Some Kind of Angel (17 page)

He closed his eyes for the most restful sleep he’d have that night.

The next morning dawned crisp and cold with a light dusting of snow on the streets that seemed to echo the artificial snow Leslie had scattered in her display.  She was delighted with the snowfall and went out the door in her duster and pajamas to catch snowflakes on her tongue.  Michael, horrified, pulled her inside.  “Are you daft, love?  You’re not dressed.”

“In flannel pajamas?  Who do you think is going to accost me in flannel pajamas?”  She smiled that wonderful smile at him.  “Besides you, that is.  But I’m perfectly decent.  I wanted to get out there before the snow stopped.”

“It’s going to stop?”

“Oh, yes.  See how the sun is shining?  It can’t keep snowing with the sun shining.”

This must be another one of the things people of earth knew and he didn’t. 

I gazed at him, thinking I could hardly believe he was my husband.  He had on his working clothes, his crisp white shirt open at the throat, his Armani suit, his shoes shined to a mirror-like gleam.  He was businesslike and sexy and hot at the same time.  As an added bonus, he smiled at me, seeming much more relaxed than he had been last night.  Really, I just wanted to eat him alive, he was so yummy.  I felt so lucky that this wonderful man was my husband.

“Did you think through your problem?” I asked.

“I did.  I came up with a solution.  I’m not sure it’s the correct one, but it’s the only one that occurred to me.”

“You’re not going to tell me what this is about?”

“Not until the time comes, no.”

It was two days until Christmas and the only visitor to the store was Althea.  She looked like a different woman with her bright red scarf wrapped around the collar of her faux fur coat.  “I brought you a present, Leslie,” she said, as she marched to the back of the store and pulled out a chair at the table we reserved for ourselves as a private area where Michael sat, enjoying his morning coffee.

“Althea, you shouldn’t have.  We don’t have anything for you,” I told her.

“Pah.  I have everything I need, thanks to your husband.”  She nodded her head at Michael.  “Will you open it up now and see if you like it?  I thought you might have one of your own that you wanted to use but if you didn’t…”

I pulled the silver ribbon off the professionally wrapped box swathed in blue paper and lifted the lid.  There, nestled in a mound of tissue paper was the most beautiful christening dress I have ever seen.  The neck and sleeves were trimmed in finest French lace, while the body was the sheerest voile over silk. 

“Oh.  Oh, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” 

“I know christening dresses are a little old fashioned but I thought…”

I leaped up and went to Althea, nearly smothering her in a hug.  “This is so thoughtful of you.  Michael, look at this.  Isn’t it absolutely beautiful?  And boy or girl, this is what our baby will wear on christening day.  Of course you must come.  I’ll send you a special invitation.”

“I know I’m rather commandeering a gift that your mother might want to give…”

“She’ll think of something else.  Oh, what a wonderful Christmas present.  You must stay for tea.”

Althea shook her head.  “Can’t stay.  Have more errands to do.  Merry Christmas, Mrs. O’Malley.”  Her eyes flicked to Michael.  “And you, too, you sly devil, going around behind people’s backs, doing good deeds.  You take care of her.”

“You know I will,” Michael said. 

When Althea had gone, I said, “It’s hard to believe she is the same bitter woman I used to avoid serving.”

“When you lay down a burden of grief and resentment, the relief is very great.”

“My so wise husband.”

On Christmas Eve, when Michael stepped out of the shop and held out his arm for Leslie to take, the weather was cold and crisp.  Snowflakes fluttered to the ground, sparkles in the night looking like tiny stars against the backdrop of the city glowing with lights.  Leslie insisted saving the taxi fare and walking the five blocks to church.  Now she clung to Michael’s arm as they traversed the city sidewalk. 

Michael realized now what it felt like for a mortal to enter a church sanctuary where the only thing that occurred within these walls was the worship of God and the sacraments of communion, marriage, and baptism.  The soaring ceilings, the dark woodwork, the huge cross in back of the altar.  He felt a peace spread within his soul that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

The choir led the Christmas hymns, processing in with

O come, O come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel.  That mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.  Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

It was as if Michael remembered this twelfth century song deep within his soul.  People had been singing this ancient chant for nine hundred years.

He settled into one of the pews with Leslie and bowed his head.  He realized that he hadn’t said a prayer since his unwelcome visitor had come to the shop.  Now was the time to forget about that man and his threats.  He would rise and listen to the Christmas carols, hear again the Christmas story, receive his candle, and with Leslie at his side sing “Silent Night.”  How beautiful the church was with all the candles lit and moving together.  Hundreds of people sharing the same song, raising their little lights on high.  It was his first experience in worshipping with his fellow man and he understood how important it was for the human race to have this spiritual experience.

At the end of the song, he extinguished his candle just as everyone else was doing and received the final blessing.

Out on the sidewalk on their way home, Leslie linked her arm in his.  “Wasn’t it a beautiful service?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Did you go to Christmas Eve services in Ireland, Michael?”

‘Of course.”

“When the pastor read the Christmas story, I couldn’t help but think about my baby.  I’m quite sure he’s a boy.  Do you think it’s silly, Michael, that I’m so sure it’s a boy before we see the ultrasound?”

Michael had learned by now that his wife often asked him trick questions. 
Do I look fat in this dress, Michael?  I didn’t cook the roast too long, did I?
 
Didn’t you think the mashed potatoes were a little lumpy
?  His answers must always be positive, regardless of what he knew to be the truth.  “I don’t think it’s silly at all, love.  You’re a mother now and mothers often have correct premonitions about their children.”

“I’m a mother now,” she echoed in an awed tone.  “I guess I never really thought about it, that I’m a mother already.”

In their bedroom, Michael stood on his side of the bed, undressing when Leslie said, “Make love to me, Michael.”

“It will be my pleasure, my love.”

He had no experience with lovers, married, pregnant or otherwise, but it seemed to him that Leslie was more passionate, freer than she might have been if she were worried about becoming pregnant.  Her caresses were more intimate, more demanding.  She gave him pleasure after pleasure until he could no longer hold out.  She carried him to what must be a human heaven, so intense was his delight.  Then it was his turn.  She murmured, “You know me so well, Michael.  It’s like you can read my mind.”  He felt so close to her, as if they were truly one.

Then he discovered on Christmas morning how quickly that feeling could evaporate.

“You got me a dish drainer?”  Leslie sat on the floor under the Christmas tree at the front of the store with the Christmas wrappings all about her of the presents her family had sent.  She’d said she wanted to save his present until last. 

“A dish drainer?”  Tears glistened in her eyes. “It’s because I’m fat and pregnant, isn’t it?  You thought a dish drainer was all I deserved.”

He pushed aside the blizzard of wrappings and sat down next to her to put his arm around her.  “My love.  That’s what you said you wanted.”

“I didn’t say I wanted it for
Christmas
.”

He knew it would be futile to argue with her.  “What did you think would be in your Christmas package?”

“I thought you would gift me with that beautiful cameo pendant and matching ring that came into the store three weeks ago.  I did go on and on about how beautiful I thought they were.”

His stomach twisted.  He’d sold the cameos a week before Christmas and was happy with the profit he made.  There would be no retrieving them. 

“I am so sorry, Leslie.  I sold that set to an older woman who came in and admired it.  You didn’t say you wanted it…”

“Do I have to come right out and say I want something?  Can’t you tell when I’m hinting for something?”

“No, Leslie, I can’t.”

“You’re so obtuse.  How can you be so obtuse?”  She rose up out of the mound of discarded Christmas wrappings, grabbed up her “gift” and stomped around the presents her family had sent, a beautiful fisherman’s knit sweater and matching cap from Laura, a necklace made of turquoise from her mother, a matching peignoir and robe set for her hospital trip from Dorian, and a four books off the best seller list from Jake and Gabe, and stalked toward the stairs.  “I’m going right up with my wonderful Christmas gift and put it in its pride of place next to the sink.”

Michael watched her march up the stairs.  Would he ever be able to figure out this woman he’d married?

His heart heavy with despair, he began to gather up the wrapping paper to carry it into the back room.  Leslie appeared on the steps, her face blotched from crying.  “Now what are you doing?  Don’t throw away that wrapping paper.  I wanted to save it.  I can salvage some of it to use in the window display.”

  “Fine.”  He threw the sheets of wrapping paper down on the floor.  He might have been an angel, but he was a man now and his limit had been reached. “There it is.  Now will I be doing something wrong if I go upstairs and make myself a cup of coffee?”

“Of course not, Michael.  My goodness.  Are you angry?  You never get angry. What have you got to be angry about?  I’m the one who got a dish drainer for Christmas.”

“There is a first time for everything, my dear wife.”

“You didn’t even ask about my present for you.”

“I thought you wouldn’t want to give it to me.”

“Of course I want to give you your present.  Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why, indeed?  I’ll get my coffee first, if you don’t mind, while you straighten out your wrapping paper and decide where you are going to keep it.”  In his robe and slippers, his back militarily straight, Michael climbed the stairs, thinking he didn’t understand his wife at all.

I watched him go.  He looked offended.  How could he be offended?  I was the one who got the stupid dish drainer.  How could he have thought that’s what I wanted for Christmas?  I didn’t understand him at all.  “Merry Christmas, Michael,” I whispered.

Michael came downstairs to find the wrapping paper neatly folded in a small pile and sitting on their table in the back.  He’d changed into the matching fisherman’s knit sweater that the Rutledge family had gifted him for Christmas and pulled it down over the top of his suit pants, glad for its warmth.  He kept the heat down when the store was closed in order to save money.  Carrying his cup of coffee, he sat down at the back of the table where it was clear.  Leslie was at the front of the store, gathering up her Christmas presents.

She had her arms full when she stopped at the table.  “You got your cup of coffee, I see.  I’ll take these upstairs and then I want to give you your present.”

“Whatever you wish, my dear.”

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.  Now you’re sounding like a robot.”

When she came back down, she wore her Christmas sweater and a pair of pants with an elastic waist that she could still get into.  She placed a small box beautifully wrapped in silver foil with a blue ribbon perched on top.  “Will you open your present now?”

“Of course.”  He’d reverted to a polite façade, as if I were a stranger.  I hated his super politeness.

He unwrapped his gift and took out the watch.  He looked at it as if he’d never seen one before.  What was wrong with him?  I suppose he hated it.

“It has an inscription on the back,” I told him.

He turned the watch over.  When he’d read the inscription, he said, “I hardly think I deserve this now.”

“Of course you do,” I said and rose from the chair to kiss him on the forehead.  “I just realized how much you’ve had to deal with this year, Michael.  Starting up a business, marrying a pregnant wife.  I’m sorry I carried on about the dish drainer.  I do remember when I said that’s what I wanted.  My mistake.  Forgive me?”

She looked so pretty and so contrite that his heart melted.  “Of course I forgive you.”

“Let’s be extravagant.  Let’s take a taxi to Central Park and throw snowballs at each other.”

“This is your idea of a good time?”

“Yes, Michael.  Remember I grew up in Florida.  I think snow is wonderful.”

When they arrived at the park, they discovered many other people had the same idea.  Michael was still looking around at what he considered to be crazy people, throwing snowballs at one another, when Leslie hit him with one squarely in the chest.  He retaliated, but aimed at her knees.  He didn’t want to hit her anywhere near her abdomen.

“Oh, Michael, you’re no fun.  You’re not going to hurt the baby.  Come on, give me a good one.”

And so he did and she turned around so the snowball hit her in the back.  He indulged her by throwing snowballs until he could see she was tiring.  He knew she wouldn’t admit it.  “We need to go home, love.  I…think I left the coffee pot on.”

That persuaded her to let him hail a taxi and make the trip home.

He debated about keeping the store open during the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and he decided he had nothing to lose by opening.  If they made even one sale, it would pay for the extra heat.  As it happened, he did make a sale.  A man and woman came in and bought a settee that Leslie had reupholstered with some beautiful fabric, a paisley material in jewel colors of blue and ruby that cost twenty three dollars a yard.  Michael had protested about the cost, but Leslie had insisted they would be able to put a higher price on the settee because of the gorgeous fabric.  She’d refinished the walnut frame and polished it to a high sheen.  When the couple paid the price that Leslie had printed on the ticket, a price that reflected a hundred dollar profit, and walked out of the store happy with their purchase, Leslie turned a triumphant face to Michael.  “See?  Good taste always pays off.”

The evening of New Year’s, Michael sat with Leslie in front of the television set to watch the ball drop in Times Square.  He thought this a strange custom and was not sure he understood it.  But if thousands of people did, perhaps he was the one in the wrong. 

Two days later, Leslie brought a copy of the New York Times to Michael, her face white with shock.  “Adam’s been killed.”  She showed him the article.  “His car got hit by a drunk driver the night of New Year’s Eve.  It was a direct hit on the driver’s side of Adam’s car.  His fiancée is in the hospital, but she’s expected to survive.  Oh, Michael.  I feel so bad for his mother.  She must be devastated.”

“She was not nice to you, Leslie.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t feel sorry for her.  It gives the time of the funeral here.”

“Do you want to go?”

“No.  I…I can’t.  I couldn’t bear it.”

She felt half sick all that day.  She remembered the good times she’d had with Adam, how sweet he’d been in bed with her.  She remembered his beautiful hands and his handsome face and how he had laughed when she told him about the onion soup incident.  It seemed impossible to think he would no longer laugh, or speak, or walk on a stage to bring pleasure to an audience who would watch him portray a character.

Michael watched her carefully that day.  It wasn’t good for the baby she carried for her to be so upset.  He hoped she would soon recover from the shock.

In the following days, Leslie seemed to return to her usual good spirits.  Michael was glad for that.  His life was much easier when Leslie was in a good mood.  A fact of married life, he discovered.

He slipped into a daily routine, showering, dressing, descending the steps to the store, waiting for that bell on the door to ring, hoping for someone to buy something.

Toward the end of January, the visitor he’d been waiting for finally arrived.

“Is my money ready?” Mortelli asked, supremely confident of a positive answer.

“No, Mr. Mortelli, it is not.  You have no claim to any money here.”

“I thought we discussed this.”

“We did.  Now here’s what I have to say on the matter.  You threatened my wife.  Now I shall tell you what happens if you or any of your consorts come in here again.  I’ll be wearing a wire that will record our conversation.  The police will come and pick up you or your minion.  When that happens, I will find your mother.  I will explain to her how you were threatening my wife who is carrying my child, that I regretted reporting you to the police but what else could I do.  What do you think she will say?”

“You son of a…”

“I do not think that is what she will say.  I think she will tell you how ashamed she is of you.”

“You don’t know that for a fact.”

“I think I do.  I’ve already visited your mother.  I told her I was a friend of yours and that I understood she liked African violets and had dozens sitting at her north window.  I gifted her with a brand new one,
Optimara
.  She was overjoyed to get it.  We became good friends.”

“You’re quite the clever guy, aren’t you?”

“I will do anything I need to do to keep my wife safe.  You would do the same, would you not?”

Michael thought the man gave a low growl in his throat.  “I suppose Mama even came to the store and bought something.”

“As a matter of fact, she did.  Didn’t you notice the lovely Feng shui Tang horse on the mantel?”

By now, Mortelli’s hands had tightened into fists.  Michael decided he should not bait the man any longer.

“Perhaps you’d like to leave now?” Michael said politely.

“Perhaps I would.”

With Mortelli’s leave taking, Michael found himself settling into his days, having them fit him like a comfortable old shoe while Leslie grew rounder and rounder.

When March rolled around. Leslie said, “It’s St. Patrick’s Day, Michael.  Don’t you want to march in the parade?  After all, you are Irish.”

“I’m not that Irish.”

“You don’t like to do anything that calls attention to yourself, do you, Michael?  If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a criminal, hiding from the law.”

“I’m not a criminal, Leslie.”

“Oh, I know that, my love.  I’m just teasing you.”

The nights supplied him with a subtle torture.  Leslie could no longer make love, but she liked to lie on her side, with her back spooned to his chest.  His damnable body would react to her closeness.

“I can feel you, Michael.”

“I’m sorry, my love.”

“You’re not the only one.  I can’t wait to have this baby.”

It was a sentiment he heartily agreed with.

By April, she’d gotten quite large, a fact she remarked on about ten times a day, it seemed to Michael. 

The last week of April, which by the doctor’s calculation, meant she had only two more weeks to wait, they had a visitor at the store.

Mrs.  Clarke.

Michael happened to be in the front of the store when she came in.

“I know I’m probably not welcome here,” she said, before Michael could say a word.

“I guess that depends on why you’ve come.”

“I’d like to see Leslie.”

“Leslie is in the last trimester of her pregnancy.  I do not want her upset.”

“I just want…I need to ask her something.”  The woman’s face was wreathed with sorrow.

“I am sorry for your loss of your son,” Michael said.

“I thank you for that.  May I see Leslie please?  I promise not to upset her.”

“She’s in the back, sitting at our table.”

Mrs. Clarke followed him back to their private area.  “Hello, Leslie.  Oh, no, don’t get up.  Your husband told me I could speak to you for a few minutes.”  Her lips lifted in a slight smile.  “I have strict orders not to upset you.”

“You won’t upset me, Mrs. Clarke.  What can I do for you?”

I sat back down in the chair and braced myself.  I had a feeling I knew what the grandmother of my child wanted.

“I’d like…I want to see the baby when he…or she…is born.  I know I’m asking a lot after the way I talked to you, but I…” tears glistened in her eyes, “I can’t bear it that there is a part of Adam in the world and I’ve cut myself off from his child with my own terrible words.”

I rose to sit in the chair next to Mrs. Clarke and cover the woman’s hand with my own.  “Of course you must be a part of your grandson’s life.  As long as you promise not to spoil him.”

Mrs. Clarke smiled through her tears.  “You are such a generous young woman.  I should have recognized that if Adam loved you, you must be very special.”

“I did love your son,” I said quietly.

“When he died, I thought I might as well take my own life.  He was all I had.  Then I remembered that he had a child.  And I…I thought I might have something to live for, after all.”

“When the baby is born, my mother plans to fly up and Althea wants to be there.  You may as well join the group.”

“Oh, Leslie.  You don’t know what this means to me.”

“I think I do.”

Michael, listening, sighed.  Before Leslie was finished, they’d have a veritable gaggle of women at her bedside.  He hoped there would be room for him.

When Leslie’s time came, to his delight he was the only one allowed to don a set of scrubs and a mask and enter the delivery room with Leslie.  She’d weathered the first part of labor well, although she’d wanted water and though he’d been warned to not give her anything, she’d pleaded with him so much that Michael gave her water to sip.  She promptly threw it up.

Now, in the delivery room, Leslie was given an epidural to relieve the pain.  Michael watched as the baby’s head came into view.  Once the head was visible, the rest of the baby came in a whish of amniotic fluid and tiny arms and legs. 

The attending nurse cleaned out the baby’s mouth and nose and the little boy let out a lusty cry.  “Is he all right?”

“Yes, my love.  He’s fine.”  Michael hardly had time to process this wonderful miracle when the nurse explained that she would take the baby away and clean him up.  They would then conduct the tests they were required to do on a newborn.  When they were finished, the child would be brought into the room where Leslie was to stay.  Michael was quite sure they would find nothing wrong with that little boy.

He took off his scrubs in the outer room and went out to the group of people who waited.  Leslie’s family were all there, along with Althea Hudson and Endora Clarke.

Being first time parents, they had come to the hospital a little sooner than they needed to and Michael had been with Leslie for twenty-four hours before the baby was born.  He was tired, both from being anxious about Leslie and knowing it was his job to keep her family informed.  When he came out from the delivery room, Elizabeth took one look at his face and after hearing the news that it was a boy, and mother and son were doing fine, she decided they should all go to the cafeteria and get something to eat.  She took Endora Clarke by the arm, and knew Althea would follow.

Michael returned to the private room where Leslie already lay in bed, the room that would be Leslie’s until they were released to go home, probably tomorrow.  As weary as he was, he knew Leslie must be exhausted.  She lay still, her dark lashes fanned over her cheek.  Her black hair was mussed, something Leslie never allowed.  When he approached the bed and leaned over to kiss her forehead, she opened her eyes.