CoffeeHouse Angel

by Suzanne Sellars

  "Where'd you get that?" I asked.

  "There's a room downstairs filled with food. I've never laid eyes on this sort." He offered me the plate. I'm not usually a fan of Jell-O, not since someone told me that it was made from horse's hooves, but I was half-starved. I slurped down six green squares. "I can get more if you'd like. They let you take as much as you want."

  "Uh, Malcolm?" He had left his satchel in the car. "Did you pay for the food?"

  "Pay?" He threw a green square into the air, then caught it in his mouth. I sighed. A stolen plate of Jell-O was the least of my worries.

  As we walked back to the waiting room, Malcolm handed out Jell-O squares to everyone we passed, wishing each a good morning. The receptionist stared at him over the top of a file folder. Despite the manila barrier, I could tell she was smiling.

  Who could blame her?

  I felt worn out, worried about the coffeehouse's future, about Grandma's future, about my future. The only nice thing, at that moment, was the warmth that enveloped me when I sat next to Malcolm. A narrow gap separated my arm and his shoulder--an electrically charged gap. I felt so self-conscious, sitting there, looking like total crap.

  I'm sure it's some kind of sin to be attracted to an angel.

  "Come on over here, Marge. It's nice and warm." A man waved to his wife and they came and sat next to us. "Something must be wrong with the heating system."

  It didn't take long for the rest of the people in the waiting room to claim the chairs around Malcolm and me. They stretched out their bodies as if basking beneath a sun lamp.

  "It smells so nice over here," a woman said. She flipped through a newspaper. "Says here that they closed down that coffeehouse where they found the giant rat. I'd never eat there." I was too tired to muster a defense. The woman flipped to another page.

  "Oh look, honey, Nordby is having its Solstice Festival next weekend."

  Which reminded me. I turned to Malcolm. "I lied to Vincent. I told him you were taking me to the festival."

  He set the empty plate on the coffee table. "Do you not want to go?" He sat up straight. "Do you not want to go with me?"

  "No, that's not it," I said, well aware that the woman with the paper was watching us.

  As was everyone else. "I just don't want you to feel like you have to go with me." I pulled the edges of the bathrobe around my neck. "I don't want you to think it's a date or something. Because I wouldn't expect you to go on a date, being who you are." I whispered that last part.

  He didn't say anything. Then he leaned closer, so that his arm touched my shoulder. A jolt ran down my body. Everyone in our little group watched, waiting for his response. "I would be honored to escort you, Katrina."

  "Oh. Okay." I pulled the bathrobe collar as high as it would go to hide my naming cheeks.

  Malcolm slapped his hand on his knee, then turned to the man sitting next to us and said, way too loudly, "I'm taking Katrina to the Solstice Festival."

  "Good for you, kid."

  "Katrina Svensen?" a nurse called. "You can see your grandmother now."

  The nurse led Malcolm and me to the Cardiac Care Unit. She told us that we could have a few minutes and then we'd have to leave because they were going to do an echocardiogram and an angiogram. My grandmother lay propped against some pillows; a tube dripped clear fluid into her arm. Her skin was as white as the hospital sheets, as if the IV had diluted all her color. The wrinkles in her face seemed deeper.

  Her gray permed curls hung limp on her forehead.

  She's alive, I told myself. It was the only good thought I could conjure because there is nothing good about seeing someone you love weakened, sprawled out, drained. I didn't want to confront that horrible thought, the one that comes late at night.

  Each of us will die. I will die. There's no getting around it.

  And the other horrible thought: When my grandmother dies, I will be all alone.

  My grandmother managed a weak smile and reached for my hand. "I'd been feeling so tired," she said. "I didn't realize it was my heart. I should have seen the doctor."

  I barely hugged her, afraid she might break. I sat in the little space at the edge of the bed, holding back tears of relief. "You're going to be fine now."

  "I'm sorry I scared you." Her gaze traveled over my shoulder. Her smile brightened as she spotted Malcolm. "You caught me when I fell. You're Katrina's friend."

  "I'm Malcolm."

  She sniffed. "What's that lovely scent?"

  "It's the smell of the Scottish Highlands. I brought it back with me as a souvenir."

  Grandma Anna motioned me close. "I thought you were going to tell him that you aren't interested."

  "Well, I was, but--"

  "I'm to accompany Katrina to the Solstice Festival," Malcolm announced. He stared at the IV, watching the fluid drip slowly into the tube.

  "You have a date?" My grandmother struggled to sit up. It was too much. Her eyelids fluttered. She groaned. Was she going to have another heart attack?

  "Grandma," I begged.

  She fell back onto the pillows. "The doctor told me no sudden movements."

  Malcolm followed the tube to the place where it entered my grandmother's hand.

  "Interesting," he murmured. "They used to take fluids from the body to cure ills, now they put them back in."

  "You'll need a dress," Grandma Anna said, her breath settling.

  "What?" I wasn't following her train of thought. Malcolm was examining a plastic bedpan. "Dress?"

  "For the festival. You'll need a new dress." She sighed and closed her eyes. "I'll never forget my first time I went to the Solstice Festival with a boy. His name was Harold--

  Harry for short. My mother made me a velvet blue dress, with little pearl buttons."

  Her voice became whispery. Malcolm set the bedpan aside and turned his blue gaze on her. He cocked his head as she drifted into a world of memories. "Harry took me to the Grand Feast at the Sons of Norway Hall. We danced five dances." She smiled dreamily. "He only stepped on my feet twice. And then he kissed me." She opened her eyes. "I wonder where he is now."

  "Corporal Harold Jorgenson died in combat in Vietnam on July 14, 1966," Malcolm said.

  Before my grandmother could ask him how he knew that, the nurse returned. "That's enough now. She needs her rest. You can see her when the tests are done." She shooed Malcolm into the hall.

  "I'll be right there," I told the nurse, then I gave my grandmother another gentle hug.

  "Katrina." She stroked my hair. "I'll probably be here for a few days. Don't waste any time worrying about me. You go home and get some sleep. And don't you go missing school. You keep up your grades. I'll tell Irmgaard and The Boys to check in on you before school to make sure you've had a good breakfast, and after school in case you need anything. And you be sure to call me before you go to bed so I know you're doing fine."

  "But Grandma--"

  "There's two hundred dollars in my checking account.

  Use that for groceries. There's a credit card in the top drawer of my desk, for emergencies. Your grandfather's pension check will come on Wednesday. Take it to the bank and deposit it right away. Use it to get yourself a new dress."

  "I don't need a new dress."

  "Of course you do. It's not every day that a girl gets to go on her first date. And with such a handsome boy. I don't know when I've ever seen such a handsome boy. A new dress is an absolute necessity and I won't hear another word about it."

  "But we can't afford it," I said.

  Grandma Anna waved the comment away. Then she turned serious. "Tell Irmgaard that she should start looking for another job as soon as possible."

  "But we can still save the coffeehouse," I insisted. "The Health Department will see that it's all been a big mistake and we can still do something for the Solstice. I'll stay and work, and Elizabeth will help--"

  "It's no use."

  "But I'm sure I can do it, Grandma. I'm sure I can come up with something."

&nbs
p; "Sweetie." She patted my hand. "I love the coffeehouse more than you can ever know.

  Your mother and father and your grandfather are a part of that place. It holds so many memories. I know your intentions come right from the heart, but you can't save the coffeehouse."

  Unspoken words hung between us. You can't save the coffeehouse because you always start things and never finish them, which is why we have a Closet of Failure at the end of our hall. You've never poured yourself into anything. Never gone beyond the moment when it just starts to get difficult. It's so much easier to say you're not good at something and then quit.

  "You go to the festival with that nice young man. There's no need to worry about the coffeehouse, because I've made a decision." And then she said the words I never thought I'd hear her say.

  "I want you to promise me that tomorrow you will tell Mr. Darling I'm ready to discuss his offer. I'm ready to close the shop."

  Twenty-two

  After leaving the Cardiac Care Unit, Malcolm and I went back to the emergency waiting room, where I had left all that paperwork. I wanted to pretend that I hadn't heard my grandmother's decision to close the coffeehouse but her words followed me, echoing off the elevator's walls. Could she have suffered brain damage? No. I knew in my heart that she had made the right decision. If only we didn't have to turn the space over to such a pig.

  As we stepped off the elevator, Irmgaard walked through the hospital's automatic entry doors, a suitcase in her hand. In the distance, a taxi pulled out of the load/unload lane. Dressed in a gray wool coat with a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders, she could easily have been Sister Irmgaard. Her eyes widened when she noticed Malcolm. She dropped the suitcase and rushed back outside.

  "Irmgaard?" I called, rushing after her. "Where are you going?" I caught up with her at the edge of the parking lot. "Irmgaard?"

  She stopped walking and looked toward the hospital, her eyes wild.

  "Is it the message?" I asked.

  She nodded furiously.

  "You don't want it?"

  She shook her head.

  "Why don't you want it? What do you think it is?" Of course, she said nothing.

  "Irmgaard, you were right. He's an angel." I paused. "Are you a nun? Were you a nun?" It would explain the extra-short hair, the plain clothing, and makeup-less face.

  And the lack of jewelry, except for the little silver cross. Perhaps the oath of silence was required at St. Clare's. But why would it be required in the outside world?

  She took a step back and her eyes filled with tears. What was the matter with her?

  Shouldn't a nun or an ex-nun be thrilled about meeting an angel? Wouldn't this be the biggest moment of her life?

  "Oh, Irmgaard," I said, taking her hand. "Don't worry. You don't have to read the message. I'll tell Malcolm that you don't want it. Please come inside. I need your help with the hospital's paperwork. I don't understand some of the questions and if I don't fill out the insurance forms, then we'll have to pay for everything ourselves."

  Irmgaard's eyes relaxed and she nodded. I led her to the waiting room, collecting the suitcase on the way. Malcolm had gone. A few people were complaining about the sudden drop in temperature. The receptionist asked a janitor where all the fish had gone. Other than a stream of bubbles rising in a tube, nothing moved inside the aquarium.

  Had Malcolm set them free? Of course he had.

  We sat. "Did you find Grandma's insurance information?" I asked.

  She opened the suitcase and took out another purse-- my grandmother's daytime purse. I had grabbed the wrong one. She had also collected Grandma's pajamas, slippers, bathrobe, bedside radio, all the medications from the bathroom counter, and a container of homemade soup. I showed her the pile of papers. She opened the purse and pulled out a Medicare card. Then she started filling out the forms.

  "Thank you," I said, feeling totally relieved.

  Malcolm rushed through the automatic doors, holding his satchel. Before I could stop him, he waved the golden envelope. "You've got to take it," he said.

  Irmgaard gasped and dropped the pen, her eyes darting madly. A wall, an aquarium, and an angel blocked her escape. She closed her eyes, then opened them. Closed, then opened, as if trying to wish him away.

  "I won't disappear this time," Malcolm said. "I mean you no harm, Irmgaard, but you can't refuse to take a message."

  "Malcolm, she doesn't want it," I said. "Can't you see you're upsetting her?"

  "I don't mean to cause upset." He looked at the envelope. "All messages are important, but it's becoming a real burden to carry this one around."

  "Just put it down," I told him. "We can talk about it later. Right now we've got to finish these forms."

  He opened his hand. The envelope floated down through the air, ever so slowly, like a feather. When it landed on the glass table, the table shattered. Those sitting nearby leaped from their seats. The receptionist called security.

  "You try to carry that around," Malcolm said snippily. "She needs to take it before it gets any heavier."

  Then Irmgaard did something that totally surprised me. I'd never seen her get angry before. She believed Malcolm to be an angel, but she glared at him, her eyes blazing.

  Holding her neck straight, looking right into his sparkling eyes, she folded her arms and refused to take that envelope.

  He threw his hands in the air. "What am I supposed to do? Do you have any idea the kind of trouble I'm in?"

  She shook a piece of glass from her shoe, then turned her back to him, continuing to work on the papers. Her defiance was shocking. Wouldn't a nun be afraid of some sort of heavenly wrath?

  "Irmgaard, do you want me to read it?" I asked.

  "You can't," Malcolm said. "I can't even read it. Only she can." He picked up the envelope and slid it back into his satchel. "You two are the most perplexing women I've ever met." The automatic doors slid open and Malcolm, his kilt swishing with each angry step, stormed off into the night.

  Twenty-three

  The rest of Sunday passed in a blur. At 6:00 a.m., the nurse let me peek in to say good-bye to my grandmother, but she was fast asleep. Malcolm didn't come back. I waited for a while in the hospital parking lot, even whispered his name, but he didn't show up. After driving the old Buick home, I fed Ratcatcher, then fell into a stupor, sleeping right through the afternoon. I woke up and made a peanut butter sandwich, called Elizabeth, then fell back into bed, swallowed up by the dreamless sleep of the comatose.

  Monday morning felt heavier than usual and not just because Ratcatcher was sleeping on my chest. As I opened my eyes, my new reality descended like a pillow smothering my face. Grandma was in the hospital and sometime that day, I'd have to tell Mr. Darling that we were surrendering.

  The shower didn't perk me up like it usually did. I stood there for a long time, watching streams of soap slide down my skinny legs. The dull razor nicked my shin twice, which I took as a sign that I should have stayed in bed. I put on my usual jeans and favorite red sweatshirt, then ate a bowl of Cheerios. I had promised my grandmother that I wouldn't miss school, even though I wasn't prepared for any of my classes. How could I have done homework with all the chaos in my life? Considering the situation, maybe my teachers would give me an extension. At least winter vacation began on Wednesday, which was also the day the health inspector would return. It didn't seem to matter if he found rat turds or not. The doors to Anna's Old World Scandinavian Coffeehouse would close forever.

  I brushed my teeth, then stared into the mirror. Was I really going to the Solstice Festival with an angel? How do you wrap your head around something like that?

  There are so many stories about girls dating vampires and fairy kings, but those are dark stories, dangerous stories where the simple act of falling in love puts the girl's life at risk. Malcolm didn't seem one bit dangerous. Angels are supposed to be pure and sinless, so it would be a pure and sinless date. I didn't have a problem with that. It was kind of a relief that I wouldn't have to fend
off blood-sucking or an enchantment on our first date.

  Which would probably be our only date.

  But was I good enough to go on a date with an angel? Didn't you have to be...perfect?

  Sure, my skin was pretty good and my eyelashes were long, even though they were blond and you couldn't see them. If I pulled my hair up I'd look older, but never perfect. One of my bottom teeth was crooked and my lips always got chapped in the winter. And I'm pretty sure that angels didn't have to deal with morning breath. Or sweat. Or a myriad of other human conditions. Malcolm always smelled...perfect.

  I'd never really thought about angels before. I'd seen It's a Wonderful Life, that movie about the angel who wants to get his wings. And I'd been to church enough times to hear the stories about Gabriel the archangel and Satan the fallen angel. But that's what they were to me, stories. Improbable, fantastic stories.

  And yet, even if I convinced myself that the little white wing had been a hallucination, brought on by the blinding hospital lights and the psychological torture of waiting, I couldn't deny all the other stuff.

  Without Grandma's radio, an eerie quiet floated through the apartment. Downstairs was worse. Without the hum of the percolators, the coffeehouse felt lifeless. I sat on the bottom step with Ratcatcher. "Don't worry," I told her, scratching between her black ears. "Grandma will be home soon." But where would home be after we had closed? Would we have to leave Nordby and live in some retirement community like Mr. Darling's mother? Retirement Universe wouldn't look too good as a return address on my college applications. I'd end all my application letters with: Help, get me out of here.

  "Meow."

  I poured Ratcatcher some kibble. She sniffed the non-pastry breakfast, then walked away, and that's when it caught my eye. I hadn't turned on the coffeehouse lights so I wasn't sure what I was looking at. A puddle of blue sat on the corner table, sparkling.

  As I walked toward it, Ratcatcher leaped onto the table and sniffed the puddle. I reached out expecting liquid but found velvet. The blue fabric slid softly beneath my hand. "It's a dress," I whispered, picking it up. Little pearl buttons dotted the front, just like my grandmother's dress. I held it at arm's length. It couldn't be my grandmother's dress because it was way too long for her, but perfect for me. A little tag in the back read: Made Exclusively for Katrina. I held the dress to my face and inhaled the Highlands.