Coffeehouse Angel (22 page)

He pointed to a photo taken at one of those cheap mini-mall studios. Two-year-old me sat on a rocking horse, propped in front of a fall panorama. Two teeth, two ponytails, and two red bows completed the goofy look.

"Yeah, that's me. Look at what I--"

He flipped through a few more pages. "This book is a record of your life. Your first haircut, your first birthday, your first piano recital. I've never seen anything quite like it before."

"Really? Everyone has a photo album."

He shut the album, then ran his hand over the cover. "Not everyone, Katrina. In order to have a record of your life, you've got to have a life."

Was he saying that he didn't have a life? He probably felt like he was too busy to have a life. Vincent had told me to
get a life.
"You're an angel. That's an exciting life. You don't need a stupid photo album."

"It's not the album. It's the life. You see, Katrina, I'm not
alive."

I sank into my grandfather's worn recliner, trying to absorb that sentence. "But you're breathing. I can see you breathing right now. And you're warm. I can feel you from here. And you eat. What do you mean you're not alive?"

He sighed. "I exist. Clearly I exist. But I don't have a life in the way that you do."

"You mean you don't die? You get to live forever?" That little fact would kill any chance of us becoming a couple. Imagine having a boyfriend who never got any older.

I'd be sitting in my motorized wheelchair with gray hair and no teeth and he'd be playing beach volleyball in his kilt.

"I'm not immortal. I'm here for a time and then I'm gone."

"Oh. Then I don't understand."

"I'll exist for as long as I'm needed, but existing is a solitary course, Katrina. I go from one delivery to the next, moving in and out of other lives like a vapor, leaving those lives transformed. Every once in a while I stretch out the visit because I want to know what it's like to swim in the ocean, or ride on a Ferris wheel, or dance at a gathering of the Highland clans. Or what it's like to have a family."

I felt small in my grandfather's chair--insignificant and mortal. A regular person who is born and then dies. Whose life had I transformed? "Do all messengers stretch out their visits?"

"No. I've always been different. Curiosity is a real burden for a messenger." He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. "Most people are too busy and distracted to notice me, unless I purposefully reveal myself to them.

But for some reason that I still don't understand, you saw me sleeping in your alley.

You noticed me when it wasn't my intent to be noticed. That's never happened before."

"I noticed you because no one had ever slept in our alley. It was weird."

"It's not that simple." He smiled. "Or maybe it is that simple. Maybe we were simply meant to meet. I've enjoyed meeting you, Katrina. I've enjoyed being a small part of your life. You're very fortunate to have your grandmother and your friends. I wish I could..." He stopped, his mood turning serious again. "I wish I could have some of the things that you have."

A powerful surge of emotion rushed through me right then and there. He trusted me enough to share his feelings. What guy does that? Even Vincent didn't open up about his mother or his fear of failure.

He pushed the album aside and stood. "I've got to go. I've got to get that message delivered, once and for all." He picked up his satchel, straining to lift it over his shoulder. Then, without another word, he left

I watched him from the window as he strode up Main Street. From the back he looked like a regular guy in a boring pair of khaki pants and a white sweater. How lonely it must be to be a messenger, handing out envelopes that would change people's lives. I realized, then and there, that I'm one of those "cup-half-empty" people. While I didn't have popularity or talent or a boyfriend, those blank spaces were nothing compared to what I did have--the things he longed for.

I clutched the invoice.

I made it to the hospital with only twenty minutes left for visiting hours. A husband and wife who owned a Main Street gift shop were just saying good-bye as I hurried into my grandmother's room. "Yak, yak, yak," my grandmother complained after they had gone. "Just because I'm a prisoner in this bed doesn't mean I want to hear all about the refinancing on their house. For heaven's sake, I'm a sick woman." She held out her arms. "But I want to hear all about
you."

She wore her blue floral pajamas and bathrobe. Her little radio was plugged in next to the bed. The IV was gone, but she was still hooked up to a monitor. Four more bouquets crowded the counter.

"Look at this," I said, shoving the invoice at her.

"I don't have my glasses. What is it?"

"It's a receipt from Acme Supply Company." I bounced on my toes like a little kid.

This would be the best news she'd heard in a very long time.

"It's not a bill, is it?" She laid her arm across her forehead. "I really can't think about that right now."

"No, it's not a bill. It belongs to Java Heaven. I found it in the alley."

"What's the matter with you? Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"No." I stopped bouncing and read the invoice. As if delivering a commencement speech, I said each word clearly, precisely, hoping to inspire. Grandma Anna didn't say anything, so I read it again. Her expression stayed blank. "Don't you see? He's not selling organic coffee. He's selling the cheapest stuff he can get and then labeling it as organic free-trade rain-forest-saving coffee. He's been lying to everyone." I waved the receipt.

She folded her hands, resting them on her round belly. "It doesn't surprise me one bit.

He's always been a scoundrel." Her voice lacked the excitement that pulsed through me.

"If we give this to the newspaper, or maybe even to Officer Larsen, Java Heaven will go out of business. And then our old customers will come back. We can save the coffeehouse."

She shook her head. "The Health Department hasn't agreed to let us reopen."

"They will. You know they will. We don't have rats living in our coffeehouse."

My grandmother took a deep breath and turned her face toward the window. Darkness pressed against the panes. When she looked back at me, her eyes had filled with surrender. "We won't do anything with that receipt."

"What?" Was this some sort of drug-induced fog? I had thought she'd be all over the invoice, ready to make photocopies and plaster the streets with it. Maybe she was secretly afraid of Mr. Darling, of what he might do to an old woman who had turned him over to the authorities. Maybe the heart attack had made her feel vulnerable. "But this will solve everything. It's like an answer to our prayers."

"It's not an answer to
my
prayers." She patted the bed. "Come, sit down."

I sat.

"Katrina, the coffeehouse hasn't gone into debt because of Mr. Darling. It's easy to blame him, but I have to look to myself. I didn't keep up with the changing times. I refused to try new things, and that's suicide for a business owner."

"But it's not too late."

"I'm not going to gain success by stepping on someone else. Even if that someone else is a crook."

"But people have a right to know."

"Yes, I suppose they do, but they're not going to hear it from us. You're not supposed to have that invoice--it's private property. He could accuse you of stealing."

"But--"

"What he has done is his own affair. He's made his bed. And he's the one who has to lie in it."

What was that supposed to mean? His bed was full of money. He'd lie in it all day if he could. "Grandma, you don't understand. He said he's going to buy the entire building. He said that as soon as we failed to pay rent, he would evict us." That should have changed her mind, but it didn't.

"Then it's time for us to move on. I don't want to spend one day with Mr. Darling as my landlord." She squeezed my hand. "Don't take it so hard, Katrina. Change comes to everyone. Years ago I would have felt ready for a fight, but I'm tired. I've struggled with the coffeehouse for so long. I can't do it anymore. But I won't be responsible for the downfall of another business, no matter how conniving Mr. Darling is. He has a family. I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing I had brought them ruin."

She was such a good person. I felt a rush of shame that I had been so ready to expose Mr. Darling--so eager to celebrate his downfall. But still, how unfair. The bad guy is not supposed to win. It had seemed like the perfect answer.

"Get rid of that invoice. Stop worrying so much about the coffeehouse. You should be thinking about your school-work and the upcoming festival. You should be thinking about all the fun you're going to have with that handsome boy."

"Does this mean we'll have to move?"

"Yes."

"To Retirement Universe?"

"Heavens no. I have a bit of money in a CD that I'll cash. We'll find a place to rent and we'll be just fine. Your grandfather's retirement check supported the coffeehouse.

Now it can support us. We won't be rich, but we'll make do. However, there's someone else I'm worried about."

"Irmgaard?"

"Yes. She loves the place as much as I do. She'll have a difficult time adjusting. I don't know where she'll get a job making soup."

The nurse poked her head in to tell me that visiting hours were over. Grandma pushed herself up the pillows. "Katrina, there's something you should know about Irmgaard."

"That she's a nun?"

"How did you know that?"

"She gave me a book and it said
Property of Sister Irmgaard."

"She used to be a nun. She left the abbey."

"Why?"

"It's better left in the past. What I want you to know about Irmgaard is that I consider her to be a part of our family." Grandma Anna yawned. "I'm very tired. Go on home now. Drive carefully."

I hugged her. She settled back and closed her eyes. Then, just as I was leaving, she mumbled, "Always remember that to forgive is to set someone free."

I crumpled the invoice and threw it into the backseat. Once a shining beacon of hope, now just a stupid piece of paper.

Why had my grandmother mentioned forgiveness? Did she actually expect me to forgive Mr. Darling for buying the building and kicking us out? No way. I'd return his invoice, but it would be a cold day in hell when I stopped loathing him. Maybe that makes me a bad person. Or maybe that makes me a normal, average person, with normal, average feelings.

I ate three bowls of cereal that night because I didn't feel like cooking anything. The box claimed that one serving met all the day's requirements of vitamins and minerals, so if Grandma asked if I'd been eating healthy, I could say yes. The answering machine flashed, full of messages for Ratcatcher. I listened to a few, then turned it off.

Would Malcolm come back? I wandered to the window. As usual, Main Street had emptied of people and cars, except for the few cars parked outside the pub and a few more parked outside Java Heaven. I watched the end of the street, wishing for Malcolm to appear around the corner. Hopefully he'd be smiling because Irmgaard had finally taken the envelope. But something else appeared--a small white light. It emerged from the place where the streetlights ended, gliding closer like a little fallen star. I pressed against the window to get a better view. The light grew as it floated closer. It was a bicycle light. The rider stopped across the street and slid off his seat.

Vincent didn't wave. I didn't wave either. He held on to his handlebars and stared up at me. I didn't open the window and yell,
Hey, come on up,
like I would have, just one week ago. The span of road that separated us felt like a chasm. My feelings were still hurt. I know that people break promises all the time, but it was my
only
promise and my
only
best guy friend.

To forgive is to set someone free.

Being mad at someone is like a huge weight hanging around your neck--like that sinking feeling I got after swimming the second lap at the Nordby High pool.

Forgiveness would set me free, but forgiveness seemed impossible.

We stared, neither of us moving. Then he swung his leg over the seat and pedaled off.

On the night my parents died, when I lay in my bed, I probably felt terribly lonely. I'm just guessing because I don't remember that night. But the night Vincent rode away was lonelier than I could bear.

T
uesday was the last day of school before winter break. Usually it would have been a morning of excited anticipation, but I could barely drag myself out of bed.

The coffeehouse remained closed. Malcolm didn't show up, nor did Irmgaard. The pop of the toaster, the rhythm of Irmgaard at the chopping block, the sound of Odin and Lars arguing--that was my sound track. But it had faded like an echo.

"Oh, Katrina." Mr. Prince waved at me from his office as I tried to sneak by. "We should discuss those aptitude results. Very promising, don't you think?"

I shrugged, eyeing the Java Heaven cup he held. Honest to God, I wanted to rip it from his hand and stomp on it.

"You should take those results seriously, Katrina. Think about going to business school. Maybe even pursuing an MBA. Get some business experience. Every entrepreneur needs business experience. Have you ever held a job? Do you know anyone who could write you a letter of recommendation? You could join the Future Business Leaders of America. Heidi Darling runs the group. Do you know her?"

Oh God, if I have to stand here one more second, I'm going to scream!

He took a sip from the peppermint straw. "Have you tried the Vincent Mocha? It's delicious."

I fled.

In World Mythology I grabbed the empty chair next to Elliott. Mr. Williams sat at the edge of his desk like he always did. "Today we'll finish up our good deed chapter.

Please open your books to the next section, called 'The Damsel in Distress.' "

I knew that Vincent was over by the window. I knew that the ends of his hair were dripping onto his sweatshirt, and that he was chewing on his pencil. But I didn't look at him.