Dinner with Andrew

by Martha Williamson

  “It would interest me greatly.”

  “The first time I realized what death was, I was horrified. Horrified,” she said. “Almost sick to my stomach.”

  “Why is that?” Andrew asked.

  “Because I realized one day I would die, and it would make absolutely no difference.”

  “But, Kate—”

  She held up a hand, warding off his interruption. “Listen. It struck me like a punch in the stomach—the sun would still rise, people would go to work, get married, make love, quarrel, eat in great restaurants, sleep late, get fired—the world would go on, except I would not be part of it. People talk about the loss involved in death—but they’re talking about the people who continue to live. The real loss is to the deceased. Dying, Andrew, is losing. And because we are all born to die, we all end up losers in the end.”

  “No, no, no, Kate. You can’t look at it that way.” Andrew took another stab at it, trying to make her see the danger she was in. “Kate, I know you don’t believe in God. But He believes in you.”

  Kate tossed down her napkin and threw herself back in her chair. “Oh, come on, Andrew. Get off it! You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.”

  Andrew had no choice but to persist. “God has sent me to be with you when you die. And if heaven is where you want to go, I’ll be there to help you get there. I am an angel, Kate, and you are facing death—but not five years from now. Tonight, Kate.” He leaned forward and put as much force behind the word as he dared. “Tonight.”

  For a moment she stared at him, horror-struck. Then her face hardened, and her eyes closed. Andrew could see that he was losing her, that her heart was shutting tight.

  “You . . . are crazy,” she said angrily. “And I am getting out of here—now.”

  She reached for her purse, but before she could stand and leave, there was a terrible sound in the room. Norman Delmonico had risen to his feet, both of his hands at his neck. Horrible, strangled sounds were forcing themselves up through his constricted throat. It seemed that more than one person would face death that night. Mr. Norman Delmonico was fighting for his life.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mr. Delmonico!” Monica was the first to react to Norman’s predicament. She dashed across the room. Delmonico was doubled over the table, coughing and choking.

  “I saw this coming a mile away,” said Tess.

  Kate took charge immediately, reacting the way any doctor would in an emergency—quickly, instinctively, decisively. She grabbed Delmonico by the chin and raised his head.

  “Can you breathe?” she demanded.

  There was a look of terror in Delmonico’s eyes as he shook his head to say no. By now the obstruction in his throat was complete. He could feel the blanket of unconsciousness stealing over him and he knew, in his soul, that death trailed in its wake. Suddenly, he realized, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was dying.

  But Kate Calder did not allow people to die on her watch. First she grabbed the knot of his tie and yanked it loose. Then she stood behind him, bracing her hip against his lower back, and strategically placed her right fist about an inch or so above his belly button. She covered her right hand with her left, and pulled sharply and quickly in and upward.

  “Come on, Norman,” Kate said through clenched teeth. With surprising strength she yanked him off the floor, forcing air up through his throat. “Come on, Norman. You’re not gonna die. Not now. Not if I can help it.”

  Tess was not so sure. She shot a sideways glance at Andrew. “You know anything about this, Andrew?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “But I’m ready for it.” No matter how many times he experienced it, Andrew found it hard to watch people die. It always seemed to tear his heart from its moorings.

  Norman’s face grew more and more red. There was a haze in front of his eyes, and his weight was dead in Kate Calder’s arms. His eyes flickered, looking at what he thought would be his last sight on earth. He saw the worry on Tess’ face, the distraught look in Monica’s eyes.

  Then he saw Andrew, who stood in a pool of heavenly gold light. His black tuxedo was gone and in its place, he wore a dazzling white suit, his uniform as the Angel of Death. Norman Delmonico’s eyes widened as he stared at Andrew, feeling his fear melt away in the calm of Andrew’s smile. Kate’s urgent voice hissing in his ear faded away. Suddenly all was silent and he felt a great peace pass through him, a feeling of relief, a sense of having put down a heavy burden.

  Then—without warning—it all came rushing back. The lump of half-chewed veal dislodged itself from his throat and he took a huge breath, coughing and gagging as he did so. He sank down in his chair and slumped forward, gasping for breath. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Oh, my Lord,” he groaned. “I can’t believe it.”

  Kate’s heart was pounding in her chest and her own breath was coming fast, an adrenaline rush screaming through her. It would take a while for her to calm down.

  “Thank God,” she said. “You’re okay, Norman, just take slow deep breaths.” She looked to Monica. “Could we have a glass of water here, please?”

  Monica grabbed a glass and filled it. Norman took a small sip and then looked up at Kate and the angels. His chest was still heaving, and there were tears in his eyes.

  “I’m . . . so sorry,” he gasped. He looked old and worn. “I’m so terribly sorry . . .”

  Kate sighed heavily. “Man, that was close. That was very, very close. Norman, you had me worried there for a minute.”

  Norman nodded. “I know,” he wheezed. “I know . . . I could feel myself dying.” His voice was unsteady and quavered wildly. “My life was coming to an end.”

  “Well,” said Kate. “We managed to get around that one, Mr. Delmonico. You cheated death this time.” She glanced over at Andrew. “Funny how that subject keeps coming up, isn’t it? Death seems to be all over the place tonight.”

  Norman did not hear the irony in her voice. He nodded vehemently, as if agreeing with every word she said.

  “Please . . . please don’t laugh at me . . . ,” he said. “I can’t explain it, but I thought I saw the Angel of Death standing right . . .” His eyes lit on Andrew and he paled, then jumped to his feet, his chest heaving. He was terrified, but he could not take his eyes from Andrew’s face. The white suit was gone—he was back in his tuxedo—but Norman knew what he had seen in those few terrifying seconds as he faced his own demise. He had seen the Angel of Death.

  “You!” he said, pointing to Andrew. “It was you! You were ready for me, weren’t you?”

  Kate was stunned by this and looked to Andrew. But he seemed his usual calm self. He smiled at Norman.

  “Yes,” Andrew replied easily. “It was me. But as you can see, you’re fine after all. You don’t need me now, sir.”

  “You really should take smaller bites,” said Monica, a little smile on her lips. “Chew, chew, chew. That’s why God went to the trouble of inventing the incisors.”

  Norman looked around, fear and bewilderment showing in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, “but I’d like to leave now. I have to go.”

  Tess stepped up and patted him on the back, like a mother comforting a child who had just awakened from a nightmare. “I think that is a very good idea, baby,” she said. “And don’t worry about paying a bill. The dinner is free, on the house.”

  “Thank you,” the elderly man gasped. Norman grabbed his coat and started for the door—then he stopped, turned back, and grabbed the wine bottle (there was still at least a glass’ worth in it). Then he made a dash for the door.

  “My goodness,” said Monica, a little breathless. “I had no idea the restaurant business could be so exciting.”

  “Too exciting, if you want my opinion,” Tess growled. “And it’s hard work too.”

  Kate had nothing to say to any of them. She snatched up her purse and started for the door. Andrew tried to stop her.

  “Kate,” he called out. “We still have to talk.”<
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  There was real fear in Kate’s eyes. “No,” she said. “No we don’t.” She turned and ran.

  “Kate!” Andrew yelled, taking a step to follow her. But Tess put out a hand and stopped him.

  “Let her go, baby,” she said gently. “She’s just not ready to hear you quite yet.”

  Andrew stopped and sighed, his shoulders slumped wearily. He knew that Tess was right.

  Kate caught up with Norman Delmonico down Madison Avenue. The esteemed restaurant critic was waving frantically at taxis—the drivers slowed to pick him up but then sped away when they saw that their fare was a wild-eyed man clutching an open bottle of wine.

  “Taxi! Taxi!” he yelled. “Oh, why don’t they stop!” Delmonico managed to take a moment to calm himself and he thrust the open bottle into the pocket of his raincoat and tried again. This time a taxi cruised to a halt. But Kate could not let him get away. She had to speak to him. She had to find out exactly what he had seen. She picked up the hem of her long gown and ran after him as fast as her high heels would allow.

  “Mr. Delmonico!” Kate called. “Wait!”

  Norman was half in the cab when he saw her. He hesitated a moment, then turned back to face her.

  “Are . . . are you one, too?” His voice wavered and she could see that he was still terrified. Norman Delmonico would never be the same again. He had looked into the face of an angel and somehow, he felt he had been in the very presence of God.

  “No, no,” she said quickly. “I’m not . . . no.” Kate was almost as agitated as Delmonico, her words spilling out. “Please, please tell me. What did you see? What happened up there?”

  Delmonico took a deep breath. “You were there,” he said. “You saw what was happening. I almost died. You saved my life. But he . . . he was waiting for me.”

  Kate grabbed Norman by the shoulders. “Andrew?”

  “Yes.”

  “The man in the tuxedo?”

  Delmonico nodded and swallowed hard. “Yes . . . yes, but he wasn’t wearing that anymore. He was wearing . . . I don’t know how to explain it. He was wearing clothes, but more . . . real. He had hair and hands and a face, but they were more . . . they were more.” Delmonico strained to put into words just what he had seen. “It was as if for all my life I’d been looking at nothing more than a reflection of the world and then suddenly I saw—I really saw what the world was made of—I’m sorry. I just can’t explain it.”

  He did not have the words to explain it, but Kate did. She knew exactly what the old man was trying to convey, and now she knew that all Andrew had said was true. She could hardly believe it, but she knew in the deepest part of her that there was no way now that she could bring herself to deny it.

  “You saw the ultimate reality,” she said, but it was as if she were talking to herself.

  “Yes! Yes, that’s it,” said Delmonico. “That’s it exactly. Tell me, please, what were you talking about? What did the angel tell you? You must tell me.”

  “Then he is an angel,” Kate said, looking up at the building as if expecting to see Andrew up there in the dark windows.

  “Yes!” Delmonico almost yelped. “It’s incredible. It’s terrifying. But it’s wonderful too! But what did he tell you?”

  “He told me—” Suddenly her voice was tight and blocked by hot tears. “He told me that I’m going to die tonight.”

  The words hit Delmonico like a slap and he recoiled, staggering back a few steps, the look on his face a mixture of awe and terror. Kate turned away and walked back toward the building, the blinding reality of her situation pulsing through her brain. Suddenly she realized that her life depended on what she had just left behind.

  The “Chez Tess” plaque was gone and, with a rising panic, she discovered that the tall glass double doors of the office block were locked tight. Overcome with dread and alarm, she surrendered to the hysteria resonating within her. Terrible wracking sobs rose up and shook her and she pounded on the door, desperate to get back inside.

  “Open the door! Please!” The words had to force themselves out, pushing through her cries, but the doors were unyielding. Anguish overcame her like a great, dark cloud and she sank to her knees on the cold stone floor, sobbing wretchedly in the doorway, alone in the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  There was only one place Kate could go.

  Her home—two bare, rather antiseptic rooms in a nondescript apartment building in the East 30s—held no attraction for her. It was nothing more than a place where she slept, changed her clothes, and ordered takeout meals for one. Her true home, the place where she felt comfortable, was the laboratory at Nichols BioTech. So it was there she went, returning to her place in the world like a homing pigeon.

  Of course, at that hour, the lab was empty and dark, the most dedicated of the researchers having called it a night many hours before. In fact, on an ordinary night, a night less important than this one, Kate herself would probably have been the last to leave.

  She was glad that the place was empty, because she was still distraught and terrified, and the last thing she wanted was to be seen in such a state. Her hands were trembling as she unlocked the door to the building, and it was all she could do to punch her code number into the alarm plate just inside the front door. She swept down the familiar hallways, running for the lab, the click of her high heels loud and eerie in the empty space.

  Kate was going to her research the way a certain type of believer seeks out a Bible. It was something to hold close, something to have faith in—something that just might be able to save her. Kate had never before been so frightened— not of dying. She had never been afraid of dying. Now she found herself terrified by the notion of the unknown. She needed the safety and security of knowledge to save her. And yet finding herself in her beloved laboratory did not bring the comfort she had hoped for.

  She had completely forgotten about the safe. It had been installed that day, really just a few hours before—but it was a day that already seemed to be part of a very distant past. Kate could not believe that so much had changed in such a short time. Her life, her beliefs, had been shaken to the very roots by a series of events she could never have foreseen. No one—no mortal being— could have guessed what the Books and Bachelors Luncheon and the auction would set in motion. Before that night, Kate Calder had never thought for a moment about the possibility of the existence of angels. Now she was surrounded by them.

  Kate snapped on the desk lamp and swiveled the arm until it hung precariously over the edge of the counter. The light shone on the safe, the LED code glowing red in the semidarkness: “System Locked.” She knelt at the safe and began to punch in her access number—but in that moment the desk lamp toppled over, crashing to the floor. Kate screamed and jumped back, accidentally hitting the panel of buttons on the lock pad, scrambling the numbers. Instantly the red LED readout changed, flashing “System Frozen,” followed by the message: “Begin 12 hr sequence.” Numbers began ticking a second at a time, moving backward from 12:00.

  For a moment, Kate could not quite comprehend what had happened, staring in shock at the numbers and the message.

  “No, no, no, no!” Kate’s voice ran the scale from a moan to a scream as she desperately began hitting the keypad, frantically trying to override the system and enter the correct code. Like a mother cut off from an infant child, she ached to get at her papers. They were the only things, she thought, that could keep her whole and sane through the rest of the dark night.

  But the system she had insisted on worked too well. She pounded the safe angrily, furious at this stupid, inanimate object—but also angry at herself, angry at her stupidity and her overweening pride. Slumping to the floor, her head in her hands, she fought her tears for as long as she could but, inevitably, surrendered to them.

  “Oh, God,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to die. Help me. Please . . . Oh, God, help me . . .”

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Andrew softly.

  Kate turned and saw Andrew st
anding in the doorway. The tuxedo was gone, replaced by his white suit. In the dim light of the room he was glowing, shining with a brilliant light, filling the once dim room with God’s love.

  Kate felt her throat go dry, and for a moment it was difficult for her to find the words to say. “You are the angel,” she said, “the Angel of Death, aren’t you?”

  Andrew nodded. “Yes, I am.”

  Kate knew what she was feeling in that moment. Andrew’s sudden appearance had swept away the panic and the fear that had threatened to overwhelm her. In its place she felt a strange calm sweep through her. She could feel the peace deep inside her. She looked at him for a long moment, then sat down on the floor and laughed— and she knew that she was laughing at herself.

  “Funny,” she said. “It’s really funny . . . I studied all the textbooks, read all the journals, and I always had some strange peace thinking I at least knew what disease I would die from and, more or less, when I would go.” She shook her head, amazed that she could have been so positive about something over which she had no control. “I never counted on an accident, something random coming along to interrupt my carefully planned calendar. An accident . . . is that how it’s going to happen, Andrew?”

  Very slowly, Andrew got down on his knees, his face level with Kate’s. “I don’t know exactly how or when, Kate,” he said gently. “But I do know this: that when it happens, I’ll be there . . . Kate, I don’t want to scare you, but if I’ve been sent here to show you the way home, then there’s a reason. And that reason is usually death.”

  Kate studied his face for a moment and then realized that there was only one thing to do.

  “So,” she said with a shrug, “we wait.”

  “On the other hand, death could come very close to you and pass you by. It happens all the time . . .”