by TJ Klune
Her words might as well have been a slap across the face. “You don’t have any idea what I’ve been through,” I say with a scowl.
“No? So I didn’t feel pain when Big Eddie died? I don’t feel heartache knowing my Christie was the cause of it? I don’t know grief now that my own sister is dead?” Her voice breaks, and her eyes fill with tears.
“It’s not….” But it is. It is the same. It’s all the same. Every single piece. Every single part. She’s right. This isn’t what my father taught me. These aren’t the lessons I was supposed to learn. Seeing him on the other side of the river as we said goodbye should have been enough. Michael was right. I was given a gift, one that most will never get to have. And I’ve thrown it back in so many faces. I hang my head. If this was another test, then I don’t know if I’ve failed yet or not.
“You haven’t,” Nina says, and not for the first time, I wonder if she can read my mind. I wonder at my little aunt and how she came to know so much, how she can see what others can’t. I wonder just what exactly she is. “There’s still time. Not a lot, but enough. You must hurry.”
“People are going to see how I’m dressed,” I remind her.
She nods. “Thought of that. Couldn’t grab your clothes because Mary would know what I was doing, so I just took this.” Only when she starts to shrug out of it do I see she’s wearing a big coat that almost engulfs her completely. She helps me put it on, and for a moment I smell the heartbreaking scent of earth.
“I thought this went down in the Ford,” I say softly, touching the fabric of Big Eddie’s jacket. There’s a sharp pang in my head and heart because I smell earth again and think I see a flash of blue.
“It was in Little House,” she says quietly, putting my other arm through the sleeve. “Hanging near the door.”
I don’t know how that’s possible, because I’m certain it was in the Ford. As a matter of fact, I know it was. It was sitting on top of the bench seat, behind my neck, when the truck flipped. I don’t remember seeing what happened to it after. Nina says nothing as she waits.
Do you believe in the impossible? Big Eddie whispers.
I do. I do believe in the impossible.
“How am I going to get there?” I ask, easing myself off the side of the bed with a groan. I feel dizzy as I stand, whatever drugs they’ve given me for the pain causing my head to swim.
She stands next to me, puts her arms around my waist, and allows me to lean on her. “Took Mary’s keys from her purse when we got here,” she said, grunting. “I felt bad, but then I whispered I’m sorry and so I think that makes it okay. She and Lola are drinking coffee in the cafeteria, and I told them I had to use the bathroom. We have to hurry.”
“You can’t drive,” I remind her as we move toward the door.
“It’s a good thing you can,” she says.
“Uh, I’m slightly high from the pain meds.”
“I’ll be there to keep you okay,” she says. “And I think God will too.”
I don’t know how to respond to that.
“Plus, there’s coffee in a thermos in the car.”
Great. I’m sure the judge I’ll have to stand before when I get arrested for DUI will be okay with me having drunk coffee while high after breaking out of the hospital to go save my guardian angel boyfriend, all precipitated by my aunt, who has Down syndrome and may or may not be some kind of psychic. Or something.
It hits me again that my life might just be a little strange.
It takes us almost ten minutes to get out of the hospital. Nina is taking her
covert mission seriously and stashes me in empty rooms or supply closets every time someone walks by. She smiles widely at them and hums to herself, waiting for them to pass. As soon as they do, she drops the act and grabs me again, pulling me toward the elevator.
It’s empty when we get in, and the time is displayed electronically above the buttons for the floors: 8:17 p.m. She hits the button for the first floor, and I rest up against the wall, buttoning the big coat up the front so it covers the hospital gown I’m wearing. The coat hangs down to my upper thighs. It should be okay as long as no one feels the need to scope out my bare legs and feet.
The elevator moves down and then stops suddenly on the third floor. We hold our breath as the doors open. There are voices right outside the door, but it sounds like they’re distracted. I move away from the wall and hit the close button repeatedly when I hear someone say “Hey, hold the door!” I don’t, and it slides shut before anyone can see us.
“This is ridiculous,” I say to no one in particular. The elevator reaches the bottom floor and Nina helps me out. Instead of walking out the front, she pulls me toward the side doors, leading me to the parking garage. There’s no place to hide me anytime someone passes, so I stand as tall as I can, clutching the coat around me, smiling and saying hello to everyone who passes. We get a few strange looks, but no one tries to stop us.
Finally we’re out into the garage, and the rain-scented air hits me in the face. It’s cold outside, and my feet are numb against the pavement. Nina pulls the keys out of a pocket and starts clicking the fob. Eventually, there’s an answering beep of a vehicle.
Christie’s SUV sits a few spaces down, lights flashing.
I stop. Nina was right. I’ve been selfish. I’ve thought too much of my own grief and not what anyone else might have gone through. Seeing my aunt’s SUV sitting in front of me hits me like I didn’t think it would. She betrayed not just me and my father. She betrayed my mother. She betrayed Mary. And she betrayed the little woman standing so fiercely next to me, who is determined to hold me up, determined to help me get home to the man I love before there’s nothing left but memories that rise like ghosts.
I sigh and put my hands into the pocket of the coat. My bad hand touches something small and cold. I pull the object out as Nina fumbles with the door. A small pocketknife. The handle is red. A small inscription on the side: I love you, my husband. Forever, Este. Estelle’s gift to her husband Abe. It was in my hand when I was shot. It fell into the river as I fell. It was lost to the rushing waters. As was the coat I wear.
“Nina?” I ask as she helps me into the driver’s seat. “Where did you say you got the coat?” I sound hoarse.
“I told you,” she huffs, pushing my legs in. “It was hanging on the coat rack just inside Little House.” She hands me the keys and shuts the door in my face.
She hurries around the back of the SUV and is climbing into the passenger side when something else hits me. “How?”
“Hmm?”
“The SUV.”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t the police have it? Wouldn’t they have impounded it?”
“You would think so,” she says with a smile. “Strange how these things work out.”
I stare at her.
“Coffee?” she asks me sweetly. “We’ve got an hour drive ahead of us.”
It’s as we ride through the dark that I confess. “I saw him.”
“Oh?” Nina says. She waits.
“Big Eddie. I saw him again. At the river.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry, Nina.”
She seems startled. “For what?”
“You know. Christie.”
“Yes,” she says quietly, looking out the window into the night. “Those who live
have always lost. What was three goes to two. But that’s okay. There’s always two.” Her voice gets a little funny at the end.
“Nina? Are you okay?”
“Felix,” she whispers. “Oh, Felix. Turn away. Turn away, please. It is not a god.
It never was a god.” Then she shudders as she shakes her head.
I glance at her, concerned. “Who’s Felix?”
“Did he cross?” she asks, ignoring my question. Her voice sounds clear again.
“Did you help Big Eddie cross?”
Oh, my heart. Oh, my soul. “Yes,” I whisper. “He crossed.”
“I wonder,” sh
e says, “if Christie will too. If God has enough forgiveness in his
heart.”
I take her hand in mine.
For the first time in a very long time, I pass mile marker seventy-seven and I do
not slow.
I do not stop.
And here, at the end of things, I show you this:
Five days have passed since the storm hit, but Poplar Street is still littered with debris. Large tree branches pile up on sidewalks. Broken windows are boarded up, waiting to be replaced. Puddles of water still remain in the shadows of buildings.
I drive slowly down the road that is my home.
Rosie’s Diner survived and is still standing, though it’s closed up tight. Big Eddie’s Gas and Convenience looks none the worse for wear. There’s a pile
of debris off to the side, and the whole front of the store has been swept clean. Someone has taken care of it for me. Maybe my mother. Maybe Mary or Nina. Maybe someone else entirely. I don’t know.
All the other businesses are still standing. They’re all dark, but they’re all still there. Roseland might have been struck by what is now being called the worst storm of this century, but it has survived. It has rolled with the punches. It has known sacrifice, but what is love without sacrifice? It has taken all of this on and it has survived. Its foundations might be shaky, and it might not be in the same shape it once was, but it has survived.
And it has also kept a great secret.
Our Lady of Sorrows blazes ahead, bright, like a beacon in the dark. It calls to me. It sings to me. Voices whisper to me out in the night, like I’m still trapped in the White Room, now gone black. Here, they say. Here he is. Here he is, coming to change the shape of things. This is a pattern of impossible endings. This is a design of improbable beginnings. O, joy. O, wonder. O, behold, for it is miraculous.
I see people standing off in the shadows, almost hidden because the streetlights are all burned out. They watch as I drive by. I know they can’t see inside the vehicle, but I feel they know who it is just the same. As I pass them, they step out onto the road and begin to follow us on foot, step by step, until I see hundreds of people behind me, their heads bowed low, hands folded in front of them. I see people I’ve known all my life, people I’ve laughed with, people I’ve cried with. I see people who helped to pick up the pieces after I shattered away into the wind. It seems all of Roseland is here, watching, waiting.
“What is this?” I whisper, unable to process what I’m seeing.
“It’s been like this since he came,” Nina says softly. “They’ve all waited for you. They’ve all prayed for you. And for him. For Blue.”
“This is going to get out,” I say, sure of my words. “This won’t stay secret for long. Someone will talk, and they’ll descend on Roseland. They’ll come here with their questions and their cameras. Their scalpels and their knives. They won’t understand. They won’t understand who he is. It won’t matter what he is to me. They’ll try and take him away.”
She watches me curiously. “Not here,” she says. “Not this place. Roseland is… different. The people here are… different. We protect our own. Now that everything is out in the open, we protect our own.” She sighs and looks back out the window. “The eyes of everyone were here for a few days. The news people with their cameras and their reports of this poor little town. Such tragic things happened to them, they said. Drugs and deceit. Betrayal and heartbreak. They told the story, and then they left. There are always stories to be told, I think. Elsewhere. Every day. It was just our day, and now it’s over. He was protected.”
“Why?” I ask, as we approach the front of the church, the crowd behind me bigger than I would have ever thought. “Why are they doing this?” I pull into a parking space in front of the church and turn off the SUV.
She puts her hand on top of mine. “Because they know love. They know sacrifice. They know miracles do exist, and they must be protected. They must be cherished.” She removes her hand. “We protect our own,” she repeats.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I say, the doubt in my voice evident. “Why me? Out of all the people in the world, the worlds, why me? Why this moment? Why now? I’m no one. I’m nothing.”
“You’re the one Calliel chose to love,” my aunt says, her sweet face breaking into a sad smile. “If that’s not enough for you, I don’t know what else could be.”
“I love you,” I tell her. “I love you so very, very much.”
Her eyes fill with tears and her lip quivers. “Oh, I know,” she says. “And I love you more than the moon and the stars. Secret?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Cross your heart?”
“Hope to die.”
“Stick a thousand needles in your eye.” She looks away and takes a deep breath. “I think everything was leading to this,” she says quietly. “I think this is the real test. For you. For Blue.”
“I’m scared.”
“But loved.”
“Yes.”
She opens the door.
I stare after her for a moment, trying to catch my breath. I hear people shuffling outside the SUV, waiting for me to exit. The church is so bright.
I open the door.
The crowd sighs. All of their eyes are on me. No one speaks. They watch. I’m unsure of what to do. I don’t know what’s expected of me. I don’t know what they want me to say.
Then, a familiar face pushes her way through the crowd.
“Welcome home, Benji,” Rosie says, pulling me gently into her arms. “Oh, honey. I am so happy to see your face.”
“Rosie,” I breathe, trying not to wince at the pain in my chest.
“Your mother called,” she says in my ear softly, so no one else can hear. “She called in a fright, said you’d gone missing from the hospital along with Nina. I told her there’s no other place you’d be going. She asked me to stop you from entering the church before she got here. Can I do that? Can I stop you?”
“No. You can’t. I can’t wait. Not now. Not when I’m this close.”
She nods, pulling away, brushing at the tears in her eyes. “The doc’s in there,” she says. “With him. Pastor Landeros is in there too.”
“How is he?” I ask, searching her face. “Cal. Is he? Is he….”
She shakes her head, crumbling as she’s pulled away by Suzie Goodman. I hear her gentle sobs as she falls back into the crowd.
Dad, I need you. I need you so bad right now. Please, hear my prayer.
“I am going to ask something,” I say, my voice stronger than I think it would be. “I am going to ask something of you. Of all of you. Please. Let me have this moment. If this is supposed to be… good-bye, then I ask that you let me have this moment. Please.”
The mob sighs again, and my words are carried in hushed whispers throughout the crowd. No one says anything against me. I knew they wouldn’t.
I turn and face the church and take the first step toward the light. I do not become lost in thought. Memories do not rise like ghosts, stabbing me like knives. All that matters, and all I focus on, is the angel who awaits me in the church. All my thoughts are with him.
I reach the steps, and they creak under me as I mount them. I count them. There are seven, though I am not surprised. It seems fitting.
The whispers from inside the church grow louder, until they sound like a rushing river. I press my hands against the massive doors, and they vibrate against my fingers. The vibration rolls up my arms until my whole body shakes, and I hang my head. In these vibrations and whispers are songs of grief and loss, of heartache and people forgotten. In these songs are words of sorrow and pain, of regrets never gone, of aches that hurt as if they are new.
But.
There is hope. There is faith. There is belief that maybe, just maybe, everything will be as it was and as it should be. It’s a thread that wraps itself around my heart and soul and tugs on them gently. It calls for one who can be strong. And brave. It calls for one who can stand true.<
br />
And there is no one it wants more than me.
I push open the doors. They groan mightily as they part. A warm light washes over me, and the whispers cease. The songs fade. Silence falls.
I step into the church, and the doors close behind me.
o lord, hear our prayer
I stand in the narthex of the church, the entryway lit by hundreds of candles
stretched along the wall. This is the light, I realize, the light I’d seen upon approach. The power must still be out all over the town, and the brightness, the beacon, was the candles that had been lit. Hundreds of them. Thousands.
I cross the narthex and enter the nave. The pews have been removed. It looks like there were halfhearted attempts to set up booths for the festival inside the nave, but the project was abandoned, possibly when the storm became too great. Candles line these walls as well, giving off heat but not overwhelmingly so. They reflect the stained glass lining the nave, the colors flickering so much it appears the saints are alive. As if they’re walking with me, blinking their eyes, opening their mouths. No sound comes out. But still they walk with me, or so it seems.
I take another step.
Past the end of the nave is the aptly named crossing, the middle of the north and south transepts. Past the crossing is the chancel, elevated from the crossing. The chancel leads to the altar. High above the altar, St. Jude Novena stares down at me from his stained-glass window. He looks as if he’s holding me in judgment with his frank gaze. Shadows dance along his face from the candles below. I swear I see him move.
There are three people on the altar. Doc Heward stands facing me, his hands at his sides, his face pale and drawn. He looks older than I’ve ever seen him. His thinning hair sticks out every which way. His clothes are wrinkled. He has dark circles under his eyes. His hands tremble at his sides.