Angelic

by Nyla Ditson

  After agreeing to meet at my place at nine thirty the next morning, I snapped my phone shut. Pretending to appear “put together” was draining. But if Sam knew the dark course my thoughts sometimes wandered down he’d try to intervene. The choice to keep living my life was my choice to make. I didn’t want someone trying to save me if I decided to leave this world again. Like Sebastian said, few ever get a second chance at life.

  And I’m betting, and slightly hoping, that thirds are non-existent.

  Chapter 6

  I stared out the apartment sliding door in wonder. Sunlight broke through the puffy marshmallow clouds and a bright blue sky, the colour of tropical waters, stretched across the late February morning skyline.

  What is up with this random weather? I wondered, frowning.

  I know BC, and Canada in general, has unpredictable weather sometimes but three seasons in the course of three days is just discombobulating. In BC we usually have a mild winter, thanks to our location near the warm Pacific Ocean and our lovely Rocky Mountain backdrop.

  Leaving the living room, I went to get ready for my run. Like always, the night before I’d set out my workout clothes and my outfit for the day. But unlike most days, my nightly trip to weathernetwork.com didn’t do any good. I threw my black spandex pants and long sleeve wicking shirt back into my dresser and found a pair of navy running shorts and my “Vancouver Sun Run” t-shirt from last April when I ran the annual 10 km race with Sam.

  After dressing, I padded into the hallway in my white ankle socks and went to brush my teeth. Once the taste of organic peanut butter from my breakfast was gone, I hastily pulled my hair into a single French braid.

  Just as I tied the elastic around the bottom of my braid, nausea mixed with mint toothpaste curdled my full stomach. Black swirls distorted my vision. I clutched the edges of the sink, drawing a quick breath. Sharp pain sliced at my midsection. Waves of grief beat down on me, stinging my soul as hail does to unprotected skin.

  Looking up into my lifeless, pained eyes, I wondered two things: First, how was I going to go on this run without breaking down in front of Sam? And second… could these crippling feelings be my punishment? Maybe suicide was the coward’s way out. Living with suffocating remorse each day felt like a greater punishment than simply snuffing out my chance at a long and happy life…

  The buzzer rang, making me jump. Pretend you’re on a stage, Celeste, I coached myself as I ran to the door to buzz Sam in. Don’t let Sam know you’re struggling.

  “Hey,” he said a moment later, letting himself in the unlocked hallway door. “Weird weather out there, hey?” Sam got a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the Brita jug inside the fridge.

  “It’s definitely strange,” I agreed, standing by the door after tying my runners. “But I like running in the sun better than the rain.”

  Sam set his empty cup in the sink. “It’s sorta funny that the weather people didn’t see this coming.”

  I turned to lock the door as we left the apartment. “I’m sure it’s a fluke. Tomorrow the temperatures will probably be back to our typical dreary February.”

  Outside, Sam slid into the passenger seat of my black BMW convertible. “That rain yesterday was wicked. Took myself puddle jumping after I bumped into you at the library,” he said.

  “Dork.” A smile broke across my face as I pulled out of the parking lot. I know Sam well enough to know he wasn’t kidding. He’s one of those people who even at eighty will possess a vibrant spirit. People in the senior home will definitely be describing Sam as “forever young at heart” one day.

  We drove to the Express Station and didn’t have to wait long to board after buying our tickets from the machine. It sounds stupid to take a car ride and then a train ride, but Stanley Park is my favourite place to run. I usually just run the trails near the Express or around my apartment but since it’s Sunday and time is not an issue, I thought I’d treat myself to a run in the best place on earth, at least in my opinion.

  “Whew! It’s like a hundred degrees out here,” Sam exclaimed when we reached Vancouver forty minutes later and stepped off the train.

  “More like twenty-five but I get your point.” I gave Sam a stern look and added, “I hope you were prepared this morning, today’s a deodorant must day.”

  Sam playfully tugged on the back of my braid. “My, aren’t we cheeky today?”

  I laughed as we manoeuvred our way through the crowd. It felt good to be with a friend, feeding off his zest. I tried to savour the feeling, pushing down the depressing thoughts trying to swallow me whole.

  Walking beside Sam, I noticed the planted daffodils in front of a few skyscrapers. Like normal, the pink buds on the ornamental crab trees along the sidewalks were in full bloom. But the yellow of the flowers and the pink buds looked especially vivid today.

  It took us thirty minutes of walking and weaving the busy sidewalks before the entrance to Stanley Park came into view. It seemed like everyone else was planning on enjoying the impromptu hot weather today.

  “Ready to run, kiddo?” Sam asked as we passed the Running Room on the corner of Georgia and Denman Street and crossed over onto the paved two-way walking path at the park’s entrance. Tons of runners were already out and I could see just as many bikers whizzing around the park’s seawall trail. Both types of exercisers were careful to stay on their own designated path on the pavement.

  As is my ritual, I left the pedestrian path when we came to the huge twisted branch tree. Stepping onto the grass, I rolled my shoulders and glanced at Sam. “Yeah, I’m ready to run. But what about you, old fart? Think you’re gonna be able to keep up with a youngin’ like me?”

  Sam smiled, reaching behind him to grab his ankle to stretch the front of his thigh. He’s two years older than me. He took a few years between high school graduation and university to work so we still ended up in the same year at UBC.

  Malaya’s the reason Sam and I met. She was my best friend in kindergarten. Sometimes she would complain about her “smelly big brother.” At five, I’d described both my brother, Colbie and Nate, with the same adjectives so I didn’t care to meet Malaya’s brother. But one day I biked over to the Kaeo’s house to play only to find out Malaya was at the dentist. Sam’s smelly description was instantly wiped away when he offered to play soccer with me on the front lawn until Malaya got back.

  Or maybe it was the fuzzy peaches he gave me that did it.

  “You’re the reason I can’t say no to candy,” I informed Sam as the memory dissolved and we began to run.

  “We’ve been through this before, you didn’t have to take the fuzzy peaches,” Sam said as he swooped his neck to look at me. “But I suppose even at seven I was just too good looking to say no to.” He elbowed me playfully as we jogged by the Rowing Club dock house beside the trail along the water’s edge. “But who cares anyways? Even a health nut like you is allowed to have a vice.”

  “True. But just so you know, I sooo could’ve resisted.”

  “Prove it. Next time we’re at the movies I’m gonna buy a jumbo bag of fuzzy peaches.” Sam gave me an evil look and added, “and then we’ll see if you really are Miss Willpower.”

  Rolling my eyes, I faced forward. The sun felt good on my skin. If only it could cure the chill inside my soul. I sighed, annoyed that I couldn’t allow myself to enjoy the moment. Picking up the pace and surprising Sam, I took my frustrations out on the pavement.

  I was glad I’d brought my sunglasses but a hat would’ve been nice too. Beside me, Sam’s tanned skin already glistened with sweat. Even though we’d only been running a few minutes, I could feel the rays of the sun soaking into my pale skin. Enviously, I watched another runner sail by wearing a pink Lululemon spaghetti strap top.

  Darn, should’ve worn something like that. Why I picked out the cotton t-shirt I was wearing is beyond me. Guara
ntee ten minutes from now I’ll have a couple oh—so—gross sweat stains showing through the fabric on my back.

  I continued to push myself by adding killer speed sprints. To Sam’s credit, he kept up, allowing me distance and quiet. Usually we talk on our runs. I was glad he understood that today I just needed to go a little crazy during my workout.

  Swiping at a bead of sweat, I noticed the colour of the grass and forest to the left of the water and trail was blindingly bright. Even downtown Vancouver, across the water, glimmered in a startling way. But the perfect mix of urban feel and nature that Stanley Park was famous for was still evident today. Across from us, skyscrapers hovered over the sleek white boats lined up at Coal Harbour and I could see a family of ducks taking turns plunging their heads into the water beside me.

  Glancing at the water, I thought of the time Dad and I walked this very path. Dad had stopped in his tracks and asked me, “Star, is that what I think it is?”

  I’d shielded my eyes from the sunlight streaming off the water’s surface and then gasped. “A fifty dollar bill, cool!” I exclaimed. I bet we spent twenty minutes discussing how to reach the floating red bill. Dad suggested he throw me in so I could toss him the money, which he would then use to hire someone to dive in to get me. After getting over my fit of ten year old giggles, I’d threatened him with “I’ll tell Mom if you do that, Dad.”

  “I need to find a washroom,” Sam’s voice broke into my thoughts.

  Though he didn’t know it, I was grateful for the interruption. The image of my dad smiling down at me with his arms slung around my shoulders was enough to send my stomach hurling to my knees. That smile was destroyed all because I was the most selfish, stupid, irresponsible person in the world.

  The kind that shouldn’t be allowed to live if they cause remarkable people like my dad to die.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” Sam said, jolting me from my silent anguish.

  “Okay, I’ll wait,” I told him, slowing to a stop outside the public washrooms.

  Sam disappeared into the men’s side and I helped myself to a cool drink from a water fountain in between the two bathrooms. Wiping my mouth, I watched a group of tourists step off a horse-pulled trolley. They looked amazed, as they took in the eight colourful Native totem poles behind me.

  Definitely Stanley Park virgins. Seeing an older man point excitedly at a black squirrel scurrying up an evergreen, I smiled. It was refreshing to see the park through new eyes. It was almost like being five years old again and staring wide eyed at the blue carpet of water next to the park’s trail for the first time wondering how many buckets of water someone had to haul to fill the harbour. Dad had laughed when I’d asked him that when we were walking to the park’s aquarium.

  Sigh.

  Maybe coming here was a mistake. Stanley Park didn’t feel like an escape today, it felt like salt being poured into already stinging wounds.

  “You forgot to stretch your hamstrings.”

  I turned around and spotted Sebastian. Groaning, I shut my eyes.

  “What, had a change of heart? Can’t stand my good looks anymore?”

  “Shut up,” I told Sebastian, opening my eyes. He was sitting on top of a sleek racing bike, the kind with the thin tires and curved handle bars that hardcore bikers use. My oldest brother, Colbie, has one, and it cost him a fortune, too. Scanning Sebastian’s name brand workout clothes I concluded money must not be a problem when it comes to angels.

  He has nicer running shoes then me and I bet he never runs.

  “Yes, I prefer to fly. But I thought it would be a bit conspicuous if I chose that form of transportation today,” Sebastian said as he unclipped his silver helmet and held it under his arm. No helmet hair for him, surprise, surprise.

  “I thought I told you to keep your distance from Sam,” he told me with a frown after I glanced at the washrooms behind me. “Did I not make my reasoning clear enough to you?”

  “Maybe I want to die.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  I scowled and felt Sam come up beside me.

  “Sebastian,” he said politely. “Nice bike. It’s way too nice of a day to stay indoors, eh?”

  Nodding stiffly, Sebastian returned his helmet to his head. “I’ll see you at seven,” he told me.

  “For what?”

  “Dinner.”

  I watched Sebastian blend smoothly into the flow of bikes roaming the sea wall trail. When he was out of sight Sam looked down at me in surprise. “You’re having dinner with that guy?”

  “Apparently.”

  I actually saw Sebastian before seven. I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel with another spun around my dripping hair, to find him sitting against the hallway wall reading the Vancouver Sun.

  “Sebastian,” I put a hand to my chest. “You scared me to death.”

  He turned the page without looking up. “Isn’t that what you want?”

  Ignoring the question, I motioned to the paper. “The obituaries? You couldn’t find anything more interesting to read in the paper?”

  Sebastian set the paper aside. Suddenly, I remembered what I was wearing.

  Nothing.

  But Sebastian didn’t appear to care. “The obituaries are one of the finest words in print,” he said defensively. “I take great joy in reading the submissions and then reporting back to my friends in heaven what loved ones wrote about them.”

  “You seriously do that? Like… talk to dead people?”

  “Celeste, those in heaven are not dead. Their bodies in the grave are, but their spirits are more alive than ever.”

  “Okkkaayyy.”

  He picked up the paper and pointed to a black and white photo of a forty-something woman. “Carrie Jefferson passed away last Wednesday.” The way he looked fondly at the photo ignited a spark of jealously within me. “I can already hear her laughter after I tell her they wrote she was a marvelous mother, wife and cook.”

  “I take it she wasn’t a good cook?” I asked, edging towards my open bedroom door.

  “If you consider having Kraft Dinner as a staple in your cupboards, then yes, she was a gourmet cook.”

  Cracking a smile, I slipped into my bedroom. To my dismay Sebastian followed me. Sighing, I turned to survey my closets contents. What to wear, what to wear . . . .

  “Anything’s fine” he offered.

  Too tired from my run to be mad at the invasion of my thoughts, I scratched a lone freckle on my arm and asked, “Where exactly are we eating tonight?”

  “The place you think has the greatest chef in the entire world.”

  “Remind me again, where is that?”

  “Your Mom’s.”

  I turned so fast the peach summer dress I was fingering caught on my nail. Both my manicured index finger and my new dress from Aritzia had ugly snags in them now. Placing my fingertips over my temples, I told myself to breathe. But my anger escaped in the form of sarcasm. “So, my mother just speed dialed God and invited one of his little secret agents to dinner?”

  Sebastian flopped down on my bed, laced his fingers behind his head and said “Don’t mock Billy Graham, Celeste, it’s extremely juvenile.” He pointed into my closet, at a white cardigan and my casual blue and grey plaid strapless dress. “Wear that and I will see you in an hour.”

  I tilted my head, considering his clothing suggestion.

  “And,” hearing Sebastian’s voice, I look up to find him standing before me. He piled the cardigan and dress in my arms and gave me a stern look. “Afterwards you and I are having a talk.” Then he sailed out of my bedroom. I didn’t hear the door open but I knew he was gone.

  Dropping the cardigan on my duvet, I held the dress out in front of me. How could Sebastian successfully pick out an outfit on the first attempt that I actually approved of? What wa
s even stranger was that I’d never thought to pair this dress with that cardigan. Surprisingly, they looked really good together.

  Suddenly drawing a blank, I put a hand to my forehead. My vision clouded in black and then I saw words written in white calligraphy. The message read;

  Trust us, we angels know what works best.

  “That was delicious, Mrs. Evans. By far the best vegetarian lasagna I’ve ever had.”

  I watched my mom blush at Sebastian’s compliment as she cleared the table. It took just under a minute to figure out my chances of ever erasing Sebastian from my life were unlikely. My mom, and even my moody fifteen year old brother, Nate, adored Sebastian.

  Mom passed out generous slices of angel food cake (Ironically funny? I think not), ice cream and blueberries while I sank further in my chair. It was clear Sebastian would be a favourite topic in upcoming conversations with Mom. She’d rolled her eyes when I hugged her upon arriving home and whispered, “Don’t get any matchmaking ideas, Mom.”

  Filling my fork with vanilla ice cream and cake, I thought about what Sebastian said after turning the doorknob on my mom’s front step.

  “You should probably know there’s going to be another guest at the table besides you and me,” He began, but before he could say more, Mom flung open the door and ushered us inside.

  Bringing my water glass to my lips, I decided Sebastian must have been smoking something. Clearly there were only four people at the dining table.

  I choked on my water when Sebastian kicked me under the table. He, on the other hand, didn’t miss a beat in the conversation he and Nate were having about basketball.

  When Nate turned his head to ask Mom something, Sebastian gave me an unimpressed look, likely because of my silent drug comment about him. I looked away and Mom took it upon herself to coax me into a conversation.

  “I’m so glad you invited your new friend to dinner, Celeste,” she began, as she set her fork down and laced her fingers under her chin, resting her elbows on the oak table. Her wedding ring glared at me and my appetite vanished as my stomach curled. Unaware of my gurgling stomach filling with an intense longing for Dad, Mom gazed dreamily in Sebastian’s direction, probably envisioning white dresses and tiered cakes. “When you phoned to ask if you could bring someone home for dinner tonight, I assumed you were bringing Sam.”