please let me do this.”

“Of course. You've done so much, Tom. Still don't believe things happen for a reason? James is right, if you weren't here tonight . . . it would have turned out so differently.”

“I don't know, Sean. I just don't know. And to be honest, I don't care. I don't question things like you do. I am just glad she's okay. Jesus. The messes people make of their lives. You think you know someone . . .”

“It's not that simple, Tom. She can't help it. Addiction is a disease, and she's vulnerable to begin with.”

“I know. It's just that I don't understand this, any of this. This life she lives. Drugs. This dump of a house. Why can't
people just figure this shit out? Why can't they just get up, live, work, and power through it?”

Sean shook his head in disbelief. “You're unbelievable, Tom. Unfreakin' believable.”

“What?”

“You can be a real ass. She is sick and hurt. And you're wondering why she can't power through it? Like you, Tom? Like you? How does that work out for you? You think you're different? You think you're better? Really? How's
powering through it
working for you? How's that chiseled body and those torn-up legs you hide under those jeans? How's your nine-to-five work gig that you spread out to seven to seven and then sometimes eight? How's leaving your pretty wife and two kids at home alone working for you? Don't go deluding yourself. You're no better. And you're every bit as messed up as Libby is. Your obsession just falls off the radar. You might not get arrested for it. But it's taking its toll on you, your marriage, your life. Your quest for
perfection
. For
work
.
Work. Work. Work
. You may not see it or admit it, but it is. Someone like Libby
feels
shit. She feels it deeply and she can't just
power through
it
. She can't just wake up, down some raw eggs, and press three hundred pounds. She's got nowhere to go with all that pain. She counted on us, Tom. We were her friends. And we missed it. I didn't see it. I didn't want to see it. But just because we can't see someone else's pain doesn't mean it's not there. Doesn't mean we can assume stuff about them.”

“I'm sorry, Sean. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“No, I know you didn't. But you want to know what I don't understand, Tom? I don't understand how after everything
that just happened today, you can't just admit that sometimes miracles happen. Good stuff happens out of the garbage of everyday life. Like seeing a dog surf or being in the right place at the right time so that you can actually save a life. Or admitting, just admitting once, that life is more than just work, it's about the people in it,” Sean said, limping over to the truck. “And if my leg didn't hurt so badly, I'd walk my ass to the hospital, but I can't. So go grab the dog and those pics, and let's go.”

“Sean?”

“What?” Sean snapped.

“I wish . . . I wish . . . ,” Tom stammered and then shook his head hopelessly.

“What?” Sean said with a final exhale of exasperation.

“I wish I could see things the way you do. I wish I could believe everything has a purpose. I wish I could believe we each have an angel looking out for us. I do. God, I wish I could. But I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just don't.”

“That's all right, Tom. It's not fair of me to lash out at you. I'm just so angry.”

“Me too, Sean. Me too.”

After Tom had dropped the pictures off at the hospital, checked in on James, and found out Libby was stable, he ran back to the truck to drive Sean home. The two barely spoke the entire way, until Tom pulled his truck up in front of Sean's building.

“Been a long day,” Tom said finally.

“Yep.”

“See you tomorrow? Back to the gym?”

“I don't think so, Tom.”

“What?”

“I think I'm done with PT. I can take it from here. I can get around. Probably could for some time. I just milked it longer than I should have. Should have stood up and walked a long time ago. My legs are plenty strong enough. I don't need a hired hand hanging out with me.”

“Sean, I am more than a hired hand. I hope you know that.”

“I know that, Tom. I know. It's just time. I need to get control of my life. It's time I start the rest of it. Playing the invalid is getting old. And today showed me that life is just too damn short. Too damn unpredictable. I'm not taking any more chances. I'm not wasting another minute of my life. I'm ready. I was great in the water. And I realized when I was on the phone with the 911 operator, I'm not done. I still want to help people. I may not be able to climb ladders or hose down buildings, but I can do something. And I want to get started. I have to. For myself. For my own sanity.”

“I understand.”

“Gaspar will pay you out for the month.”

“He pays the VNA. I'll have other patients to see,” Tom explained.

“Of course. Other patients,” Sean said, nodding.

“We can still hang out? You, me, James, and Libby—when she's ready?” Tom said, staring out through the windshield. “We're friends, right?” Tom asked quietly.

“Sure, we'll all get together again,” Sean promised. “When I get back.”

“Are you going then? To Italy? Next month? Should I tell Gaspar?”

“I think you know the answer to that. And I'd appreciate it if you don't. He won't think I'm ready and he'll try to talk me out of it or come with me.”

“So you really think you were spared to say sorry to this girl? You think an angel came down from heaven just so you could go tell some girl you're sorry?”

“I don't know. I won't know if I don't go. And no matter what, I won't be able to live with myself if I don't. I made a promise. A promise to myself and to God, Tom. And I am not backing out of it. I'm alive today because of it. I believe it. I believe it with all my heart.”

“I just don't get how you can be so sure,” Tom said, still shaking his head. “I hope she's worth it.”

Sean turned his entire body toward Tom's and looked at him intently. “Tom, e
veryone is worth it
. Don't you get it? Every single person is worth it. Libby is worth it. James is worth it. Christ, you're worth it. And, so yes, Chiara is worth it. She's worth the trip. You're worth the trip. The whole entire world is worth it, Tom. She doesn't owe me anything. She doesn't have to be perfect. She's not some prize. The world doesn't owe me anything either. Doesn't owe you anything
. I
owe her something. I owe the
world
something. I owe myself something, goddammit.”

“Okay, Sean. Okay.”

“I need you to get this, Tom. I need you to understand this. I need you to understand.”

“Why? Why is it so important, Sean, what I think? Why do you even care?”

“Because, Tom, I care about you. You're my friend, like it or not, and I care. I need you to see what I see. I need you
to see that promises matter, people matter, second chances matter. I need you to see your patients for more than their broken bones and atrophied muscles and the work they need to do to prove themselves to you. I need you to see them as possibilities. As hope. As light. I need you to see that you survived for a reason, too. It wasn't just to work. It was to be a husband to your wife; a father to your girls; a friend to me, James, and Libby; a savior to so many people who struggle every day to get up and keep walking. I need you to see that you matter, Tom. You do, too.”

“Why? Why me?”

“I don't want you to have to learn the hard way, Tom. Like I did. So many times. I doubted and I was snarky and dismissive of people who believed. It was safe. It was easy. And time and time again . . . life came around and kicked me in the ass and showed me how wrong I was. I don't want you to have to lose what you have—a wife and children—because you can't get over yourself. You can't see how amazing your life is and the people in it.”

Tom exhaled and looked up at the sky as if it held the answers he was looking for. But there was no denying Sean's truth. Every word stung him. He had been ungrateful. He hadn't noticed how many chances he'd been given—over and over—first his life, then his wife and his kids.

“Sean? How? I mean how did you get like this? And why does it all matter so much to you?”

“It's simple.”

“Oh?”

“Someday you'll see. It may not be today. It may not be tomorrow, but someday you'll be sitting where I am and you'll
see so clearly what it is that you need to see. And once you see it, you want the whole world to see it.”

“Magee, you're a goddamn mystery.”

“Tom, for once, embrace it,” Sean said, wrapping his arms around his friend before turning and opening the door to leave. “Embrace the mystery, dammit.”

“You'll tell me what happens,” Tom said as Sean was about to close the door.

“Sure.”

“You'll call me?”

“Ye of little faith, my doubting Thomas,” Sean said, shaking his head and slamming the door.

L
IBBY WAS SITTING IN A CHAIR BESIDE HER BED AND
was swaddled in various hospital issued–blankets when Sean walked into her room with Chief two days after he, Tom, and James had found her.

“Where's James today?” Sean asked, limping into the room with his cane.

“He had to work. I told him he couldn't avoid it. He has to go back. My parents are coming down today from San Francisco. They're going to take me home for a while and check me into a rehab up there,” Libby said quietly.

“How's James taking it?”

“It was his idea. He wants me to get better. I think he realizes better than anyone, even better than I was willing to admit, that this is above his pay grade. To be honest, we were both in over our heads. He thought he could fix me. I thought I could love him the way he deserved.”

“He loves you, Libby. You make him happy,” Sean said,
pulling a chair up next to her. “I saw him eating broccoli yesterday. No cheese. Said he was trying to go through detox with you.”

“One man's downfall is heroin, for another it's cheese.” Libby laughed and then dipped her cheek into the side of her shoulder and wiped away another tear, holding her head there as if listening to something deep inside her shoulder. After she cried quietly and pulled her hands out of the blanket, she rubbed her eyes with her palms. Her hands covered her eyes and forehead.

“Lib? Come on, come on. You're going to be okay.”

“I've messed everything up. My job, James, and my parents. Don't get me started on my poor parents,” Lib said, shaking back and forth.

“You're still here, Lib. They're happy about that. I am sure.”

“You don't understand, Sean. You don't. They've already lost one. And I am such a screwup.”

“Your sister? She's the girl in that picture, right? Did she die?” Sean said, pointing to the picture Tom had taken to her the night she was admitted.

“Yes, we're twins. She was my best friend, Sean. We did everything together. She was always so much cooler than me. Even though we looked exactly the same, she had that invisible magnetic charm. Boys just went crazy over her. They were always chasing her around, and she was always dragging me with her. And then one day I decided I didn't want to be the third wheel. I just wanted to do my own thing. Wanted to be my own person. I was tired of being her mirror image.
Looking just like her, but feeling so different inside. So that day she got in a car with this cool hotshot. You know the type. He took her joyriding. Asshole was going ninety miles an hour when he crashed her into a pole.”

Sean shook his head and looked up at Libby to see her staring at her sister's picture.

“I should have been there with her. It should have been me in that mangled hunk of metal. It should have been me. She belonged in this world. Not me. She did. She had so much more to offer it than me. A junkie. A screwup.”

“Lib, Lib. Come on. You can't blame yourself. You can't say those things.”

“You know how hard it is to look in the mirror and see your dead sister staring back at you? See what could have been? Every day?”

“Is that why you got all the tattoos? The piercings? Keep your hair short?” Sean asked, already knowing the answer because the puzzle that was Libby was finally coming together. The corner pieces were all in place. All he had was to stick in a few more pieces to see the complete picture.

Libby shrugged. “You know what the last thing she said to me was, Sean?”

“I have no idea.”

“She said, ‘Lib, it won't be the same without you. Nothing's the same without you . . . ,'” Libby trailed off and cried again.

“Oh, Lib.”

“And after they told me that she died, I kept playing those words over and over in my head. Because
it wasn't the same. It wasn't. Nothing was ever the same again. Why can't things ever be the same? Why can't we go back to that spot? That sweet wonderful spot where we started from?”

“Oh, honey,” Sean said, wanting to reach out and hug her, wanting to tell her he'd been asking himself the same question for months, but she pulled farther back into the chair. “I know. I know,” he consoled her.

“It was like someone took a knife and cut me in half. Carved me right down the middle. It made no sense why she died and I lived.”

“It never does.”

“And I couldn't take it, Sean. I couldn't take it. The ache inside. The guilt. I just wanted something, anything, to make it all go away.”

Sean took Libby's hand in his.

“I just want to feel whole again, Sean. And the drugs did that for a while. And then love did,” Libby said, looking past Sean's shoulder at her reflection in the window.

“Libby, you will feel whole again. You will. Not now, not today, but someday. You have parents who love you. James loves you. I love you. Tom loves you. Mirabelle loves you. You have so many people who just want you to feel better. And here is a little secret: Everybody wants to feel whole. Everybody with a pulse gets a piece of them ripped out if they live long enough. We live, we love, and we die. And sometimes people we love the most die before us and it hurts like a mother. It hurts worse than falling three stories after nearly burning alive. It hurts worse than withdrawing from smack. It hurts and it hurts and it hurts. And just when you think you couldn't hurt anymore, your body finds new ways to hurt. New
nadirs—lower, darker, more abysmal than before. I know. But I know this, too, Libby. I know that we hurt because we loved and that is pretty awesome. When you think about it in reverse, it's pretty goddamn amazing. If you rewind through all the hurt, and you go back in time and find the moment when that love you felt lived and breathed inside you and filled your soul up with light, you realize just how amazing this life is. And what's even more amazing? You know what, Lib? You can go back to those times at any moment. You can go back to it now. You can take it with you forever. It lives forever. And the opposite is true, too. You can also fast-forward. One day, though you can't see it now, Lib. You can't, but you're going to be so happy. You'll be married. And you'll be holding a beautiful baby and you won't believe how all that joy could be yours. But if you rewind that moment all the way back, you'll see this moment. You'll see this pain. You'll see how hurt and sad and lonely you were and that out of that pain and hurt, you grew strong. You got better and that pain brought you that joy you'll be holding someday in the future.”

“Oh, Sean, I miss her,” Libby cried. “I miss who I was when I was with her. It's just not the same.”

“I know what you mean. I do.”

“I know you do,” Libby said and squeezed his hand.

“You have to believe in second chances. You have to believe that there is a reason why you're here today. Think of your parents, think what life would have been like if both of you were in that car.”

Libby nodded.

“Think of James and how happy he is just to be in a room with you. Think of the fun you two have. Think about how
much he adores you. Loves you.
How he chose you
. Expects nothing from you. How simple and true his love is.”

Libby smiled, thinking of him and looking at his picture beside the one of her sister.

“And think of all those dogs, all those guardian angels, you bring into people's lives every day and the smiles they put on people's faces, on faces like mine,” Sean said, smiling widely.

“How can you be so sure, Sean? How can you be so sure we all have a reason and a purpose?”

“Because I've seen it with my own eyes.”

“Are you talking about that angel again?”

“No, it's not just the angel. I know because I've loved so many times, and have lost so many times, but I keep moving. I keep breathing. I keep remembering. And I see it makes a difference. We each make a difference. If it weren't for thinking of Chiara, I don't think I'd be here. If it weren't for James, I wouldn't be here. If it weren't for Gaspar, I wouldn't have met Tom, and I don't think I would be walking today without him. And if it weren't for James and Tom, you wouldn't be here. So we each matter. And then if it weren't for you and Chief walking into my room, James and you wouldn't be together. And if you, James, and I didn't hang out so much and talk so much and help Tom see the error of his ways, maybe Tom would be on his way to a divorce instead of running home each day to get to his wife. And if Tom hadn't taken Chief surfing like he did the other day, then he wouldn't have forgotten Chief's leash in his truck, and he wouldn't have ended up in an elevator bringing it to me and James at the exact moment we thought to come and get you, and without Tom and his medical bag, you wouldn't
be here, and your parents wouldn't be coming down to visit you today in a hospital where you're alive and on your way to getting better. It's not just a random stream of coincidences. Life's not just a bunch of disconnected events and people. There are reasons, and we may not know them or recognize them and we may not understand them, but we have to trust that there are reasons beyond us, because I've seen it work out enough. It doesn't mean we will all live forever. It doesn't mean bad things won't happen or we won't feel sad sometimes, but it does mean that we can't discount the miraculous in the mundane. It's the only way to make this shit bearable.”

“Sean, how did you get like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“So damn sure of yourself.”

“I wasn't always like this, Lib. I spent a lot of time lost in the dark. Wallowing. Blaming. Drinking. Getting high. Blocking myself from any sort of happiness.”

“And then the fire?”

“Sure.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sure, the fire changed me. But if I had to be honest, I changed before that. I had turned my entire life around three years before that, but I just lost my way again. It happens. And the fire, the angel, all of it reminded me of something I had already figured out.”

“What's that?”

“I used to fight the fire—the fire burning inside me and the fires outside me. I used to fight everything. I was always so angry, so bitter, so pissed off at the world. I didn't understand
why kids like my nephew had to suffer, why people like my sister and mother had to endure so much pain, and why I couldn't be with the one I loved. I fought it for so long, I pushed it out. So much so I turned out the light inside me.”

“And then what?” Libby asked.

“Then one day, three years ago, I saw something amazing, Libby. And it changed me. I saw my sister holding her son—my nephew, the boy I loved and raised like my own son—dying in her arms. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. I couldn't help my sister. I knew there was nothing I could do to protect her from the pain coming for her, from the brutal, torturous suffering of my nephew. It ripped my heart out. I thought I'd never be able to breathe again, walk again, stand, go on, live. I thought right then and there:
If this boy dies, I die. It's over. I am done with this crap-ass, nonsensical world
.”

“What happened?”

“I was watching it all unfold, as if in slow motion. My sister's face changed. She looked transfixed, like she had just seen heaven itself. Like a goddamn angel. It was like she realized while holding her son, finally at peace, that she didn't need to get to heaven to see that it existed. She didn't need to see or touch God to know he existed, she held it all in her arms. She had been holding on to heaven, the goddamn universe, right there in her arms, his entire life. All the while, like Dorothy clicking her heels or something, it was right there in front of her. And I swear that my nephew, even as the light was going out inside him, looked at her in the same way. I will never understand why he had to suffer. Why she had to suffer. I won't, and I don't think anyone will ever be able to, but I know this—love. Love is what makes all this possible.
All of this bearable. Love does. It matters. We matter. Each and every one of us matters.”

Libby reached now for Sean and held his forearm, squeezing as he spoke.

“I knew in that moment, whether he lived or died, every single thing mattered. Every little, seemingly insignificant thing mattered, and I didn't need to keep fighting this fire inside me. I had to walk beside it. I had to walk with it. It was a light. Like Colm was a light. Like Cathleen. Like Gaspar. We all were each other's guides. Each other's light. Angels. Heaven. Whatever you want to call it. We came to set the world on fire.”

“Oh, Sean, the way you talk. I don't know. I don't know what to do with it all. I don't know how to wrap my head around it.” Libby sighed.

“You know that angel I thought I saw that day up in that burning house? Well, I'd seen her before. I saw the angel right next to my sister and Colm, the same damn one that came to me the night of the fire. It was clear as day to me. The light around her was so bright, it made everything around her disappear.”

“So it was like a hallucination?” Libby said, disbelieving.

“Sure. No one else saw it but me, so yeah, I guess it was. But it was enough. It was real to me. The next thing I knew or remembered was waking up in the hospital. My sister and Gaspar were standing over me. They said I had passed out. That I was so overcome.”

“Did you tell your sister what you saw?”

“No. I couldn't. I didn't understand it then. So I blocked it out. But it wasn't until I saw again what I'd seen before
that I realized there was a reason I was here. So that's how I know, Lib. I know all the way down to the studs that this fire exploding inside me is out there, too. It's in all of us. And it's in you, too, Libby. We just have to tear down the walls and let it out.”

Libby nodded. “Wow.”

“You think I'm nuts, don't you? A few years ago if I had heard the same thing, I would think I was nuts.”