Angels on Overtime

by Ann Crawford

  “She’ll get it,” Angela assures him. “Someday. She has eternity.”

  “Great.”

  Jack slumps lower and lower in his seat as his car gets closer and closer to his house. Brooke wonders how he can even see over the steering wheel, he’s slumping so much. His old, red Honda has seen better days, but it’s spotless, too, like his office. The air inside it seems oppressively sad, though. Well, that’d make sense, she figures; he’s in the car for at least two hours a day, most days. It’s bound to pick up his state of being. If humans only knew how big they are, she sighs to herself. And how much they affect. And—

  “Jack,” Blake says, “buddy boy, bubbala, kiddo, waddya doing? When are you going to find yourself a new playing field? I mean, no matter what the field, it’s still the same game you play within yourself, but why play at a sub-minor field when you can play at Wrigley? Or Dodger? Or Fenway?”

  Blake motions to Brooke to talk to him.

  “Jack, you’re supposed to be happy here in this lifetime,” Brooke tells him. Brooke looks at her superior, who signals for her to continue. “Jack, we want this to happen now. As soon as possible.” Brooke looks back at Blake again, who nods, then motions for her to keep going. “Well, in divine ASAP, at any rate.”

  Blake takes another turn. “Jack, you know, if you don’t listen to us, your guidance, life has to get through to you via more drastic and extreme measures.”

  Jack just drives, oblivious. He pulls into his driveway. He slumps even lower in his seat—good thing he doesn’t have to see over that steering wheel anymore—as he turns off the engine. Once outside the car, he takes a moment to square his shoulders. But they cave in again as soon as he heads toward his house, angels close behind.

  “He’s given up,” Brooke moans.

  “A lot of ’em do,” Blake says.

  “He’s just going to settle, make do.”

  “A lot of ’em do.”

  “What about his kids? They bring him such joy.”

  “Even they can’t lift up what seems to be emerging as the overarching game plan of his life.”

  “Jack, this is not what you came here for!” Brooke practically tugs him on the arm, but of course he can’t feel it.

  “None of ’em are. But some give up.”

  “But he’s supposed to be an advanced being!”

  Blake wheezes. “Sometimes they’re the hardest!”

  Sapphire suddenly raises her whispering to normal voice range. “You are beautiful. You are a blessing. Thank you for coming here.” Brooke and Blake look at her in surprise as her voice becomes even louder. “Jack, you are so loved. You are a miracle. Thank you for all that you do.”

  Christopher holds his laptop up so they can see its report. Brooke puts her hand over her face.

  “Oh, wow,” Blake says, shaking his head. “Well, if he’da just listened to us in the first place, fer the love of Life—”

  Jack opens the front door. The assembly of human and angels hears muffled voices and what sounds like rats scurrying down the hall. Jack walks into the bedroom just in time to see Dick, buck naked, dive into the closet. Lacey, after swiftly wrapping her robe around her, puts her hand over her mouth in some semblance of regret—although clearly not for doing what she was doing, but that she got caught doing what she was doing. After taking a moment to recover from his shock, Jack opens the closet door. Dick waves at him, sheepishly. Kind of.

  Jack turns to Lacey. “It’s not like I don’t come home every single day at this time.”

  Dick and Lacey look at each other, then back at Jack.

  “Ah. That was the idea.”

  No response.

  “The closet thing supposed to make me feel better, like you’re at least a little sorry?”

  No response.

  “Where are the kids?”

  Lacey speaks through her hand, still pressed to her mouth. “My mother’s.”

  As Jack drives, his angels hang not just around but on and all over his seat.

  “Just feel it all—get it out,” Blake says. “And then send her love, son.”

  “You mean to his wife?” Brooke asks.

  Blake nods. “It advances him to do that, especially in a time like this. Plus, whatever he sends out, he gets back exponentially.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “It’s a cause-and-effect universe,” Blake explains. “Whatever you give, you get. And if you’re looking for more of something, like love, like money, whatever, then give more of something, like love, like money, whatever. It’s a law, just like gravity.”

  “This seems like hardly the time to be sending and getting more love.”

  “This is the best time.”

  Ben bounces up and down at the sight of his father in the doorway. “Daddy! Daddy!”

  Jack gives him a hug and then reaches to take the baby from his mother-in-law’s arms. “Thanks for taking care of them, Irene.”

  “You’re welcome.” Irene looks out at the car, frowning. “What happened to Lacey? I thought she was going to pick them up.”

  “She had something unexpected pop up. Wait, cancel that—it was expected.”

  Jack takes Ben’s hand and walks him to the car, while balancing Chelsea on his hip. Once both children are in their car seats, Ben cries out, “Where are we going, Daddy?”

  “Anywhere you want to go, big guy. You name it.”

  “Oh, boy!”

  Jack holds Ben’s hand while pushing Chelsea’s carriage with his other hand as they meander down the sidewalk alongside the beach. Jack picks Ben up and places him on the wall separating the sidewalk from the sand. Even young Ben is enthralled by the resplendence of the sun setting over the ocean and is quiet for a few moments.

  “I wish we could do this every day, Daddy.”

  “Me, too.”

  Clink! Emily and her mother, Barbara, settled in the rocking chairs, touch their glasses of homemade lemonade together, toasting to—oh, nothing in particular. They just like to bring a touch of special to any and every moment they spend together. And that lemonade really is homemade—organic Meyer lemons, spring water, organic maple syrup.

  Barbara’s refined beauty belies over seven decades spent on a farm. Her white hair lights up her unlined face. The three angels clustered around her are devoted to their tasks, although Barbara clearly is not a hardship post—at least not at this point in her life. She had her day.

  The two women look out at the yard, still somewhat soggy from the morning’s rainfall. The flower beds extend all the way around the house and down the pathway leading to the guest cottage. When Emily’s father died and her mother sold the farm, she came to stay for a while. Since that was a few years ago now, her guest status has morphed into resident status.

  Near Barbara’s cottage is an enormous pile of logs, neatly stacked. Oh, you might think big, burly, once-hunky-now-kinda-chunky Sam would have been the one to split those logs, but no, that’s one of the many, many ways Emily stays so fit. She also mowed the yard, hoed the vegetable garden, and, well, just about everything else related to the house and yard. Cars, too. She could also catch and cook supper over an open fire, if needed. So she’s really not as frail as she likes to pretend.

  “Mom, why don’t you get married again?”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  “Not in a million years.”

  “I had the best husband in the world. There was no topping him. No way, no how.”

  “Wish I could’ve inherited that from you.”

  “I do, too.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “You started it!”

  “Oh. Yeah, I guess I did.” Emily gulps the rest of her lemonade. “Time to go to work.”

  “There goes the great escape artist. Except from her own marriage.”

  “Oh, Mom!”

  As she parks her car, Emily spots a man emerging from the flower shop with a dozen roses. At first, her expression registers something like envy—wistful envy—but a slo
w smile starts to appear.

  David tries to listen in on her thoughts, but for once it’s rather quiet in there, except for a faint “Yes.” He looks at Angela, somewhat baffled.

  “She knows the last thing you do when you want something is begrudge someone else for having it. Their having it means that it’s available for everyone, not that there’s less for everyone.”

  David nods in agreement, but then stops short, shaking his head at her and raising his hands in the universal gesture of massive befuddlement.

  “I know,” Angela chuckles. “These humans are something else. This idea goes up, that idea goes down, one lesson learned, another forgotten. And sometimes when they’re finally—finally!—getting it all together, that’s when everything really falls apart. Can’t let ’em get to you.”

  Ching! The bells on the door announce Emily’s arrival, and Marion greets her with a hug. David looks around the shop to see where the extra light is coming from, because Marion is far more illuminated than the overcast afternoon would allow. She radiates a special light, but even that is faint compared to the light of her constant smile. Marion has four angels, who all happen to be meditating. No whispering or watching required here. On occasion, the chart-watching angel opens an eye to glance at his laptop, but then returns to his meditation.

  Her angel team leader is an avuncular gentleman with a big handlebar mustache. He opens one eye and spots David. “Albert.”

  David shakes the hand that Albert has extended to him. (Yes, angels like that handshaking habit, too.) “David.” Albert returns to his meditation.

  “And how are you on this lovely day?” Marion asks Emily.

  Emily scrunches her face at her boss—immediately prior to the question, the skies opened up.

  “Okay, yes, it’s a little wet, maybe. But it’s still lovely.” Marion’s normal speaking voice is melodic, almost like singing. “The frogs and flowers are happy.” She returns to her project of snipping the ends of the stems of a dozen glorious, red roses. Baby’s breath and greens lie on the thick wooden table waiting to be added to the arrangement. The two women are surrounded by a sea of roses, daffodils, and tulips among many, many other types of flowers. The air inside the little store is thick with moisture and the scent of dirt and life in full bloom.

  Emily tucks her purse into the cabinet under the cash register and grabs a broom and dustpan to dispose of the morning’s snippings. Judging from the copious piles of tiny green stalks on the floor, housekeeping is not Marion’s primary care, nor her hundredth. And her plants, who (yes, who) are among the top beings on her priority list, are very happy about that.

  Emily sweeps with far more vigor than the chore calls for. Marion snips an inch off of the stem of the rose destined to be the star of this little rose party. She then snips two inches off of the stems of the roses that will surround the center flower. Emily catches them with the dustpan before they even hit the floor.

  “Your mom doing okay?” Marion gently queries.

  Emily nods. More snipping, more catching. She grabs a cloth to dust the vases on the shelves.

  “And how are things with Sam?” comes another soft inquiry.

  Emily doesn’t answer.

  “I was married to potential for a long time. Doesn’t compare to the real thing.”

  Emily knocks a vase over, but catches it before it hits the floor. “He could be so much more than he is!”

  “Not all beings feel obliged to use all that they come in with.”

  Emily lets out a long, long wail. While Emily’s angels cover their ears, Marion calmly hands her a box of tissues.

  Ching! The tinkling of the bells on the front door alerts them that they have a customer. A stocky woman in her mid-forties, dressed in business attire, leans on the counter. She might usually sport a more imposing posture in most places, but after stealing a glance at the two women, she quickly scans the store before casting her gaze to the floor.

  “Good afternoon,” Marion says, all smiles and radiance. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  The woman is not quite sure what to say. “Well, not flowers. A friend told me about you. I just drove all the way from Seattle. Perhaps I should have called, but—”

  “What is it? Cancer?” Marion’s obvious love and reverence for the newcomer softens the bluntness of the question.

  The woman nods, blinking away tears.

  “Welcome.” Marion locks the front door and flips the “Open” sign around to display the words “Back at” over a clock, which she arranges to reveal that they’ll be back in a couple of hours. Emily, completely shifted from caterwauling mode, motions the visitor toward the back of the shop.

  “What’s your name?” she asks.

  “Veronica.”

  Marion and Emily lead Veronica out the back door, across an enchanting patio area chock-full of statues and bubbling fountains with majestic evergreens standing in silent, sacred sentry around the perimeter. For those that might not know, the trees are on your side. They hear everything you say. They celebrate your wins; they mourn your losses along with you. As Penelope said when David first arrived on Earth, “Powerful beings, those trees.”

  The three women step into a one-room cottage on the far end of the property. More statues and fountains as well as plants bedeck the room. Artwork and fabrics hang on the walls while rose quartz, jade, and a number of other stones sparkle on the side tables. Soft, soothing music pours from hidden speakers. The frag-rance of several flower arrangements fills the space, as does a blend of essential oils in a diffuser: rose, myrrh, geranium, patchouli, lemon balm, to name just a few. The room feels alive—and it is. David observes numerous tiny beings flittering and gliding through the air. If you were to take a photograph of this room, little orbs might appear all over the picture. Most people think those orbs are tricks of the light or the camera; they’re not.

  And Emily! Who in the cosmos is this stranger? It’s like...it’s like...well, David tried to think of exactly just what she’s suddenly like. Perhaps it’s like she just landed in her feet—as if just a moment ago she decided to fully incarnate and take up residence in her body and on the planet. Like she put on an invisible vestment of....assurance. Fortitude. Major mettle.

  A massage table stands as the centerpiece of the room. As Marion turns down the sheet and comforter, Veronica kicks off her shoes, then stretches out on the table. Marion covers her while Emily dims the lamps and lights a few candles. Both women raise their hands, holding them parallel over and about one foot higher than Veronica. Light streams from their hands—at least from the angels’ vantage point. The humans can’t see it, but all three of them can certainly feel it.

  “Just let go of whatever’s been eating away at you, release any growing resentments,” Marion whispers. “Inside and out. Just let them all go.”

  Veronica starts to speak.

  “We don’t need to know the history behind it, my dear,” Marion says. “This is a brand-new moment. You can decide anything you want from here on out. Just be crystal clear about it.”

  Marion’s angels open their eyes and shoot David a “you-can-see-why-we’re-meditating” kind of look. David looks at the rest of his team, motioning with both hands toward Emily.

  “All in good time,” says Angela.

  “But she’s—”

  “Enjoy it while it lasts,” Stephanie snickers.

  But, still, judging from this magnificent being before him, David thinks that the good time Angela mentioned can’t be far away.

  Tears slip down Veronica’s face. David watches a black cloud dislodge from her body as the energy emit from her healers’ hands does its work.

  About half an hour later, Marion sits down, eyes shut, hands up with palms facing Veronica. Emily continues healing, swaying in the flow of...grace? She’s clearly in an altered state and performing potent work. Oh! You would hardly know it’s the same woman as the one who was just sniveling about her husband. Well, you might know it because
you have a clue in the serene, peaceful way she gazes out her living room window and at other times here and there. You can tell there’s a powerhouse way down inside there—hiding for who only knows what reason.

  Well, actually, there is a reason. Powerhouses can get brought down—or, more correctly, people try to bring them down. But true power can never, ever be brought down. It lives in everyone, and it can’t be taken away. Sometimes an entire life journey can be about just this one lesson.

  After another half an hour or so, Marion rises, and she and Emily finish their labor-of-true-love together. The energy surges, electrifying the room as the two women stand over Veronica for several more minutes, “shining” their hands on her. David beams at the sheer rapture on Emily’s face.

  They put their hands down. After a few moments of stillness, Veronica stirs. “Ohhhhhhhhhh, I feel so wonderful,” she purrs.

  “Couldn’t she have done this on her own?” David asks Angela.

  “Oh, sure, if she was meant to. But they shouldn’t do everything alone. What would they need each other for then?”

  Emily and Marion walk Veronica back across the garden patio and into the store.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Whatever you’d like to give,” Marion says.

  “I don’t have much now. It’s all gone to the other form of medicine. All of it. I’ll send more as soon as I can.” She hands them a check for fifty dollars and starts to leave. Emily presents her with a bouquet of flowers. Veronica tries to talk, but words cannot escape from her lips.

  “It worked,” Emily states after Veronica floated out the door.

  “It certainly did.”

  Emily looks pleased, then puzzled. “Why can’t I do this with my mother?”

  “She hasn’t asked you to.”

  Emily thinks for a moment. “My sister did. Without even knowing what she was asking for. And I gave it to her without even knowing what I was doing.”

  “Another journey was calling Lisa more.”