“Inspired by her,” Cassidy added.
As the first meeting of the Christmas Angels broke up and they hurried to their cars in the cold night air, Belinda felt a warm rush of hope going through her. This could be interesting!
5
As Cassidy drove home, she started to concoct her own angel plan. She knew that it would somehow have to involve animals. For as long as Cassidy could remember, she had felt a deep affinity for all creatures. Whether it was goldfish, lizards, or guinea pigs, pets had helped Cassidy through a troubled childhood and unhappy home life. It was why she eventually became a veterinarian. And she knew that helping critters was the same as helping their human owners, because anyone who loved an animal knew how troubling it could be if your pet’s health was in peril.
Cassidy suddenly remembered the elderly woman who’d come into the veterinary clinic that morning. Old Mrs. Morgan had paid taxi fare to get her sick cat some much-needed help. She didn’t even have an appointment and was barely in the reception area before she tearfully confessed she’d never taken Muffin to a veterinarian before—and that the eleven-year-old cat had no vaccinations whatsoever.
Mrs. Morgan explained it was partly because vet care was so expensive and partly because, without a car, it was too inconvenient. But she clearly loved Muffin and wanted her kitty to get medical help, even though she became quite distressed when Cassidy insisted the sick feline needed to spend at least one night at the vet clinic in order to get her stabilized. Cassidy had promised to call that evening with updates, which she’d done, and she’d even offered to drop Muffin back at the woman’s house when the cat was well enough to return to her home. Hopefully tomorrow.
But now it was all formulating into an angel plan. As Cassidy turned into her condo parking place, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. When she wasn’t working, which seemed like most of the time, she would start making “house calls” to elderly people with pets—owners like Mrs. Morgan who couldn’t pay for them. Of course, she knew she’d need to clear this with her boss, Dr. Auberon. If he gave his okay, she would figure out a way to make it work. Perhaps he might even want to donate some vaccinations and the basic medications, or at least give her a discount.
As she walked up the stairs to her condo unit, she knew that she needed to respect the group’s desire to keep their angel club anonymous. She would explain to Dr. Auberon that this was something she wanted to do during the Christmas season as a gift to disadvantaged pet owners and their pets during the holidays. Hopefully her boss would catch the spirit and want to help.
Cassidy turned on the lights as she went inside, calling out to her own kitties in a sweet tone. Kitties that were thankfully in perfect health, even if they were acting standoffish tonight. Naturally, they wanted to punish her for leaving them alone for the evening. Spoiled felines!
“Fine,” she said as she hung up her coat. “Be that way.” She removed the soft bundle from her coat pocket, peeling back the tissue paper to examine the beautiful ornament that Abby had made, studying it closely in the bright overhead light. With its pale blue eyes and dishwater-blonde hair (that Abby always called honey-blonde) there was no doubt this angel was meant to resemble Cassidy. Except that it wasn’t a chubby angel—that would’ve been more accurate. This angel was slender and graceful.
Worried that her cats might get ahold of the fragile figure, she hung it on the chain to the overhead fan light. It would be safe there. And every time she passed by, it would remind her of Abby and her angel friends . . . and the project she hoped to get off the ground as soon as possible.
Cassidy kicked off her shoes and sat down on the couch, but as soon as she reached for her iPad, Bess and Lulu came trotting over in a territorial way. Leaping onto the couch and climbing into her lap, they rubbed their furry faces against her hands and the edges of the iPad, making it impossible to read the news story she’d pulled up.
“You cats are so predictable.” She closed the iPad cover, pausing to pet her two fickle felines. “If I want you to come to me, you refuse. If I want you to stay away, you won’t leave me alone.” But then she knew that was the independent nature of a cat. They did as they pleased—the owner could take it or leave it.
She sighed as she leaned her head back into the couch—a man would probably be even harder to live with than cats. Except that a man could visit with her . . . prepare a meal with her . . . rub her tired feet . . . take a walk with her . . . and lots of other things cats were incapable of. Not that there were any fabulous available men around—at least none that she knew of anyway. None that were interested in someone like her. And so it was just her and the cats. The spinster cat lady.
As Grace went into her house, she could hear the TV blaring all the way from the basement. It sounded like a football game. Joel always had ESPN cranked up these days, but even more so when she was out. Without calling down a hello like she knew she should, she quietly closed the door to the basement then went into the kitchen where she pulled out her angel ornament and stared at it.
There was a comfort in knowing Abby had made this for her, but it was no substitute for Abby’s friendship. Grace doubted that she’d ever find another friend like Abby. Although she’d been surprised that Belinda had seemed a tad bit warmer tonight, she doubted it was as much an invitation to friendship as it was respect for Abby.
Normally, Grace felt like Belinda didn’t much like her. Abby always assured her that was ridiculous. She used to say how it took time to get to know Belinda, and for a while Grace had tried to be friendlier, but it seemed the more she tried, the more distant Belinda became. Finally, Grace decided that Belinda didn’t want to be friends. Or else she was a snob. But tonight Belinda had seemed almost sweet. At least for Belinda.
Grace set her angel ornament next to a collection of white candles on the dining table, promising herself that she’d put out some more Christmas decorations over the weekend. And somehow she needed to come up with a strategy to do some kind of angelic work. Grace didn’t like to admit this—to anyone, including herself—but she was rather selfish. At least that’s what her mother used to tell her. And Joel sometimes hinted at the same thing. The truth was, Grace knew how to keep up a cheerful and generous persona, but her motives were often self-centered. She was great at helping the kind of people who could help her back. Helping someone who couldn’t reciprocate—well, that was a new concept to her—something she’d never been comfortable with.
She went to the kitchen for a bottle of sparkling water, noticing that Joel had left a mess. Why was it so hard to put dirty dishes in the dishwasher? As she rinsed them off and shoved them into the appliance, she was not thinking angelic thoughts. Fortunately, Joel wasn’t near enough for her to rag on him. Another less-than-angelic behavior. Was she proud of this? Of course not. But, as she’d pointed out to Joel often enough, they both worked outside of the home—wasn’t it fair that they both worked inside of it too?
As she wiped off the sticky countertops, she knew Joel’s standards of housekeeping weren’t the same as hers. They never had been. Where it often felt as if he’d been raised by wolves, she probably could pass for an OCD sufferer. But could she help it if she liked a tidy house? A place for everything and everything in its place—what was wrong with that? Why after nearly twenty-five years of marriage did Joel not get this?
Tidy efficiency was especially important in her line of work. A designer’s home should be like an example. It should be lovely to look at, a way to gain clients by showing what happens when functionality meets fashion. It simply made sense. But not according to Joel. Her down-to-earth Realtor husband thought a home should look warm and inviting and lived in. If that meant shoes on the floor and a newspaper splashed across the coffee table, so much the better. Sometimes it felt like he did those things simply to aggravate her!
Shortly after the twins left for college, the finished basement had become Joel’s domain—his man cave. As a result, their paths seldom crossed after the workday. And sinc
e they would probably just argue about the twins and their rather uncertain future, maybe that was a good thing. Still, it was lonely. And getting lonelier by the day. Especially with winter around the corner . . . and with Abby gone.
Grace wandered out into their great room. Unlike the chic, stylish space she’d created for Louisa and Adam, this room felt warmer with its earth tones and stone and wood. Joel had insisted upon what he called “casual livability.” Naturally, this made sense when the twins were young and at home, but her secret plan had always been to redecorate their empty nest in a stylish contemporary design. Unfortunately, with college tuition and the general economy, finances had been tight. For all Grace knew, she could be stuck with casual livability for a long time.
She sank down into the leather sectional that faced the big stone fireplace, staring into the empty black hole inside of it and wondering if the chimney needed cleaning and how long it had been since they’d lit a fire. She let out a long sigh. When had she become so discontent? And what was she going to do about it? She thought of the angel pact that had been made tonight. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but in the light of day, would she really be able to do anything about it? Anything that mattered or made any difference? And, if so, what would it be?
As she sipped her water, she wondered what Abby would do. Of course, that was ridiculous. Abby would simply keep doing what Abby had been doing all along. Reaching out to everyone around her, loving on everyone, helping everyone, just being Abby—the earth angel.
More than anyone Grace had ever known, Abby had been almost completely unselfish. Perhaps that was what had continued to draw Grace to her over the years. If only Grace could be more like her. But it seemed too hard. And now her example was gone. Why bother trying?
Louisa felt a slight spring in her step as she cleaned up after book group, aka their first Christmas Angels’ meeting. Getting the girls together tonight had definitely been a step in the right direction. It had been so fulfilling to see their faces light up as they discussed their plan to become earth angels.
As she sealed a plate of leftovers with plastic wrap, some doubts started creeping into her thoughts. What if she’d overstepped some invisible line? Claiming she knew they were supposed to transform themselves into Christmas angels was a bit presumptuous. And yet it had felt so right. Still, as she turned on the dishwasher, she wasn’t so sure. What if she wasn’t up to the task herself? It was one thing to talk the talk—something altogether different to walk the walk. It would be humiliating to admit to her friends that she had failed at the very idea she’d suggested.
“I will not fail,” she declared as she rinsed the sink. Yet, as she turned out the kitchen light, more doubts washed over her. What did she have to offer . . . to anyone? She was sixty-three and had never pursued a real career. How could someone like her be of any help to anyone? And yet she had presumed to take the lead with her friends tonight, acting as if she were completely comfortable with what was now feeling like the impossible dream. What had she been thinking?
As she walked through her stylish home, she felt like a phony. Most people assumed she was wealthy, and she seldom bothered to set the record straight. The truth was, she and Adam had lost almost everything in the recent economic slump. Their lovely home was under water, and sometimes—in her most honest moments—she felt that Adam’s heart attack had been related to the stress of losing their retirement funds. The only person she’d ever confessed any of this to was Abby. Now her confidante and friend was gone.
As Louisa turned off lights in her house, she prayed, asking God to help her and to teach her how to be an earth angel. After noticing a light still on in the room that used to be her art studio, she went back to turn it off. But when had she turned it on? Before flipping the switch, Louisa glanced around the neglected studio, the neatly arranged shelves of art supplies. A wall of windows. The blank canvases leaning against an old buffet, with various artifacts and items from nature as well as jars of paintbrushes on top.
Everything was ready and waiting for the artist to arrive and go to work. Such a waste. She was about to turn out the light when she noticed a faded old flyer atop a stack of sketch pads. She picked it up, scanning it and trying to remember why she’d kept it. The flyer was about an art therapy program offered by Pine Grove Parks and Recreation.
Now she remembered having a phone conversation with a woman named Fran—not too long before Adam passed away. Louisa had inquired about the program, explaining how she’d had an interest in helping with something like that. She had promised to stop by the park and rec building, and Fran had promised to send out a flyer. Fran had kept her promise, but Louisa had not. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.
Belinda had tossed and turned all night, finally waking up on the cusp of an interesting dream. As she dressed for work, she reran the dream through her head. She’d been in some sort of a gymnasium that had a bunch of metal drums, the kind that oil was shipped in. The drums were filled with random items of clothing. Nothing was very nice or interesting, and some of the items, like frying pans and bath mats, weren’t clothes at all, but somehow she was supposed to use the contents of those barrels to clothe about a dozen pretty girls for an important fashion show. As soon as she’d get an outfit put together, it would all start falling apart. Very frustrating.
As she walked to town, she wondered what the dream meant. The idea of doing a fashion show was rather appealing. She’d never actually done something like that before, but with the clothes in her shop, it wouldn’t be difficult. Certainly much easier than using what was in those fifty-five-gallon barrels. But what would be the point of giving a fashion show? To get business perhaps? Yes, that wasn’t a bad idea. But weren’t fashion shows usually meant to be fund-raisers? That’s when it hit her—a fund-raiser fashion show could be her angel project. But how would it work? What would be a good cause to donate to?
Belinda had several nonprofits she contributed to, but none of them seemed quite right for a fashion show. She wanted something she felt really connected with—something she could care about and really throw her energy into. Isn’t that what an angel project should be like?
As she unlocked the front door of Glad Rags, she noticed the city workers finishing up with putting the Christmas decorations on the lampposts. The town was starting to look quite festive. Even her shop, with its colorful display, was looking rather cheery. Belinda wished that she felt as cheery as it looked.
She went inside and started turning on lights, cranking up the heat, and generally straightening what was already a nice, tidy shop. She turned on her music, a handpicked selection of jazz and alternative tunes, then went into her office to do some bookwork and check on the internet for good deals on quality resale garments. This was her early-morning routine. Customers rarely came in this time of the day, and if they did, she’d hear the bell jingling and go out there.
She had just finished up a few things when she decided to check her email. She dumped the usual spam pieces and then opened something from a sender she didn’t recognize. It appeared to have been sent several days ago, but she hadn’t checked the shop’s email account since Abby’s death.
Dear Ms. Michaels,
I’m the new principal at McKinley High. One of my faculty members mentioned your name, explaining that you run a thrift shop that’s quite popular with young people. I’m sad to admit that many of our female students are both fashion- and financially challenged. I find this very frustrating.
May I be so bold as to ask if you would ever consider partnering with our school in some kind of a fashion project? I honestly don’t know how this would play out, but I feel so sad when I see some of these girls trudging around in outfits that could make a streetwalker blush. We do have a dress code here, but I’m discovering it was rarely enforced by the previous principal and, not wanting to become the “Nazi principal,” as one girl called me yesterday, I’m hesitant to be overly hard-nosed about this. I know I’m probably asking for a miracle here, b
ut I thought I’d give it a try. Any help is appreciated.
Thanks,
Carey Trellis
Belinda reread the email, and thanks to her weird dream, she immediately began toying with the idea of doing a fashion show at McKinley High. On one hand, it seemed crazy . . . but on the other hand, who knew? Maybe it could be a fund-raiser? Or even a way to help guide the fashion-challenged girls? She wasn’t sure. But she was willing.
The more she thought about how much Emma and her friends had liked shopping at Glad Rags, she wondered if there might even be more she could do for these girls. But what exactly? Well, she decided, if nothing else she would continue this conversation with the frustrated principal. And she had to give the woman credit—most principals probably wouldn’t go to this effort. Certainly not old Mrs. Crandall (aka Mrs. Cranky back when Belinda’s daughter was at McKinley). Belinda had always been supportive of community involvement in the local schools. Just because Emma had moved on was no reason for her to stop.
So she emailed Carey back, saying she would love to help her with her fashion-challenged girls. She even mentioned her fashion show idea and how she’d like to do some kind of fund-raiser. By the time she hit Send, she felt slightly enthused. This might actually be fun. Well, unless it turned out to be a giant headache. And that was possible. Belinda knew, from her own daughter and her friends, how fickle adolescents could be about fashion. It could be like walking through a nuclear minefield. Was she really up for the challenge?
6
Cassidy had felt hopeful as she went into the vet clinic on Friday morning, but by the time she finished her four-hour shift, her spirits had sunk considerably. Dr. Auberon seemed determined to play the role of Mr. Scrooge in her idea of offering free pet health care to the needy.
“If I start giving away my services to some clients, what will the others say?”
The Christmas Angel Project Page 4