Garrett nodded. “Claire,” he called as she began to back away. “You are a woman of your word, right?” When she didn’t respond he added, “You seem as though you would be.”
Claire breathed in and held it for a moment as she looked into the distance. The night had not gone as she’d planned. Now she was being asked for her word. Yes, she was a woman of her word…most of the time, and especially when pressed. Why was he asking? Did he inherently know? If she said yes, under the circumstances, was she bound by her word? Yes, she supposed she was. At last she nodded. “My yes is yes. I’ll be waiting and watching. 10:30 sharp on Sunday morning.”
Garrett smiled. “Thank you.”
“You may change your mind. You don’t really know me.” She pushed away from the car with a laugh.
He shook his head. No, he didn’t know her at all. He’d lived enough of life, however, to believe their paths must have crossed that evening for a definite reason. He wondered if he’d ever find out why.
“You losin’ your touch, Miss?” Garrett heard the doorman teasing her again.
“Nah, Charlie. I got lucky in a different way tonight.” She elbowed the older gentleman. “I found me an angel. What was his name? Clarence maybe? Oh listen… I think I hear a bell ringing.”
He heard the doorman chuckle as Claire disappeared behind the heavy wood and beveled glass doors of the grand building.
“Not an angel with these thoughts!” he whispered as he drove away.
* * * * *
Claire sat down on the edge of her bed to remove her shoes. She laid her phone on the nightstand next to the two waiting pill bottles then pulled off her earrings. She placed them next to the phone and picked up the bottles. She put her empty hand over her heart and realized for the first time in a very long time she hadn’t thought about the hurt inside for many hours. Maybe Garrett really was an angel. She considered the idea. Either way he’d altered the course of her life. She opened the nightstand drawer and dropped the bottles inside. She was suddenly very tired. Garrett was right. It was late. She looked at her phone and shook her head as she realized she hadn’t gotten his number. Now the true question… was he a man of his word? Would he show on Sunday morning?
As she stood to prepare for bed, her phone began to play its jingle.
“Hello?” she spoke into it.
“Funny thing... as I was driving home, I realized two things,” Garrett’s voice sounded through the phone.
“And those two things would be what, Dr. O’Bryan?” Garrett could tell Claire was smiling as she spoke. It made his own lips curve upward.
“You left your scarf/wrap thingy in my car. It smells wonderful, by the way. And you have no way to get hold of me should the need arise.”
Claire’s laughter sounded gaily through the phone. “I thought perhaps you were an angel, Dr. O’Bryan, but I think you’re a mind reader instead.”
“Perhaps,” he answered. “Most likely I was thinking how nice it would be to hear your voice and what an ego booster it would be if you called when I realized you didn’t have my number.”
“Well, now I do, and I thank you for thinking of calling. But I do have to ask… how do you know my wrap smells good?”
Garrett laughed. “I knew you’d catch me on that one the moment the words left my mouth. You never disappoint, do you Claire?”
“I certainly try not to…”
The conversation continued with the expected tones and volleying banter for a few more moments before they again said farewell. Each stated again how much they were looking forward to Sunday brunch.
“Good night, Garrett,” Claire’s voice caressed his ear.
“Yes it was,” he said. “See you Sunday.”
* * * * *
Claire was surprised to see it was nearing 10:00 the next morning when her eyes finally fluttered open to stay. After but a moment’s hesitation she threw back the covers and climbed from the comfort of the silky sheets. The carpet was soft beneath her bare feet. Her robe caressed her body with a velvety delight and Claire realized her senses were on edge. She was feeling life full out. No drugs, scant alcohol, no man to share her bed. This was reality.
Another reality hit her as she entered the bathroom and met her own reflection in the etched glass mirror. The deeply cut lines framed her like a beautiful portrait. As she stared at herself, she realized how easily she may not have awakened that morning. Had it not been for the chance crossing of paths with Garrett… he really was her Clarence.
“Oh God,” she whispered, “forgive me. Make me see that I am not worthless. No matter what he told me…I can be something to someone…” A sob replaced her words as tears began to fall. She didn’t bother to stop them. It had been a very long time since she’d cried.
Throughout her long, steamy shower the tears came. Though thought did not accompany them, Claire felt refreshed, purged when she emerged from the glass cage. She had the overwhelming desire to do something she hadn’t done in years…paint. With a smile she toweled off, dressed quickly and headed to the sunroom.
Claire opened the double doors that led into the spacious corner room. The light filled her eyes, flooding in from the floor to ceiling windows on two sides meeting in the far corner. Claire had always loved this room. It had been her favorite place as a child; a haven and a place where fond memories were made. This was the one room Claire had left untouched after her parent’s death when she’d moved into the unit full-time. The sunroom needed no redecorating to reflect her. It had always been her room.
She pulled open the carved wooden doors of the spacious storage closet and marveled at its contents just as she had as a little girl. She looked over the vast array of art supplies, so well stocked it rivaled the local shop. She wondered how many had gone bad after years of non-use.
With a deep breath she picked up the old market basket and began to fill it with whatever she believed she’d need. Brushes, jar, pallet, paint tubes… She tucked a canvas board under her arm and grabbed a folded tabletop easel. Satisfied she pushed the doors closed with her foot and went to the table by the windows.
What a view, she thought as she looked out over the city with a renewed love for the sights. She wondered if Garrett had met his destination and was now in the throws of a country brunch. She smiled as she turned back to setting up her table.
Two hours later, Claire was satisfied with her creation. It was different and perhaps not as good as some of her past work. After all, it had been years since she’d painted; not since her father had said it was a worthless pursuit and would take her nowhere. The cancer had hit right after that; another blow to her usefulness in life, according to dear old Daddy.
Claire fought against the pain. Her whole life she’d tried to please him. And then she’d tried to show him he was right. That had almost resulted in her own end. She looked at the painting; an angel slightly resembling Garrett reaching out to an unseen victim. Only her hands were visible. They were Claire’s hands, wearing her mother’s rings. The fingertips of the left hands were barely touching.
Claire was suddenly starving as well as being struck with an overwhelming desire to see an old friend. She quickly rinsed her brushes, returned her supplies to the closet, and busied herself with the task of looking presentable.
Old Joe…she thought about her friend. She wondered if he’d remember her. Five years was a long time.
A quick bite was eaten at the corner deli as she watched the crowd bustling by. She wondered if there was ever not a crowd in the historic neighborhood. She looked across the way to her building and counted up the rows of glass windows to where she’d sat not long before. She was glad to belong to the history; to be a living part.
With intentioned slowness, Claire strolled the three blocks to Old Joe’s art gallery. She knew it was still there. She’d seen it, even seen him a time or two from behind the windows of a cab or looking out of a would-be suitor’s car.
The chimes jingled as she opened the creaky old door, pres
sing hard as the sign directed.
“Be right with you in a couple,” the familiar voice called from somewhere in back. “Feel free to look around.”
“Take your time. I’m in no hurry,” Claire hollered back. Joe immediately came through the drape covered doorway.
“Little Claire Orion. I thought you’d left me for good, Angel.” He came toward her and she hugged him tightly. Claire blinked to hold back tears.
“Just took a wrong turn, Joe. Thanks for welcoming me back on course with open arms.” She patted his scruffy cheek as he released her. “It looks like you’re doing well, old friend.” She gestured to all the pieces of artwork and the vast number with sold tags.
Joe smiled and nodded. “Thanks to you,” he chuckled. “From a street vendor being told to pack up or else, to a shop owner. All because a perfect little girl made mighty demands upon her wealthy father.”
“This old shop was sitting idle because it wasn’t pretty enough for one of his own ventures and, quite frankly, he paid me off because I knew who the woman was who had vacated it.” She elbowed Old Joe. “It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know his only interest in an artist would be the pictures she could paint in his bed.”
“Now, now Missy. No speaking ill of the dead. I worried about you after. Tried to get in touch with you but they shooed me away up there at your big fancy building. Think they thought Old Joe was a gold digger when all I wanted was to check on my angel. No Ma’am - always wanted to make my way doing just exactly what I love. And thanks to you, I been doing just that for nearly thirteen years now.” He hugged her again.
“I’m sorry I never came back, Joe.”
“Ah. You’re here now. Let it go. Always look forward, Angel. No matter what you’ve been through or what life throws at you, the future has the potential to hold greatness. Don’t you ever forget that.” He led her to a small table in the back. “I don’t suppose you want milk and cookies anymore. Look at you. What a fine woman you made. Though there was no doubt in that coming about.”
Claire laughed. She felt like the same little girl inside, especially here with Joe. “How about tea? You always had tea when I had my milk?”
Joe nodded and began preparing their drinks. “You still paint, Claire? I still have requests for your work. I kept the last three, marked sold but still on display. People always want them…”
“I painted this morning for the first time in five years, Joe. Not a great job, but a beginning still.”
Joe nodded. Claire looked away.
“When they took away my ability to make babies, I thought I could still leave a legacy with my artwork. Then he told me it was all worthless, all of it. Then he died… and I wanted to die. But, instead I threw myself into becoming numb… until last night.” She looked back at her old friend. She’d always talked openly with Joe. He’d listened without judgment for all those years while she harbored the pain of her father’s rejection. He’d tried to be a positive male role model in her life. But a father’s love and approval, or lack thereof, was hard, if not impossible to replace.
“And last night?” Joe prodded gently.
Claire smiled. “I’d planned to end it all. Instead I went out for a final meal and met my own angel… I don’t know how it will all end, Joe. I don’t even know him. All I know is that I didn’t do what I’d planned… and I got up this morning and painted, then came to see you.” They stared at each other then laughed. Old Joe handed her the tea and hugged her again.
“I’m so glad you did.”
“Me too.” She nodded. “Me too.”
They talked for over two hours with little interruption before a group came in that Joe knew would require his full attention.
“You know, Claire, I’ve got a couple of kids I’d like you to meet. They come by every now and again…live just down the street. They remind me of another little girl I used to know,” he told her as she helped him clear their dishes.
Claire was quiet as she rinsed the glasses. Joe couldn’t tell what she was thinking but he knew he’d piqued her curiosity.
“There are others who, to those looking in, seem to have it all. But, they’re eaten up with self-doubt and hurt. Sometimes all they need is someone to help them learn to believe in themselves. You rich kids…nobody ever seems to think you have a care. And, even if they did know, nobody knows how to help.”
“What can I do, Joe?” she asked, her voice quiet, thoughtful.
Joe shrugged. “Look inside, Angel. What could have helped you make that turn before last night?”
Claire seemed distant. She was wondering whether it would have made a difference for someone within her own ranks to have told her that her dreams mattered, that what she wanted to pursue was all right. She’d had Joe. But her dad didn’t respect him. Would it have mattered?
“Think on it,” Joe whispered as he steered her toward the front of the shop and changed the subject. “Can I expect more paintings then, my dear? I’d like to take the sold sign off those three up there. The gentleman in the dark blue has been after them for a while now.”
Claire was hesitant. “I’ll try Joe. I may have lost my touch along with my heart. What say we let him have two? Keep the one with the little girl. I’d forgotten all about her, but for some reason, I don’t want to let her go.”
“Artist’s whimsy,” Joe chuckled and motioned for her to go before him. The group eyed them as he hugged her at the front door. “When do you see him again?” he whispered.
“Who?” Claire asked. She was watching the group admiring her painting, though the gentleman in blue was openly admiring her. She smiled at him which, of course, he returned.
“Flirt!” Joe teased. “Shall I introduce you? No, no. You’re to meet your angel. When?”
“How did you know?” she asked, the surprise causing her to step back.
‘It’s Old Joe, Claire.”
She hugged him tightly. “10:30 tomorrow. Sunday brunch.”
“Come see me soon, angel.”
Claire nodded and left. She saw Old Joe removing the sold tag from her paintings and knew he must have told the group she was the artist because they all turned to stare at her through the window. She kept walking. She’d return in a few days to give Old Joe her phone number. He’d surprise her with a request for new pieces at a rather healthy price. She wondered if Old Joe remembered their deal. Half to him and half to the childrens’ center. He’d remember. He was Old Joe.
* * * * *
Sunday morning found Claire unusually nervous as she watched the clock, waiting for the minute hand to tell her it was time to go down to the lobby. She’d actually done a little more painting after she’d left Old Joe the day before. Her artwork seemed different to her now. Something had changed. It lacked the lightness of her younger work, yet it held a depth she’d never before noticed. She thought of the painting of the little girl she’d told Old Joe to hold. It held qualities of both. Claire smiled to herself as she remembered what she’d told Old Joe when she took the piece to him.
“That’s my little girl, Joe,” she’d said.
“You with a blondie with all those dark curls of yours? Hmm. I don’t see it angel.”
“I’m not an angel, Joe. They’re only in Heaven. Besides, I can’t be one. Just ask my dad. He says I’ve got the devil in me and, like all women, I’m already learning to use it to get my own way.” Her scrunched face a pretty good indication that she was hurt and confused by her father’s statement.
“Ah little lady, you’re both right and wrong, but either way I can’t see an ounce of the devil in you. Seems to me you’re just acting like the adults around you.”
She nodded, her young mind trying to process what he’d said. “How is that right and wrong?”
“Well,” he began, sitting a plate of cookies and glass of milk on the table before her. He sat down across from his beautiful angel. “True angels are in heaven. But they’re also all around us.”
“Really?” Her wide eyes held b
oth concern and uncertainty.
“Really. Read your Bible sometime, Claire. You’ll see I’m telling you true.” He nodded. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got one standing beside you right now.”
Claire’s eyes got big a she turned to look and, of course, saw nothing. Still she shuddered a bit and kept glancing to her side.
Joe chuckled as he continued. “Then there are those certain people that will cross your path along your walk of life. They’ll change your course for the good or bad. Those who change it for the better - you have to wonder if they weren’t sent by God. Those are the people I call angels. Perhaps an earthly angel of sorts… that’s what you are to me.” He reached across and touched her cheek. She smiled, kissed his weathered old hand splattered permanently, it seemed, with paint of varying colors.
“I think you’re one too, Joe. For me at least.”
“Nah.” He looked at her with such intense wisdom she couldn’t help but believe his words that followed. “You’ll have your angels, Claire. Old Joe isn’t one of them. But they’ll come. You watch. You’ll see.”
“I think you’re wrong… about you, I mean. But I’ll watch for the others too.” She smiled the smile of a contented child and went back to devouring her cookies. Joe smiled his own smile as he leaned back and took a long sip of his tea.
And there it was, years later, her without the ability to have children and him still holding the painting…the painting of her little girl. Claire thought for a moment, her face masked with disappointment. Maybe the girl in the painting was the only little girl she’d ever have.
Claire glanced over the other works she’d painted the day before, fixating momentarily on the one of Garrett as the angel. Joe had always called her his angel because she’d helped him get set up in his business location and even talked her dad into signing over the deed to him and paying the bills until the old artist was able to stand on his own two feet. Claire wondered if everyone in life had someone who’d been sent to save them.
Arms of an Angel Page 3