When Angels Cry (26 page)

As he drove toward Kaylee’s house,
Bastian
tried not to think about Smith and all the things the
“
good
”
doctor had said, but some things were easier to forget than others.  As Bastian pulled onto a road and eased into light traffic, he spotted the pond from a short distance.  Christmas lights glowed around it, and a freeze had hardened the water, allowing skaters to coast
across its
icy surface.

“Stop the car
.
” Kaylee said, jerking upright.

“Are you all right?” 
Bastian veered sharply to the shoulder.
H
is heart rac
ing
, he set the brake and turned to face her.

She nodded and unbuckled her seatbelt.  “Kill the engine and let’s go.”  Throwing open the door
,
she
scrambled
out of the truck.

“Are you crazy?” he fumed.  “You just got out of the hospital.
 
Goddamn it, Kaylee.  You should be at home in bed, resting, not trekking in this weather.”
  He
sprang out,
slamm
ing the door
.

Kaylee whirled.  “You’re right.  I just got
out
of the hospital.”  She grabbed his hand and led him down a hill toward the rink, but as Bastian saw where she was headed, he abruptly stopped and tugged her to a halt.

“You didn’t want to stay in the hospital, so I said I would bring you home.  This isn’t home.”

Kaylee dropped his hand.  “Okay, Bastian, I am going to die.  That’s true.  But right now I’m still alive.  You want me to go home and stay there until I stop breathing?  That’s the reason I don’t want different medicines or treatments.  I don’t want to spend my time in bed sleeping.  Right now I want to skate
,
and I’m
damned
well going to.  I’d like for you to come, but that’s up to you.  Either way, I
’m going.
”  She turned and
trudged
toward the rink
, not looking back
.

“You don’t want to stay in bed even if it means longer, Kaylee?” he asked softly.  He could feel a burning in his throat, and he knew he didn’t want to talk about this.  Talking made it real.

Kaylee paused and looked up at the stars.  “It’s not about duration.  Some people who live to be 98 never know what it’s like to live.”

Bastian winced and folded his arms across his chest.  “Then what is it about, Kaylee?”

She turned to face him.  “It’s about what life is and what it becomes.  I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in throw-away moments.”

“What?”  He stepped toward her, frowning.

“
Moments
I don’t remember because
they
didn’t matter.”  She reached up and touched his face, smiling.

“Am I one of those?”  He caught her hand.

“God, no, Bastian.  My whole life might have been before you, but not
now
.” 
  She leaned toward him and rested her head on his chest.  His arms drew her body ever closer to his.

Together
,
they lingered
like that
for a long moment before Bastian felt strong enough to pull away.  “You said you wanted to skate, lady.”

Kaylee laughed.  “That I do.”

Chapter Eighteen

For more than two hours, Angie had sat at Kaylee’s kitchen table, wondering when Bastian would reappear.  She drummed her fingers and looked at her purse, then sought
out
her cell phone.  Punching the numbers, she waited.

“Hello?  Daddy?”

“Did you find him?” a male voice asked.

“Yeah.”  Angie scooted the chair back from the table.  “He’s a successful art teacher.”

“Where are you?  I can catch the next flight.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.  He was pretty shocked to see me, and right now he’s got a lot of things he’s working out.”

“I take it he doesn’t relish the idea of seeing his father these days.”

“I don’t know.”  Angie leaned on the table.  “He’s hard to read.  I think more than anything he just needs some time, and then maybe he’ll be ready.”

Angie heard the front door close and stiffened.  “I’ve got to run, Daddy.  I’ll call you soon.”  She thumbed the disconnect button before he could argue and slid the phone back into her purse.  Bastian walked slowly into the kitchen, carrying an unconscious Kaylee in his arms. 
Angie
jumped up.

“Is she all right?”

“As okay as she can be, all things considered.” Bastian ground his teeth and drew Kaylee more tightly to him.  “It’s been a long day and I’m going to put her to bed.  I’ll be right back.”

He stepped out of the kitchen and started up the stairs. 
T
ears that blurred his vision, merging all the colors into one, spill
ing
down his face and he staggered.

“God, help me,” he whispered.

He forced himself to the bedroom and laid her on the bed as he let the pain spill down his face.  With her hair fanned around her head, she appeared a flying angel
.  He wondered at how he’d never made the connection.  The painting in the living room—the angel with its three-dimensional wings.  She’d said it wasn’t very good—that she didn’t have his talent for seeing, but she had.  Whether she’d known it or not, it had been a self-portrait of sorts painted of a time close at hand but not yet come—this moment.  She’d seen it coming for nine months.  And with the folds of the mosquito netting draped about the bedside, casting shadows amid the muted sliver of moonlight stealing in at the window, he could see her wings—God, how he could see them.  And one day—one moment—they would lift her into soundless flight, and with a faint whisper of breath, steal her away forever.  T
rembling, he gently began to undress her, starting with her shoes and socks.  The whole time, she slept, unaware of his touch and the tears he couldn’t control.

For a few moments, he let them warm his face.  He allowed himself a private chance to acknowledge that his heart was breaking.  Then he forced himself to go into the bathroom and wash his face before joining his sister downstairs.

Angie stood
to greet him
.  She toyed with a silver bracelet she’d taken off her wrist.  “Why is she out of the hospital?  I thought they were going to keep her.”

“She’s stubborn,” he said softly.  “She said she didn’t want to be there when....”  He could feel his whole body tense.  His stomach rolled, and he thought the words might actually make him vomit.

“I’m sorry, Bastian.
  I wish I knew how to help.
”  Angie touched his hand.  Tears pooled in her eyes, glittering in the fluorescent lighting. 

Bastian nodded.  “I wish that, too.”

* * *

Fluorescent light filled the sunroom where Denna sat, surrounded by stacks of old papers, scrapbooks, and pictures. Her normally coiffed hair fell in disarray, and the harsh lighting settled in every wrinkle on her face.  Soft terry pajamas draped her body, and her shoulders slumped.   One book lay open in her lap, and her trembling fingers flipped the pages as
she
scanned numerous newspaper clippings.  Many of the old photos showed a much younger Denna, surrounded by children. She squinted at them
.  The children.  Other people’s children.
  Still staring at the photo, she reached to the wicker table, grabbed a sweating glass filled with Bourbon, and brought it to her lips where it stayed until the glass had been drained.  She reached to set it back on the table and accidentally smacked it against the corner, cracking the glass.  Two empty ones stood next to it.
 
Her hand returned to the scrapbook and began to peel the pages back faster, blurring the
c
lips and pictures.

“I know you’re in here, Kaylee,” she whispered, but her trembling hands said otherwise as she came to the end of the fifth book she’d looked through.

She shoved it off her lap and stood, heading
back
to
t
he bar.  As she walked, she touched the furniture, clutching here and there to guide her unsteady balance.  Once at the bar, she picked up another glass and filled it with
more
bourbon.  With the bottle still in hand, she brought the glass to her lips and drained the contents then
r
efilled it.  She drank that
one
quickly, too, and then, on legs less steady than before, turned and headed to the shelf where more notebooks stood at attention.

“I have to find it
.  I have to find her baby book.  I know I made one
,” she slurred, staring at the blurry bookshelf before her.  Tears pricked her eyes, pooled there, and spilled down her face, blurring her mascara into smudges beneath her eyes.   As she grabbed the bookcase, she began pulling out the books, glancing at the first pages and then tossing them to the ground, ignoring the rings that had popped open and pages
that had flown
around her feet.
 
With twenty books on the ground and only two left on the shelf, she saw it–a white leather cover that said “Baby.”

A hand flew to her mouth, and she whispered, “Oh, God.”  Her whole body shivered, and she grabbed it from the top shelf.

Despite the mountain of scrapbooks and pages that covered her feet and ankles, she managed to step over them and stumble back to her chair.  She skimmed her fingers across the leather cover
and
peered out the windows to see the pink and blue approach of the sun.  One finger traced the gold
,
embossed letters on the cover, and she turned her attention back to the book.

Her hands slowly tugged the cover back, and the first page showed a very pregnant Denna, all smiles
,
with her hands atop her belly.  Underneath the picture, she’d written, “Waiting for a miracle.”  Denna touched the photo, her pregnant belly, and ran her hands over her stomach.  She closed her eyes and remembered that moment.

Flipping the page, she saw Kaylee’s first baby picture–a black-and-white snapshot taken just before the two of them had left the hospital. Kaylee snuggled against her mother’s chest and slept with her thumb in her mouth.  Despite the lack of color, Denna remembered the pastel pink of the cotton dress and the small silken bow tied in Kaylee’s almost non-existent hair.

Denna stroked the photo, her trembling fingers lingering on Kaylee’s small hand.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the picture.  “I never meant for it to be like this.  I only wanted to make us both happy.” Tears choked her words
,
and she dropped the scrapbook in her lap.  Rocking back and forth, she tried to swallow the tears, but they kept coming until they
’d
spilled down her face and the sobs
had
exploded from her chest.

“I can’t do this.”

* * *

Despite being fatigued, Bastian could not sleep.  He lay next to Kaylee in the darkness, staring at her profile.  The peaceful sound of her breathing was the one reassuring thing that told him tonight would not be the night, and he clung to that.  It was the only thing that kept him from running outside and screaming like a madman.  It kept him from shattering windows and wrecking his truck just to destroy something as he was being destroyed.  Most of all, it kept him staring at her face and waiting until she returned to this world.

Still, dawn rose before Kaylee as its golden glory streamed through the window.  He reached out and touched her hair.  As he stroked the silken strands, her eyelids fluttered open
,
and she smiled weakly at him.

“Hey, Boyscout.  How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough,” he replied, brushing his fingers through her hair.

“Cheater
.
” she said, rolling toward him. 

“How is that cheating?” Bastian asked, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead.

“You’re supposed to wake me when you get up.”  She nestled against his chest.

“But you look so cute and innocent when you sleep.”

Kaylee laughed.  “Damn, that will ruin my rep.”

“I’ll never tell.”  Bastian stroked the length of her back,
re-
memorizing the feel of her skin against his.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”  She pulled away from him so she could see his face.

Bastian gazed toward the window.  “You needed your sleep.  You were worn out.”

“So?” she shrugged.  “I don’t care how tired I am.  I just want to be in whatever world you’re in–awake or asleep, it doesn’t matter.