They sat together silently. The fading light through the narrow window was a prelude to the setting sun. Caroline encouraged Sam to think about going home. She would stay the night, and Sam could rest and relieve her in the morning. Sam agreed, but only if he could see Angel before he left.
The doctor came while Sam was with Angel. Initial reports confirmed that Angel had suffered only minor damage. The doctor was positive, hopeful, and said Angel was resting comfortably. Sam was relieved enough to go home. He was only five minutes away.
Sam stepped through the back door, gave Hattie the news, and asked her to take Caroline a change of clothes, her calendar, and a couple of books on her way home. Hattie always cooked, especially when she was upset, so a feast had appeared.
Exhausted, Sam ate quickly and went to bed, but with a new bedfellow—the reality of being alone. He had cuddled around Angel nearly every night for the last fifty-eight years. He could almost hear her saying, “Sam, the hair on your chest is tickling my left shoulder. Scratch it in a hurry.” He would miss her squeaky little voice telling him good night and the feel of her soft white hair against his cheek. He prayed himself to sleep.
Caroline changed clothes and ate the plate of food Hattie had prepared. If something happened to Angel, Sam would need Hattie. Angel had known that, and she had trained Hattie how to take care of Mr. Sam. But no one had wanted to think of the possibility Hattie might actually be needed in that capacity.
Visiting hours were over, and the hospital was quiet. Caroline sat alone in the hospital waiting room. The room was pale yellow—the washed-out hue that comes from the passage of time and aging fluorescent lights. She curled up in a waiting-room chair—not cozy like a cat in a sunny window, but contorted into a piece of furniture that would neither cradle nor cuddle her.
I hate waiting—especially this kind of waiting where only You, God, know the outcome, and where You let life dangle on a frazzled string. I waited after David’s accident. I waited for the authorities to be wrong. I waited for the floodwaters to subside. I waited for You to answer my prayer for David to be found alive. I waited for him to come through the front door. I waited while hours melted into days, and days into weeks. I’ve been waiting on something for the last six years, and here I am again, and where are You, God, while I wait? I need Your presence.
The doctor appeared in the waiting room. He quickly assured her that Angel was still stable and Caroline could go in if she would like. She followed the doctor through the double doors and into a cubicle where Angel lay hooked up to machines. The doctor told her to assume that Angel could hear her if she decided to speak.
When the doctor left the room, she pulled the chair up to the side of Angel’s bed. The chair’s chrome arm was cold.
Why does it have to be so cold in hospitals? She looks so helpless.
“Angel, it’s me. I’m here, and I’m not leaving. You rest, and Sam and I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
She looked out the window to the streetlights. There are folks just outside this window going on like nothing’s happened—eating dinner, watching television, talking on the phone. Their lives don’t stop. Just like when David was killed. The world did not stop turning. If he had to die, at least he died doing what he loved. He didn’t die in a cold, sterile room like this.
She shook her head. I don’t even really know how he died. I just know I didn’t get to say goodbye. And nobody else’s life stopped but mine.
Nothing in this room was normal to Caroline. Angel’s pallor, the beeping machines, the tubes and wires, the steady stream of nurses, the lifelessness—all so foreign. Just silence interrupted by the mechanical tones.
Caroline stared at Angel’s still face. Angel—tough and tender, chopping down trees to create a garden and swatting at snakes while she built her pond, mixing oil paints on her palette and leaving a piece of herself on every canvas. She held Angel’s hand and studied it. A womanly hand that crocheted beautiful pieces, arranged roses for the table, and yet could bait a hook and swing a hammer. Angel was thoroughly herself stepping in and out of the roles written by generations of southern women.
Caroline leaned over the bed to rest her head. She stayed there a long time, questioning, praying, remembering, and wondering what was happening to her simple existence. The unanswered questions haunting her since David’s death reappeared like an apparition in the sterile room. Sometime between her fears and her prayers, she drifted off to sleep but woke when Angel squeezed her hand.
“Caroline?” Angel called her in a feeble voice.
“Angel? I’m here, exactly like I told you I’d be.” She stood up, still holding Angel’s hand. Her eyes searched the room for a clock—monitors, wires, machines, but nothing as simple as a clock. She looked toward the window. The night sky was drowned in darkness. “Angel, are you awake? It’s Caroline.”
Caroline watched Angel trying hard to open her eyes. She could see that her dry mouth made it difficult to speak. “Of course I’m awake,” she said weakly. “I don’t talk in my sleep. Why aren’t you at home in bed?”
“Because I’m here to make certain the doctors and nurses do their jobs. Sam was here all day passing out orders, so I took his post for the night. How are you feeling? Can I get you something?”
“Never mind all that.” Angel paused. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Caroline.”
“Don’t push yourself, Angel. Just rest. We’ll have lots of time to talk.” Caroline was desperate to be right.
“No, sit down. I’ve put this question off too long as it is.” Angel’s voice trailed off as the sedative took hold once again.
Caroline continued to hold her hand, sat down, and laid her head back down on the bed. God, You can’t take Angel now. You took David from me, and I’ll never know why. Why must You take Angel now? Sam needs her. I need her. She’s a good and giving person. Lord, I beg You not to take her. She repeated these words until she fell asleep again.
“How long has it been since you danced?”
Caroline was awakened by a voice, but the room went silent again. She lay still and waited. Daybreak dimmed the streetlights and spread through the window. “Caroline, answer me. How long has it been since you danced?”
“Angel? What . . . Did you ask me how long it’s been since I’ve danced?”
Angel took her time. “How long has it been?”
“Danced? Why, I don’t remember.” She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling wrinkles form on her forehead. Why is she asking me about dancing? Maybe it’s the medication.
“That’s what I thought—way too long. I’m glad and grateful for every dance step I ever took with Sam Meadows, and you have to dance sometime, too, Caroline,” Angel whispered.
“Oh, Angel, who but you would talk about dancing at a time like this?”
“I’m not talking about dancing, Caroline. I’m talking about you.”
“Me?
“Yes, somebody has to talk to you about you.” Angel’s determined voice was weak.
“I’d rather talk about getting you better and getting you home. Besides, some people dance, Angel, like you. You and Sam dance.” Caroline remembered many times when Sam had taken Angel in his arms and sung “Moon Over Miami” while leading her across the kitchen floor as if it were a ballroom. “But I play the piano.”
“But you play the piano all by yourself. When you dance, you have a partner.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to borrow Sam until you get well.”
“I’ll get better one way or the other,” Angel said faintly. “You can count on it.”
“I know you will, Angel. I just know you will.”
“Just like I know you’ll dance again.” She paused. “When David died, you buried your music.”
“What do you mean I buried my music? Angel, I make music every day.”
“You make music trying to hear it once again.”
Angel’s words cut right through the veneer Caroline had created. She knew an
d understood exactly what Angel said. She had buried the music, the real music. Her faith had crumbled in a burning, angry heap, and questions arisen from the ashes. She was still the same on the outside—a disciplined, moral, church going young single woman admired by many. But inside, she was afraid—afraid of her questions, fearful of admitting her doubts about God, and petrified of change.
“How can you see through me?” Caroline whispered.
Angel fought to focus her eyes on Caroline. “We all lose the music sometimes. Oh, it’s there. It hasn’t gone anywhere, but we just can’t hear it. Something has drowned it out. But Caroline, you’ve done all the right things. You’ve stayed close to people who can hear the music, and you’ve moved to their rhythms. And one of these days, your music will return. Not some big trumpet fanfare, but it’ll drift back. It’ll drift back like a feather on a breeze, softly but surely.”
“We’re not really talking about music, are we, Angel?”
“Yeah, the music I’ve heard all night—that kind of music.”
“I love you, Angel.” Caroline’s tears dampened her cheeks.
“I love you, too, sweetie. Now you listen for the music, because it’s time you danced.” Angel’s eyes closed slowly as she succumbed once again to the medication.
The nurse had stood in the doorway for a few moments, avoiding an intrusion on their conversation. After Angel dozed off and things were quiet again, she entered the room to check the monitors.
“She was just talking to me. Isn’t that good? She was talking.” Caroline wiped her eyes.
“I know, and yes, that’s a good sign. I don’t know what she said to you, but if I were you, I’d take to heart what a wise woman like Miss Angel says to you at a time like this. Now, why don’t you go home? It’s a new day, and you need some rest. I’m sure Mr. Meadows will be along any minute. I’ve known these two for a long time, and I know he won’t leave Miss Angel alone too long.”
Sam walked in as if on cue and went straight to Angel’s side. After hearing how the night went, he sent Caroline home to sleep.
She leaned over and kissed Angel’s cheek and released her hand. “I’ll be back, Angel. You rest.”
Caroline rested a few hours, knowing Angel was stable and showing signs of improvement. When she woke about noon, it was as if someone had punched her “take charge” button. She called her parents. She phoned Betsy to cancel their weekend together in Moss Point. She secured Hattie for the next few days to take care of the house and meals for Sam.
Now the phone call she did not want to make. How can I possibly go to Kentucky? It’s Thursday, and Roderick’s flying to Moss Point to pick me up Monday. I can’t leave Sam and Angel right now.
She called Dr. Martin first to get names and availabilities of pianists to replace her for the recital. Annabelle suggested a young Brazilian pianist who was quite good and was available. She volunteered to contact him.
Just as Caroline put the phone down, it rang. “Caroline, it’s Sam. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I slept a few hours, and I’ve been on the phone. How’s Angel?”
“That’s what I called to tell you. Angel’s better. She’s stronger and much more alert. The doctor says there’s not as much damage as he first thought. I thought you’d want to know that.”
“That’s great news. I called Hattie, and she’s at your house and will be there for the next few days, and don’t you fuss. I know that’s what Angel would want.”
“I’m not fussin’ about anything this morning. I’m just so glad my Angel is better. What in the world could I fuss about?”
“I need to make another phone call or two, and then I’ll be back over. Do you need me to bring you anything?”
“Not fussin’, and not askin’ for anything either. I have all I need right here, and I’m holdin’ her hand.” Sam paused. “You wouldn’t be callin’ Mr. Adair, would you?”
“I’m about to do that in a few minutes. I’m waiting on a call from Dr. Martin before I call him. She is contacting a pianist who could play the recital next week.”
“Now, Caroline, Angel will have a fit if she hears this. You’ve made a commitment for this recital, and you’ve planned this trip to Kentucky, and you’re going.”
“Sam, I’m not going to Kentucky. There’ll be other times to go. But right now, my place is here with you and Angel. And besides, remember you’re not fussing or asking today.”
The call went through as Caroline prepared to express her regrets and make her apologies.
“Mr. Adair’s office, this is Liz. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Liz, this is Caroline Carlyle. May I please speak with Mr. Adair?”
“Oh, Miss Carlyle. Could I take a message for Mr. Adair?”
“No, I think not. Is he unavailable to speak with me right now?” Caroline wished Roderick had answered the phone. Today of all days she didn’t want to deal with Liz, whose past life had probably been as a prison guard. She imagined Liz in a gray uniform with a walkie-talkie on one hip, a night stick in her belt loop, and a ring of keys in her hand.
“He’s very busy today.”
“I understand, but I would not call if it were not very important. Could you please see if he’ll speak with me?”
“I’ll see, if you insist.” Liz’s voice suggested she wouldn’t try very hard.
Caroline waited and decided she would not give Liz this information. She would simply wait for Roderick’s return call.
“Caroline? I’m so glad you called.”
“Thank you for taking my call. Liz said you were very busy, so I’ll keep you only a minute.” She sat down at her desk.
“Don’t you mind Liz. She has her way, but I’ll make certain to give her instructions about your calls. Let me guess: you’ve decided to bring someone with you.”
“I wish that were the case. I’m afraid that I’m not calling with such good news.” She looked at the number for the Brazilian pianist.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t like the sound of this. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. But there is a bit of a bump in the road. Remember, I told you about Angel. While I was at the university with Gretchen and Bella yesterday, Angel had a heart attack. She’s in the hospital here.”
“I’m so sorry, Caroline. I know you’re very close to her.”
“Roderick, I just don’t think I can leave Moss Point right now. She’s improving, but if I were gone, Sam would be alone. I am so sorry. I’m not one who doesn’t follow through with commitments, but I can’t help this one. Don’t worry, though. I think I have a solution.”
He paused. “No, you’re the one who shouldn’t worry, and you don’t need to think about solutions. We’ll simply postpone until Angel is better.”
Caroline thought she detected a note of disappointment in his voice. “But I don’t think there’s a need to postpone. I phoned Dr. Annabelle Martin at the university this morning, and she has found a young Brazilian pianist who just performed his master’s recital and would be available to perform for your guests next Thursday.”
Years of boardroom meetings had obviously taught him the art of negotiation. “Caroline, I’m grateful you went to all this trouble, but could we do this? You said Angel is making progress. Could we hold off on a decision until early next week? Perhaps Angel will continue to improve, and we could fly down and pick you up even on Thursday morning. Would you be willing to do that?”
“But your plans?”
“The plans included you, Caroline. If you can’t come, my friends will have a most delicious dinner, and I’ll hire a local musician for a sing-along. But if you’re comfortable to leave Moss Point by Thursday, then all is well. So, what do you say?”
“I’d say you are a most convincing man, Roderick Adair. We’ll make a decision early next week.”
“Good. Then it is settled. The Brazilian probably only plays Bartók, and he certainly wouldn’t know ‘Plaisir d’amour.’ ”
“You’re about
to make me laugh. I think it would be good to laugh right about now.”
“Then laugh heartily, Caroline. I’ll be checking with you, and if you need to call me, you won’t have a problem with Liz.”
“Thank you for being so understanding about everything. I’m headed for the hospital. Goodbye, Roderick.”
She hung up the phone with a much lighter heart.
The weekend passed with tag-team trips to the hospital. Angel made steady improvements and convinced the doctor to let her come home on Monday. The plan was to treat her with medication for now. She was to follow a restrictive diet and limit her activities for a couple of weeks.
Sam was grateful to have her home, and Caroline was glad as well. But no one was happier than Hattie. Angel would be in good hands with Hattie—if Hattie could forgo the bacon drippings.
Fresh flowers graced every room and a bowl of freestone peaches sat on the breakfast table. There were even frozen strawberries floating in the lemonade when Sam brought Angel home in the car, parking out front to avoid the stone walkway in the back. Angel fussed about the wheelchair but finally gave in.
Hattie met them at the front door and nearly picked Angel up out of the chair she hugged her so hard. “Now, Miss Angel, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes? I never did see so many ribbons and buttons on one dress in my whole life. You the most beautiful Angel. Ain’t she, Mr. Sam?”
“She’s got my vote.” Sam wheeled her in the front door.
“Good heavens, Hattie, I didn’t die, did I? You’ve never seen so many buttons and ribbons, and I’ve never seen so many flowers. Are these all from the garden?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mostly from yours, but I’ll have to say some of the hollyhocks and hydrangeas come from my own little garden,” Hattie said proudly. “I’m tellin’ you right now, I don’t want you going on to glory without Mr. Sam and me.”
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