When Angels Cry

by Jennifer Edwards

  The rain stopped as we watched mother being loaded into the back of the ambulance. Henry climbed in with her for the trip to the hospital. Dwight slipped his hand into mine and squeezed it lightly.

  “Do you remember when we all came up here that day to get you Sarah?” Marie asked.

  “What are you talking about Marie?” I spun to face her.

  “You don’t remember?” She looked at me quizzically.

  “No. No, I don’t,” I replied. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I pulled my phone out. “I need to let the girls know we found their grandmother.”

  Without another word, we all climbed back into our cars and headed for the hospital.

  Chapter Nine

  Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

  I did remember. It wasn’t something that came to mind often. I had actually blocked the event from memory until therapy brought it back like a gunshot.

  I was eleven years old, and raced off the school bus proud of my report card. I had straight A’s. My dad wouldn’t be home, but I couldn’t wait to show mother. How pleased and proud she would be of me. I wanted to see a smile on her face. I never quite knew how I would find my mother. I might find her in a drunken stupor, overdosed, or just comatose, so I always climbed the stairs with trepidation. At the top of the stairs, I saw that she was in her “art room.” I swung the door open.

  “You are supposed to knock Sarah!” she yelled at me. In front of her was a large canvas she had obviously been working on for a while. The painting was of an adobe style church with arched stained glass windows and a huge wooden door. The sunset sky was painted in blues and pinks. A small child was standing in the foreground. A girl. She wore white and had giant outstretched angel wings. She seemed to be glowing. Her arms stretched toward the heavens. It was Rachel.

  “Mom, that’s beautiful!” I said in awe.

  “Get out Sarah! You should have knocked! Get out of here!” She did not even look back at me.

  I felt as if every bone in my body was crumbling. All my internal organs were being drawn and quartered. I took off tearing back down the stairs two at a time. As I grabbed my bike, I dropped my report card onto the pebbles below. I sped down the street, unsure of where I was going. Like a horse that knows where its corral is, my bike seemed to know where I was going. The guard at the gate knew me and let me through. Breathless with tears running down my face, I ascended to Rachel’s grave. I dropped my bike and stood before her gravestone.

  RACHEL ANNE O’MALLEY

  1969-1975

  “Our Dearest Angel.

  Gone too soon from our arms. Now in God’s embrace”

  “It’s all your fault, Rachel!” I screamed at her headstone. Falling to my knees, I tore at the ground that lay between me and my dead sibling. I ripped up the grass and scooped the dirt below with my hands, frantically trying to reach the box buried deep. I wanted to pull her out of her grave, bone by bone, and take her back to the house, presenting her to mother. “Here, Mom. She’s back. Now you can love us all again!”

  I hated my sister so much at that moment. If she wasn’t already dead, I think I would have killed her. My face was smeared with tears. Every time I tried to wipe them away, the dirt from my hands would make it worse.

  I’m not sure how long I had been there before I heard the sirens and vehicles ascending the hill. Someone had called to report seeing a crazed child desecrating a grave site. I considered running. I wished the ground would take me and bury me, too. Someone grabbed me, pulling me off the grave. I was kicking and screaming. I was hysterically out of control. “Let me go!” I screamed.

  My father grabbed me. He threw his weight against me and wrapped his arms and legs around me like a giant parental rope. I was finally subdued by his large frame. “It’s okay, honey!” he repeated to me until I finally calmed down.

  The police left as my father walked me back to the car. They weren’t going to prosecute an eleven-year-old. Many people had come up the hill. My father, I later learned, had been in a meeting with Marie’s dad when my mother called. I climbed into the back seat of my dad’s car and found myself face-to-face with Marie. She looked so dismayed. She didn’t know what to say to me. My father thought it a good idea to have Marie try to find me, seeing as she was my best friend. But there we sat, in silence, Marie almost unable to look at me. I resented her for it. I thought no one could possibly understand.

  Mother was furious when I got home. I was grounded from everything except school. I didn’t really mind. Around that time I discovered books. I immersed myself in reading and escaped into imaginary lands and dreams. My father wanted me to see a psychiatrist. Mother thought the idea was ridiculous. I didn’t go. I can see now that it probably would have been an excellent time to begin therapy instead of waiting until my twenties as I did.

  Henry had ball practice and various other activities, so the house was fairly quiet in the next couple of months. The “incident” was never brought up again. Mother had planted new flowers and grasses at Rachel’s site, so all traces of my violent outburst were gone.

  Months later, Henry told me, that he had come home one day and saw mother had built a small bonfire, ostensibly to burn leaves, but he said he saw her throwing different craft items she had made into the fire. Standing close by the funeral pyre was a painting. He said it was of a little girl that looked like an angel. I figured she must have thrown that at the top of the heap as I never saw it again.

  When we got to the hospital, Mother was in the emergency room being given IV fluids. Henry conferred with the doctor on call and they decided she should have a chest x-ray. Dr. Dreayer had been called, and he seemed to be on the same page. Her lungs were full of fluid . . . possibly the onset of pneumonia.

  Henry and I walked into the little cubicle in the E.R. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed very peaceful. I was certain that this was it for her. Her body was so small and weak, yet only a few weeks earlier she was pretending to jog up and down the street! Henry and I had the inevitable discussion that mother had become a danger to herself. We agreed that I should do what my gut had been telling me all along: to find somewhere safe for her to go. Mother began to stir. She opened her eyes and looked at the two of us. It was apparent that she was confused. “Why am I here?” She asked, looking around the room.

  Henry sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you remember going to the cemetery in the rain?”

  “No . . .” she answered in a quiet voice.

  “Do you know who we are?” I asked.

  “Well, of course I do! You’re the neighbors!”

  After an hour or so, Mother was moved into a room. Marie had called the house again to let the girls know what room number their Grandma was in. Lily said they were on their way. Manuel had already arrived. When I stepped out of Mother’s room, I found him standing in the hallway crying. I went over to him and tried to explain what little I knew about her condition and asked if he wanted to see her.

  “Of course, Miss Sarah . . . I must see her!” When I led him back into the room, a nurse was checking Mother’s blood pressure. She gave Manuel the once over. “You know . . . family are the only ones allowed in Mrs. O’Malley’s room.”

  “This is Manuel.” My blood was boiling. “He is family. He is my mother’s . . . fiancé.” I snapped at her. The nurse looked like she had sucked on a lime.

  “Oh well . . . then of course he can stay . . .” she stammered. It was clear what she thought of Manuel.

  He looked at me and said quietly, “Thank you.” He walked over to my mother’s bed and took her hand.

  She opened her eyes. “What took you so long?” she asked. They both laughed.

  I decided to leave them alone. Seeing the love between them, I resolved to read my Mother and Manuel’s writings.

  Henry suggested that everyone return to the house. “She shouldn’t have too many visitors,” he told everyone. “And that includes you, Sarah. I’ll wait for Doctor Dreayer and give you all the pertinen
t information once we have spoken.”

  Spoken like a true doctor, I thought. “What about Manuel?” I asked.

  “Let him stay with Mother for now. I’ll bring him home with me later,” Henry replied.

  In the parking lot, Dwight was leaning up against my car waiting for me. I had forgotten he had been with us. As I approached him, he reached out for me and I fell into his embrace. We stood for a while like that, neither of us talking.

  “Want me to drive?” he asked.

  “That would be great!”

  Chapter Ten

  Love In The Time Of La Nina

  Summer 1972

  We found a small cove. Well, Manny knew where it was. We spread our picnic blanket, and he set out the cheese, bread, and dark purple grapes. We opened a much anticipated bottle of wine that he said he had been saving. I didn’t care if it was true or not . . . It was such a sweet thought. I watched how easily this man moved in his skin. He had a confidence that was powerfully attractive to me.

  I felt no guilt being with him now. I had left the children at home with their father. I would normally never do anything like that, but ten years had gone by, and I needed to see Manuel again. Sarah was thirteen now and definitely able to handle things should there be a problem. I told Jack I needed time to myself, which was partially true. I hadn’t seen Manuel since Rachel’s death and since the birth of his children.

  We enjoyed our perfect meal. The sun seemed to light up Manny’s skin, which was more burnished than I remembered. Even though we had never stopped corresponding and sent photos back and forth, he looked different. He was a man, not a boy anymore. He claimed that he never regretted leaving the church at twenty and that it wasn’t until his daughter was born that he realized he was where he was supposed to be . . . being a dad to his kids. His parents had arranged a marriage to a girl Manuel had grown up with. Since he needed to begin a new life he agreed to the marriage. His young wife had died in childbirth with the second baby. He had raised his two very young children on his own. I remember how sad I felt when he wrote to me about his wife.

  Not long after consuming our delicious picnic, he suggested going into the water. I had left my suit at the hotel. Manny stood above me and began to slowly take off his clothing. I had only seen two men naked- Jack and Manny. Manuel had become so much more of a man since the last time I had seen him I was surprised upon seeing his defined chest and strong stomach. He said everyone swam naked at this cove. I don’t know what possessed me, but I stood up facing Manuel, who had stripped down to his boxers. He began to undress me slowly. Manuel had not seen me naked since the children were born. I knew my body had changed, but I wasn’t self-conscious, which surprised me. I was always concerned about how I looked with Jack. The various women he chose to be involved with were all strikingly beautiful.

  We stood naked, staring at one another for several seconds. Manny took my hand, and we both ran for the water. I felt like a school girl laughing all the way to the ocean, which was so much warmer than I had imagined. There was barely a wave in sight. I held onto his neck as we floated and kissed. I had never made love in water, and it was amazing. We made love twice that day, once again on our blanket on the beach as we watched a glorious sunset. I was alive again.

  I stared out the plane window. We had hit some turbulence due to the hurricane off the coast. What was I thinking? Flying during a hurricane? I get so nauseated on boats and bumpy planes and pink cars. If I look at a shaken snow globe too long, I want to puke. But here I was on a bumpy plane waving the flight attendant away for the third time. She keeps asking if I’m okay. It must be the puce green color of my face. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  It was the first time we had traveled together. Although we had been friends for eight or more years we had never taken a trip together. I had been married and divorced, and she had been with her girlfriend for going on two years. But here we were, in the windy city, where it was blistering cold and snowing.

  The roll away bed had been moved into a corner of the room as we had requested. It resembled something out of a MASH unit. I sat atop it, feeling the exposed springs under my rear end. The two of us laughed at the absurdity of the situation and agreed we should just sleep in the same bed. Her girlfriend didn’t have to know! It was so late, and we were so tired what could possibly happen?

  After bustling around unpacking, brushing teeth, washing our faces, getting into our PJ’S we both climbed into the bed. We lay in the dark discussing how we thought the meeting with the television producers would go the next day. Ashley and I had decided to become writing partners a couple of years ago because we made one another laugh a lot and came up with unusual ideas for shows. We finally got a deal on our show “To Hell in a Hand-Basket.”

  As we lay together, it became more than apparent that both of our bodies began putting out intense heat. I had always been aware of an attraction I had felt for Ashley, but never having been with a woman, I never understood what I was really experiencing. Since she was a gay woman, the flirting we did seemed innocent and maybe even appropriate. But here we were now in a bed, our bodies touching and the steam rising in the air.

  “What are you thinking?” Ashley asked in the dark.

  “What are YOU thinking?” I threw it back to her.

  “I think I need to kiss you!” Ashley said, turning in my direction.

  “Good answer,” I said, reaching for her mouth with mine.

  Her lips were perfectly soft and smooth. It was as if I were kissing a cloud. As our tongues found each other’s she plunged hers deeply into my mouth causing my body to shudder. Kissing Ashley was very different from any man I had ever kissed. I was amazed that I wasn’t nervous. It felt so natural to be holding this woman in my arms. I lifted her top exposing her voluptuous breast and instinctively pinched her nipples. She arched her back and grabbed my hand moving down between her legs.

  “Feel how wet I am,” she said, her breath heavy.

  I found her exactly as she described. Wet and waiting. But she had plans for me first. Flipping me over onto my back, she lifted my nightgown and began to kiss and lick my stomach. My thighs. My knees. I couldn’t stand it anymore and grabbed the back of her head and placed it where I needed her to be.

  I had never experienced such intensity before. My body reacted with each kiss, each touch, each flick of her tongue. Her breath was hot and I was on fire.

  We made love to one another all night. Taking turns, pleasuring the other. It was as if we both had longed for one another for such a long time. Not knowing how the other felt. Not knowing what crossing that proverbial line would mean to our friendship. But in those few hours of sexual energy and powerful emotions, neither of us cared to look into the future. This was our time, right now. This moment. Two women lost in one another’s arms and desires.

  I awoke from a large turbulent bump. We began our descent. Reaching over to the seat next to me, and grabbed on to Mother, holding her tight as another bump sent me reeling.

  I had promised Mother and Manuel I would bring her to Mexico to him. Fortunately, Henry and the rest of the family supported their wishes. Having read their letters and Mother’s journal, it was obvious theirs was a great love story.

  Why is it that waiting for your luggage is more stressful than any other moment of travel? Will my bag come down the chute? Will my bag not come down the chute? What if they lost my bag? What did I have in my bag that is really important and will cause terrible angst if I don’t get my bag now!? I began concentrating on the teenaged girls in front of me, trying to distract myself from the sick feeling in my stomach. Both were highlighted blondes with great bodies and spray tans. What intrigued me most was the way that they spoke.

  “So, he said have a good time, and I’m all, thank you and he’s all, but don’t have too good a time, like I want you to miss me and I’m like well are you gonna miss me? And he’s all like maybe.” And then they giggle. Where did the English language go?

  Final
ly the luggage arrived. Remembering that drinking a coke could settle my stomach, I bought a big gulp on the way to find a cab. It took about forty-five minutes to get to the hotel from the airport. I had never been to this part of Mexico. I loved the vibrant colored tiles that adorned the walls of some of the houses. The hotel was situated on a beach, and I could see even from the lobby that the ocean was crystal clear. The hurricane was a few hundred miles away in the Gulf and was expected to hit within the next couple of days. Although we wouldn’t be in the direct path, we would have heavy rains and fairly large wind gusts. Judging from the tourists in the lobby, I was relieved that no one seemed to mind. I was only staying the one night as Manuel lived another hour away. I would be going to take Mother to his home in the morning.

  The room was as luxurious as I had expected. In one of the hotels his family owned, Manuel had made all the arrangements. He had been back in Mexico for over a month. Back in California Manuel finally sat down with me and confessed what I pretty much expected. He wasn’t really a gardener. He knew that I was aware of everything that had gone on between my mother and him. He spoke of my Mother as if she were an Angel. He knew he would never love anyone as he loved her. From the moment they had met, he knew his life would never be the same. I knew all about their love from all the letters and mother’s journal.

  June 1953

  Dear Diary,

  I really didn’t want to take this trip. These girls I’m with are loud and giggly. I do like Veronica though. She and I started this school at the same time and didn’t know anyone. After Mom died, Dad was transferred to another fire department, and I had to change schools again.

  It took us all day on the bus to reach the border. Luckily, I slept most of the way. Jack had come to the house to say goodbye. It was uncomfortable for me. I had tried to tell him I didn’t want to see him anymore, but he started to cry! Imagine that. An eighteen-year-old man crying.