Tucker had difficulty sleeping. Every creaking floorboard was a thunderclap. Every car engine jerked him violently out of slumber. When the first rays of sunrise came through the blinds, he finally surrendered to exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep.
It was almost 11 when he finally awoke. He had just finished showering when he heard a pounding on his door.
“What now?” he said, awkwardly feeling for the sleeves of a green plaid bathrobe. The pounding on the door got louder.
“I’m coming,” yelled Tucker. “I’m coming. At least they’re not kicking it down this time.”
He swung open the door and looked into the scowling, livid face of Aly McLaughlin.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she said.
“Oh, God,” said Tucker, turning around and letting himself fall onto the sofa. “How did you find out where I live?”
“I got a call from Victoria this morning,” said Aly, walking into the apartment and standing right in front of Tucker. “She told me you went there last night and tried to kiss her. You call that ‘taking it slow?’”
“Calm down, Aly,” said Tucker. “You’re actually starting to get a little color in your cheeks. It’s not very becoming.”
“And here I was actually starting to think you weren’t that bad,” said Aly. “And you go and throw yourself at her after the day she had.”
“Can I get you anything, Aly?” said Tucker, jerking his thumb toward the kitchen. “I think I have some Pop-Tarts somewhere.”
“You really think it’s funny, don’t you?” said Aly. “Do you care about anybody but yourself?”
“Enough!” yelled Tucker. “I already hate myself enough for the both of us, OK? And how did you find out where I live?”
“I’m a librarian,” she said. “I looked it up.”
“Did Victoria tell you how we left it?” asked Tucker.
“No,” said Aly. “I was so mad I hung up and came right over.”
“Well, if you had continued to talk to her, she probably would’ve told you that it’s all cool now and we’re going to be friends.”
“You haven’t changed at all since high school, have you?” said Aly.
“What do you want from me?” yelled Tucker. “I said I’m sorry. Victoria and I are cool. Why are you still mad at me?”
“Because you’re a self-centered little weasel,” said Aly, pushing her face right against Tucker’s. “And I can’t understand why any angel would be protecting you.”
Tucker frowned hard at the soup stain on his carpet and said nothing.
“In fact, I don’t think he’s an angel at all,” said Aly. Tucker looked up. “An angel would have more important things to do than hang around with the likes of you.”
“You’ve seen what he can do,” said Tucker. “All those miracles and everything. He must be here for a reason.”
“Tucker,” said Aly, walking to the door. “I haven’t seen anything miraculous. Why don’t you do Victoria a favor and just stay out of her life.”
“I’m not a bad person,” said Tucker. “I just screwed up last night. I just misread the moment. Come on. We were starting to get along so well. I really thought we were even friends.”
“We’re not friends,” she said. And with that, she slammed his door shut. Tucker sat with his head in his hands as he listened to her steps trail off down the stairs.
15. AGNES NEWTON
Tucker walked slowly down Station Street, stopping occasionally to kick the spots where the roots of the red maples had pushed their way out of the sidewalk. He looked up at the bright leaves, then down at the decaying maroon leaves, then up at the clouds whizzing by, then down at the potholes that pockmarked the road. He looked everywhere, except into the faces of the people who passed him on the sidewalk.
He saw the blue flashing lights of a police car reflected in the window of a storefront as he came around a curve in the road and spotted four police cruisers, along with a fire engine and ambulance in front of St. Michael’s Church. Completing this contingent of municipal machinery was a black station wagon marked “Rhode Island Medical Examiner.”
“Rochelle!” shouted Tucker, clinging to the iron rails of the fence surrounding the churchyard. “What happened?”
“Looks like a suicide, Tuck,” said Rochelle, walking down the front steps of the church and looking over her shoulder at the twin towers rising behind her. “Caucasian female. 80 years old. She hanged herself in the belfry some time early this morning. Pastor found her.”
“You got an ID?” asked Tucker.
“Yeah, her purse was nearby. Her driver’s license says ‘Agnes Newton.’”
“Oh my God,” whispered Tucker, staring open-mouthed at the tower that housed the bell.
“I’m sorry, Tuck,” said Rochelle. “Did you know her?”
Tucker was still staring up at the tower when he saw the bell start to swing. His blanched expression and open mouth made Rochelle spin around just as the bell let out a cold dismal clang.
“What’s happening?” stammered Tucker, who was shaking and grabbing at Rochelle.
“Tuck, it’s OK,” whispered Rochelle. “It’s noon. The bell rings every day at this time. It’s called the ‘Angelus.’ It’s automatic. Haven’t you ever noticed?”
“No,” said Tucker, swallowing with difficulty. “I’m not Catholic.”
“Glad I wasn’t still up there when that thing rang,” said Rochelle. “Marcus still is. He’ll probably be deaf for the rest of the day.”
Tucker still stared, blanched, at the belfry.
“I’m sorry, Tuck,” repeated Rochelle. “Did you know the victim?”
“No,” he answered. “Not really. Her son was the one running that meth lab.”
“Newton!” said Rochelle. “I thought that name rang a bell. Oh my God, Tuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“It all right,” said Tucker. “I only spoke to her once. She was in my building last night. Scared me to death. She was sitting in the dark when I came home.”
“Did she seem despondent?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Tuck. “It happened kind of quickly.”
“Did she say anything that made you think she might do this?”
“No,” said Tuck, taking his stare off the belfry long enough to pull his eyebrows together and look Rochelle in the eye.
“Tuck, you know I have to ask,” she said. “What time was she there?”
“A little after midnight,” said Tucker. “She said she read about Wayne in the paper and wanted to find out if it was true. She didn’t want to cross the police tape, so she waited in a chair outside my apartment and fell asleep. I guess I woke her when I came home.”
“And what did you say to her?” Rochelle persisted.
“I told her it was true,” said Tucker, looking down at the leaves that now blanketed the churchyard. “I told her Wayne was in the ACI.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it. I saw her get into her car and drive off.”
“That car?” asked Rochelle, pointing to a yellow Chrysler Imperial parked across the street. Tucker turned around and felt a sharp twinge in his chest as he recognized the car from the night before.
“That’s the one,” he said.
“It’s pretty obvious what happened,” said Rochelle. “Her son broke her heart. She came here and killed herself. Too bad. So, when are you coming back to work, Tuck.”
“I’m not sure,” he said, carefully measuring every word. “I have to talk to the colonel.”
“Well, I hope it’s soon,” said Rochelle, turning back toward the church entrance. “I miss you, cutie.”
She climbed the stairs and faded into the darkness of the vestibule.
Tucker continued walking along the iron fence, letting his hand hit each rail, and suddenly stopping at the gate. He stood frozen for a moment, looking like the statue of St. Michael that graced the alcove just above the church door.
He revers
ed direction and began walking back up Station Street, this time with the determination of a speed-walker, dodging pedestrians and jumping over the enormous tree roots that were trying to reclaim the sidewalk. A sign on the Lovecraft Street bridge announced that it was closed to all vehicles, but foot traffic was still allowed on one side. Tucker headed across it in a sprint, and didn’t slow down until he reached the front door of Wallbangers.
“Wow!” said an unfamiliar voice as Tucker stepped onto the bright red tile. “It’s only 12:30 and I already have two customers. It’s a regular crowd.”
The voice belonged to yet another pudgy, balding bartender Tucker had never met. His nose and cheeks were red and a permanent grin was plastered on his face, giving him the look of a clean-shaven Santa Claus. At the end of the bar sat Uriel on his usual stool, wearing his usual clothes and drinking his usual Narragansett. Tucker took a seat next to the archangel.
“What can I get you?” asked the bartender.
“Cranberry juice,” said Tucker.
“Oh!” said the bartender. “Being a good boy today, huh?”
He poured Tucker’s juice then went off into the kitchen.
“Just yell when you want another,” he said.
“Hello, Uriel,” said Tucker, looking straight ahead.
“Hello, Tuckerbromley,” said Uriel.
“I want to do it,” said Tucker.
“You want to do it?” asked the angel.
“I want to become an archangel, like you,” said Tucker.
“How does this concern me, son of man?”
“I want you to train me.”
The angel gave another laugh that sounded like a muted trumpet blast.
“You are not an angel,” he said. “You are a man.”
“I’m a terrible man,” said Tucker, turning and looking at Uriel’s profile. “I’m no good at it. I don’t get along with people. I can’t read them. They don’t like me. Every time I try to do something right it turns out crap. I want to be like you. I want to do miracles and protect people like you do.”
“You are a son of man,” said the angel.
“I’m not supposed to be!” said Tucker. “I can feel it. I’m supposed to be like you. It’s all I ever wanted to be.”
“You are a man,” said Uriel, turning on Tucker with his bright iridescent eyes. “You cannot be anything else. I cannot train you to be an angel. Nor could you train a dog to be cat.”
“I just want to do what you can do,” said Tucker.
“You can do more,” said Uriel.
“What are you talking about?” said Tucker. “I can’t knock people out with light from my hands. I can’t take my car for a ride down the Arkwright River. I can’t flush people through a solid floor, or hurl a 300-pound gorilla across a barroom with one arm. I want to be able to do that!”
“So much more,” whispered Uriel.
“Maybe the reason you’re protecting me is that I’m supposed to help you with your mission,” suggested Tucker. “Maybe God is testing me to see if I would be a good angel. I can do it, Uriel!”
“Who is this that obscures divine plans with words of ignorance?” said the angel, his shiny eyes now flickering like a candle. “Cease this, son of man. I will listen no longer.”
Uriel spun around on his barstool then walked off toward the men’s room. Tucker followed him in.
“Uriel,” he said. “You have to listen …”
The bathroom was empty. Tucker stood on the threshold and tapped the floor to make sure it was solid.
“Uriel!” yelled Tucker. “Where did you go? Please come back. All I want is a chance. Please come back.”
The only answer Tucker received was his own voice echoing through the empty stalls.
16. FRIENDSHIP
Tucker knocked on the door of Victoria’s apartment with short staccato taps.
“What are you doing here?” asked Aly as she swung open the door. Her voice wasn’t harsh and accusatory as it had been earlier in the day.
“Paying a visit,” said Tucker, looking straight into Aly’s eyes, searching for any traces of hostility. Aly opened her mouth as if to say something, but instead stepped aside and motioned Tucker to enter.
“Tuck,” said Victoria, wiping her hands with a dish towel, “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. You know, I told you it was OK for you to call my cell phone, especially if you plan to come visit. I could have been at work.”
“The bartender at Wallbangers told me you were off tonight,” said Tucker. “And I didn’t call you because I’m not here to visit you.”
“Uncle Tuck!” yelled Lenore, running into the room from the kitchen. “Are we going to read more tonight?”
“We sure are, kiddo,” said Tuck, squatting down to put his face even with Lenore’s.
“Not till you’re finished with your macaroni and cheese,” said Victoria. “Now get back in there and eat.”
“Oh, all right,” said Lenore, reluctantly making her way back to the kitchen.
“That’s nice of you to read with her, Tucker,” said Aly.
“I’m not doing it for her,” said Tucker, sitting down on the couch and picking up the remote control. “It’s just something I enjoy. You know I only do things for myself.”
Aly said nothing, but bit her lower lip and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. She was wearing a white blouse with a black, plaited skirt and high heels.
“Got a date tonight?” asked Tucker, looking her over.
“Poetry slam,” she said. “I’m running one at the library tonight.”
“Oh,” said Tucker, without making the effort to stir his vocal cords. “So, Victoria, how’s Lenore been feeling?”
“Great,” she said. “It’s like nothing is wrong at all. I was so scared. I guess I still am.”
“I’m all done,” said Lenore running into the room with the book under her arm and jumping into Tucker’s lap. “It’s your turn to read.”
“Right,” said Tucker, “Where were we?”
“Chapter 3,” she said. Tucker looked over at Aly, who was watching the whole proceeding with what Tucker suspected was a faint grin. As he started reading, Lenore put her head on his shoulder. Aly had kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her skirt. Victoria was leaning against the wall, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a saucer in the other. Tucker concentrated hard on the words, trying not to notice that his audience had grown.
About halfway through the chapter, he felt a tapping on his shoulder. He stopped and looked at Victoria, who was pointing at Lenore’s face. The girl’s eyes were closed and her mouth was wide open.
“How long has she been asleep?” he whispered.
“For a few paragraphs,” said Victoria.
“I can’t believe she fell asleep during Sherlock Holmes,” said Tucker.
“It must be the soporific droning of your voice,” said Aly. “I’m surprised I’m still awake.”
Victoria put her finger to her lips then gently scooped Lenore into her arms. She carried the girl into her bedroom, leaving Aly and Tucker alone. She was still sitting in the same position with her feet tucked under her and looking at Tucker. He squirmed.
“Listen, Tucker,” said Aly, “I’m sorry about this morning. I had a long talk with Victoria and she explained everything to me. I tend to react sometimes, and I know I said some mean things to you. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it,” said Tucker, shrugging. “I know you were just trying to protect Victoria. I’m glad she has someone watching out for her – especially someone who’s as tenacious as a bulldog.”
“That’s me,” said Aly, looking down and smirking. “Thanks for not thinking I’m a bitch.”
“Whoa,” said Tucker, “slow down. Don’t put words in my mouth. I never said you’re not a bitch.”
“OK,” she said, still smirking and nodding repeatedly. “But that’s the last time I’ll ever let you have the last word. You earned it this time. You’re very good to Lenore, and that
means a lot to Victoria. That’s probably the best way to win her heart.”
“I’m not thinking about that anymore,” said Tucker. “I meant what I said.”
“Have you seen Uriel at all?” asked Aly suddenly, looking toward Lenore’s room to make sure she wasn’t overheard.
“I saw him today at the bar,” said Tucker.
“Did he say anything?”
“No, not really.”
“She is dead to the world,” said Victoria, coming back into the room. “I can’t believe it. If she ever has trouble sleeping, I’m just calling you up so you can talk her to sleep.”
“I’ve got to get going,” said Aly, slipping her shoes back on. “I have to stop and get a coffee now.”
“Thanks,” said Tucker.
“Good luck,” said Victoria, following Aly to the door. “Call me later and let me know how it went.”
“I will,” said Aly, opening the door. “Bye, Tucker.”
“Bye.”
“I was wondering if you’d be coming back here tonight,” said Victoria. “Aly told me she really laid into you this morning. She was here because she was going to call you to apologize, and she asked me what I thought she should say.”
“Yeah,” said Tucker, “we talked while you were putting Lenore to bed. I still can’t believe she fell asleep. I guess I’ll have to start that chapter over tomorrow.”
“Sorry, Tuck,” said Victoria, “I’m working tomorrow. Lenore will be at my father’s. Of course, you could always go visit her there.”
“Thanks,” said Tucker. “I’ll pass.”
Victoria laughed. “Actually,” she said, “My father has a very high opinion of you. I’ve never seen him impressed with someone before. He’s not used to people standing up to him.”
“I probably should have kept my mouth shut,” said Tucker. “It was really none of my business. I just didn’t like the fact that you were feeling bad. I guess I reacted – just like Aly.”
“Yeah,” said Victoria. “But she never stood up for me to my father before. She would never dare. That took guts.”
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