A Brush of Wings

by Karen Kingsbury

  She closed her eyes and tried with all her strength to stop the tears, to stave off the flood of sorrow that welled up in the broken places of her heart. She missed Marcus so much. If she tried, if she really focused, she could smell his cologne, feel his arm against hers, hear the smoothness of his voice.

  The tears forced their way down her cheeks and she put her hand over her mouth. She didn’t want to wake Ember, didn’t want her friend to see her crying.

  But it was too late.

  Mary Catherine felt Ember’s hand on her shoulder. She was out of her bed, standing behind her. “Talk to me, Mary Catherine. What is it?”

  She opened her eyes and shut her laptop. She slipped it back in her bag. She didn’t want to talk about Marcus. He was a part of her past. No email could make his presence real at this point. She turned to face Ember. “I guess . . .” A sob caught in her voice. She covered her mouth again until she had more composure. “I . . . I don’t feel good.”

  “Okay.” Ember’s voice spoke peace. “Then maybe it’s time. Write to someone back in Los Angeles. Tell them you’re coming home to get well.”

  To get well? The words only doubled Mary Catherine’s sadness. She felt like she would never get well. “Thank you, Ember. You’ve been so kind.” She wiped her eyes and nodded. “I’ll let someone know.”

  “Okay.” Ember looked satisfied. “Can I pray for you?”

  Mary Catherine was so touched. God had known exactly whom to bring for this season of her life. And yes, she was still grateful she’d come to Africa. She loved teaching the children, loved reading to them and hearing their dreams. Loved when they called her Mama. They were the family she’d never have, and that made it all worth it. But tomorrow she would do something she should’ve done much sooner.

  She’d write to Dr. Cohen and tell him the truth.

  14

  LEXY SAT AT HER GRANDMOTHER’S kitchen table and stared at the cell phone in her trembling hands. Then, like she’d done a dozen times in the past few months, she dialed Mary Catherine’s number.

  One ring, two. After the fourth ring the call went to voice mail. Again. “Umm, hey . . . it’s me. Lexy. I’m not doing too good, so maybe when you get back, you could call me. Okay? See ya.”

  She hung up and tossed her cell phone on the table. Mary Catherine said she’d be there. She promised. So why wasn’t she calling her back? Lexy cursed under her breath. Figures. Girl talks all about God and answered prayers. But where is she now? Now that I need her?

  A few times she even considered going to the Youth Center and talking to Sami. She would know how to reach Mary Catherine. Sami had called a bunch of times. But Lexy didn’t know Sami the same way.

  A cold fear ran through her. What if something had happened to Mary Catherine? She had talked about going to Africa, but that was more like a dream. Not something she would’ve done, right?

  Either way she was going with Ramon tonight, a date she couldn’t cancel. Not even if Mary Catherine were here in person. Ramon was the new leader of the West Knights. He chose her. Sure, she knew better. She had promised Mary Catherine she would do everything she could to get out of the gang.

  But really, who was she kidding?

  She stood and went to the top drawer of her grandmother’s buffet table. There at the back corner was the letter from her mother. The one she’d given Lexy the day she toured the prison. First time Lexy had seen her mother since she was eight years old.

  Last Time In Program. Lexy rolled her eyes. A day in prison couldn’t get you out of a gang. Especially her. Lexy had been with the leader of the West Knights before. So it was only right that the new leader would claim her as his own.

  She took the letter and sat back down at the table. She opened it and tried to read it again, the way she had tried to read it three times since that afternoon. Her reading was better, but she still couldn’t piece all the words together. Her eyes ran over the lines of letters and words. A few phrases made sense.

  Sitting here and missing you. That’s because her mama wrote the letter from her prison cell. She had a janitor help her write the words. A little further down she read a bit more. The right way is with God, baby.

  Again Lexy rolled her eyes. God hadn’t helped her mama make the right choices. He hadn’t stopped Lexy from going back to the gang. A little further down she read more. You and me when you were six years old . . . That was the saddest part of the letter, where her mama remembered a picture of Lexy at six years old. Her first day of kindergarten.

  After that Lexy skipped to the end. She could read the last line. This time she read the words out loud. “I love you always. Every day. Even from here.” There was a catch in Lexy’s voice. “Love, your mama.”

  Anger rushed at her. Where was her mother now? If she cared, she wouldn’t have gotten into drugs in the first place. She would’ve loved Lexy enough to stay clean. She would’ve learned to read so she could teach her little girl.

  No, her mama didn’t love her. The letter was a bunch of lies. She thought about ripping it in half and throwing it in the trash. But instead she folded it up and put it back in the top drawer. Because sometimes it felt good to pretend she had a mama who really did love her.

  But the truth? The truth was her mama didn’t love her and neither did Mary Catherine. Even her grandma didn’t seem to care anymore. She was always asleep—usually by eight o’clock. About the time Lexy left the house to hang with the West Knights.

  She heard the sound of an engine out front. Her hands began to tremble again. Ramon was rough with her—rougher than any guy she’d been with. Much as it suited her to date the leader of the gang, much as it meant she was the prettiest girl in the West Knights, that didn’t change the truth.

  Lexy was afraid of Ramon.

  Tonight she and Ramon were having a special hangout. To celebrate a drug buy Ramon had taken part in. He had told her tonight would be better than their other dates. More special. Ramon had a little more cash. Tonight they’d get dinner at a drive-thru and then they’d finish their time together someplace romantic.

  A hotel room.

  THEIR NIGHT WAS GOING BETTER than Lexy imagined. Ramon had only cussed at her a couple of times, and when they stopped for beer he bought her a plastic rose. Tossed it on her lap when he got behind the wheel.

  “Only the best for you, Lex.” He grinned at her. “Here.” He handed her a beer. “Drink it.”

  Most nights Lexy didn’t drink. But Ramon wanted this to be a celebration. Lexy popped the top and downed half of it. “Thanks.” She smiled.

  “You’re really pretty, you know that?” Ramon crooked his finger and used it to lift her chin. “You got a perfect face.”

  The compliment made Lexy feel special. Like a princess. She smiled and batted her eyelashes at him. “You’re perfect, too.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Just don’t ever make me mad.” He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “You wouldn’t look so great then.”

  Lexy laughed. Mostly because she didn’t know what else to do. Ramon was serious. He’d kill one of his own boys if there was a reason. Everyone knew it. They ate at Taco Bell and drove to the hotel. It wasn’t too fancy. Less than forty bucks a night. Lexy saw the sign as they pulled up in front of the room. Ramon left to pay and get the key. When he got back he opened the car door and leaned in.

  “You know what you are?” Ramon smiled at her. “You’re a slut, Lexy Jones.” He laughed. “Tonight you’re gonna prove it.”

  She had no idea what that meant. Prove it? By now he couldn’t doubt the fact that she belonged to him. But if he wanted her to prove it . . . “Is that a challenge?”

  “Better believe it.” He nodded at her door. “Get out. Time’s wasting.”

  He already had the key to the room. She followed him to the door and even before he unlocked it, he pressed her against the wall and kissed her. “That’s a good girl. You want me, right?”

  Lexy’s teeth began to chatter. “Of course.” His kiss wa
s rough, a little too wet. She didn’t dare wipe her mouth. “I’m all yours, Ramon.”

  His smile faded. “Like I said . . . you’re about to prove it.”

  Ramon opened the door and closed it behind them. He never even turned on the light. Two hours later when he took her home, he wasn’t nearly as kind.

  She started to roll down the window. Just for a little fresh air. But he grabbed her arm. “Leave it up.” He shouted at her. “Or get out.”

  Lexy blocked out his words and the way he said them, she ignored the bruise probably starting on her arm. “I can roll down the window if I want.” She lifted her face, defiant. “What’s the big deal?”

  He jerked the wheel of the car and almost hopped the curb. The whole car lurched forward as he hit the brakes. “Get out!” He shoved her. “You cross me, you get out and walk.”

  “Fine.” She held up her hands. She was instantly scared to death, but she wouldn’t show it. Ramon hated weakness. “I’ll leave it up. Forget about the fresh air.”

  Ramon gripped the wheel, his knuckles locked in place. He mumbled a bunch of cuss words at her. When he pulled up in front of her grandmother’s house he came to a sudden stop again. “Go.”

  Once she was out of the car, Lexy stood there, shivering.

  She hated how she felt and she hated how the night had ended. But there was one thing that mattered more than her bruised arm and broken heart: getting inside the house before her grandma woke up. Because whatever Ramon did to her, however he treated her, one thing was certain.

  Her grandmother could never find out.

  15

  IT WAS THE TENTH OF September and the Dodgers were on the road in the play-offs. Later that night Sami planned to go to the game with Tyler. But today she was in Santa Monica with two of her UCLA friends—Nichole and Megan—looking for a wedding dress.

  They started with coffee and a conversation about Sami’s wedding plans. Now it was time to focus on the matter at hand. They walked along Santa Monica Boulevard to Fourth Street and several wedding dress boutiques.

  Along the way they saw a woman walking two small dogs—one of them dressed as a bride, the other as a groom. The girls slowed, watching the trio until they turned left, out of sight. Even before that Sami’s friends began to laugh, and Sami joined them. She shook her head. “That has to be a sign, right?”

  They kept walking, still laughing, and after four hours and three boutiques, Sami found the perfect white dress. It was simple and shirred at the top, with a cascade of white taffeta and satin layers for the skirt. The back formed a pretty train.

  In every way it was perfect.

  But the trip made Sami miss Mary Catherine. That night after Marcus pitched a shutout game to give the Dodgers a 2–0 lead in the division series, and after she and Tyler and Marcus hung out at his house for another few hours, Sami made herself a cup of chai tea and thought about Lexy.

  Sami’s friends had stayed committed to the Youth Center, attending each week and mentoring the girls. Many of the teens were coming around, talking more openly, asking for advice and even for prayer. But not Lexy.

  However many times Sami had called the girl, no matter how often she had left a message, she never heard back. She was worried Lexy was caught up in her old way of life.

  Sami sat at the kitchen table and opened her laptop. She usually waited until now to check her email. Especially with Mary Catherine gone and Tyler out of town. Email was one way to pass the lonely nights.

  The last letter from Mary Catherine came a week ago and it was super brief. Just an update on the kids at the orphanage and what they were learning. A quick story about two shady guys and how the volunteer, Ember, had spoken in their language and made the guys leave.

  Mary Catherine asked about Sami, of course, and Tyler and the wedding plans. But like always she said nothing about herself or her health. Nothing about Marcus. Sami had written to her twice since then, but she’d gotten nothing in return.

  Enough. Sami was worried about her friend. She couldn’t shake the fact that something was wrong. Why else would Mary Catherine ignore the question about her health? Every time she asked it?

  Sami opened a new letter and began to write.

  Dear Mary Catherine,

  I’m sitting here late this Saturday night wondering about you. Worried about you, really. The Dodgers won tonight—Marcus pitched the game of his life. He misses you—which I know you didn’t ask about. But he does. It’s obvious to anyone who knows him.

  The thing is, I always tell you the happy things going on here and you tell me the happy things you’re doing there. But I have this really awful feeling tonight that you’re not being fully honest. That something else is going on and you just don’t want to tell me.

  I’ve asked God to protect you, and I know He is. But how is your health, Mary Catherine? How come you don’t talk about your heart? I know you need surgery—you told me you need a valve transplant one of these days. But when? How will you know?

  Please tell me I’m worrying for nothing. Tell me your heart feels perfect and you’re better than ever. All I know is I can’t shake this feeling, and I hate it.

  Oh, and something else. I picked out my wedding dress today. You should’ve been there. I think you’d love it. But tonight I’m not thinking about my dress. I’m thinking about you and whether everything is okay. Because I can’t get around this feeling.

  So please . . . write to me and tell me you’re okay. Or tell me the truth. Whatever the truth is. Love you and miss you, Sami

  The letter was more abrupt than anything Sami had written before. She needed to get Mary Catherine’s attention, needed to know that everything was okay. Otherwise why hadn’t she written back?

  Sami read it one more time, then she hit the send button. Before she could change her mind.

  NORMALLY AFTER PITCHING a complete game, Marcus could feel the ache in his arm for three days. But that Monday morning—their day off—the pain in his bicep and shoulder was nothing to the hurt in his heart.

  Yesterday, Mary Catherine had finally written to him. But the letter was brief and impersonal. He took his coffee to his back porch and stared at the treetops in the neighborhood below his. The dense clouds and cool temperatures this September morning suited his mood.

  Marcus pulled out his phone and read the email once more.

  Hi, Marcus, it’s me. I know, you’re probably wondering why I didn’t write sooner, but you know me. Always running. I guess I finally figured it couldn’t hurt to drop you a note and tell you how much I’m loving it here. The teaching and the children—all of it is exactly what I needed. I really do belong here—just like I told you. Because of that, I committed to staying another two months. Through November at least, when another teacher will arrive to replace me. The kids need someone, and I really want to stay.

  By now I’m sure you’re dominating the play-offs. I follow you on Twitter, so I know you’ve been playing some of your best baseball.

  Anyway, I’m sorry so much time has passed. I think of you still.

  Love, Mary Catherine

  Marcus slipped his phone back in the pocket of his jeans and exhaled hard. Every memory of Mary Catherine was filled with depth and beauty. She was like no other girl he knew. Yet it was like someone else had written the entire letter. Factual, breezy. Nothing she wouldn’t have said to an acquaintance.

  All except the last line.

  I think of you still . . . Marcus closed his eyes. Lord, I’m so frustrated. What is it with that girl? And why won’t she let me see what she’s really feeling? Why is she keeping her distance?

  He waited, but there was no answer, nothing audible. Instead he felt the slightest sense of fear. A panic, almost. Or maybe it was just the not knowing that was clouding his mind. For a minute he let himself sit in the anxiety, just live in it. What is it, God? Is something wrong with her?

  A verse came to mind, one he had read last night as part of his devotions. It was from Proverbs 4:23—Ab
ove all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life. He thought hard about the message there. Guard your heart . . . The words were pure wisdom. Especially after the way Mary Catherine had treated him.

  But he had the feeling they applied to Mary Catherine, too. He stood and walked to the balcony railing. Was that what Mary Catherine was doing? Guarding her heart? Was she keeping something from him as a way of preserving her own peace of mind?

  Or was there some other meaning he was supposed to take from the verse?

  Marcus peered into the cloudy sky. It reminded him of Mary Catherine. He could study her and look deeply in her direction, but always there was this layer of clouds he could never quite see through.

  What am I supposed to do, God? How can I help her?

  My son, go to her. Go to Africa.

  Marcus took a step back. The voice was clear and powerful, audible. Or at least it seemed that way. Lord? A cold feeling ran down his arms. You . . . you want me to go to her? He dropped slowly to the nearest chair. I already tried that. She doesn’t want to see me.

  Listen to me, my son. Trust me.

  Again the voice! Marcus jumped up and looked around. It took a few seconds before he could settle down enough to sit. Was the voice really God’s? What sense did it make? Why would God want him to go to Africa? Marcus rubbed the back of his neck and tried to make sense of the voice. It was too clear to ignore.

  But if he went to Africa, Mary Catherine would think he was crazy. What possible purpose could there be in taking a trip like that? She’d already made herself very clear. Mary Catherine had moved on without him. She wanted him to do the same.

  But then . . . if God wanted him to go to Africa, maybe there was a different reason. A reason Marcus didn’t know about yet. He thought about booking a flight but stopped himself. Flights could wait—since the idea of going seemed ludicrous. But there was something he could do. Just in case.

  Marcus checked his schedule. He and Tyler had talked about getting dinner later since Sami had a teen moms meeting at the Youth Center. But between now and then he was completely open. He walked back into the house even before the idea was fully formed. An hour later he was at the reception desk of the clinic in Santa Monica.