Angel (12 page)

Sixteen

Hypnotizing flames flickered as a familiar warmth wrapped around my gooseflesh. I was the first one up Christmas morning, so I’d shuffled downstairs like some kind of zombie to get a fire started in the living room. Not as impressive as it sounds.

I would’ve loved to have built the thing from scratch. Stacking the wood just right, feeding the flames, giving them room to breathe and grow. I could do it. I used to love camping along the coast with my friends. We’d spend entire weekends on the shore hanging out, talking, listening to music, maybe drinking a little. We used to build bonfires on the sand. Burning entire tree branches. Seeing how high we could coax the flames.

Here, all I had to do was flip a switch.

Sinking onto the sofa, I watched them dance and play. Allowing them to draw me back to a place I usually avoided going. I missed the pops and cracks of real wood. The hum of familiar voices. The shouts and laughter and the sand between my toes. Everything had seemed so easy back then. Like life had been handed to me on a silver platter to enjoy.

Then, Kiernan was diagnosed. And I realized that platter could be snatched away as quickly as it was given. My friends no longer knew how to be around me. They didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to act. Neither did
I.

Nothing was easy anymore.

The ceiling above me creaked. Kiernan was moving around his room. It took some effort to shake the melancholy that was quietly creeping over me, but I did it. It was Christmas. And it was going to be the best damn Christmas any of us had ever seen.

The kitchen was Mom’s domain. Generally, you entered at your own risk, but today, I thought it worth it. Pulling out a frying pan, a few bowls, and a wire whisk, I cracked a dozen eggs, chopped some broccoli, peppers, onions, and ham, and threw in some butter and milk. You
didn’t live with my mother your whole life and not learn a thing or two about cooking.

“
Mmm. What’s that smell?” Kiernan’s arms were extended high overhead as he arched his back into a stretch.

“Farmer’s omelets. Want one?” I slid the spatula under the fluffy eggs and wiggled my first masterpiece onto a plate.

“Is that a question?”

No. It really wasn’t. The plate landed in front of Kiernan without waiting for an answer. I dumped the next batch into the pan while he snagged a fork from the cutlery drawer and plopped down at the kitchen table.

“Mms ss elly ood.” He sounded like he was speaking some alien language through the massive bite he was trying to chew and swallow at the same time, but I could hear a compliment when I got one.

“Thanks. Is Mom up?”

“Yeah. She’s in the shower.”

Good to know. I was using her stove, the least I could do was have a yummy breakfast ready to appease her wrath when she found out. The concoction bubbled and solidified in the pan.
The scent alone had my stomach growling by the time the second omelet was done, but I set it aside for Mom and moved onto the third.

“What are you two up to in here?” She stood near the doorway, frowning at the raw egg and wrappers scattered across her counter.

“Making breakfast. Here.” I handed her the plate by way of a peace offering.

“
Cal’s
making breakfast. I’m just eating it.” Kiernan managed to throw me under the bus from clear across the room.

“Thanks a lot, bro. Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Kiernan grinned and shrugged as Mom took her meal to join him.

“Well, since your brother did all the cooking, it seems only fair that you should do the cleaning.” Mom smiled brightly at Kiernan and if my hands weren’t covered in melted butter, I would have high-fived her. “I expect this room to shine before a single present gets opened.”

Kiernan slumped in his seat and stifled a groan by shoving his last bite in that big mouth of his.

I definitely made out on the deal. It took him nearly twice as long to clean the mess as it took me to make it. I listened to him grumble about me being a ‘slob’, wiping counters, washing dishes, and
reshelving ingredients, while I sat back and enjoyed my eggs, which—notably—turned out as good as they smelled.

***

Mom was a big believer in celebrating, but she wasn’t a big believer in ‘stuff’. Yes, we had a lot more stuff than most people, but to her that was just another reason why we didn’t need more. Made sense. How were we supposed to appreciate anything we had if it was constantly being replaced? Gifts were light. Some books I needed for school, a few I actually
wanted
to read, new clothes, concert tickets, and a stack of video games and movies.

I was pretty excited about our haul. Especially the concert tickets, though I had no idea who I was supposed to give the second one to. But what really had me on the edge of my seat was what came next.

Jade—and her
mother
—were one their way over.

To our house.

This was going to prove interesting.

During my first encounter with the woman, I hadn’t exactly been paying a lot of attention to
her
.  Over time, I’d built her up to be this giant evil beast of a woman with claws, fangs, and a razor sharp tongue. But she wasn’t. At least not on the outside.

Her outer appearance actually resembled Jade very closely. Only older and more worn. The way I feared Jade would someday look if her life continued the way it had been. But things seemed different now.

She was ushered inside through a whirlwind of hugs and greetings, where Kiernan deposited her on the couch across from me, immediately claiming the seat beside her. “Sit down. I want to give you your presents.”

“Presents?” Jade
hugged a shoulder bag to her chest as she glanced around the room and her eyes bulged at the stack of gifts awaiting her under the tree.

They weren’t all from Kiernan.
Having only two sons, Mom didn’t have cause to buy girlie things very often. I was guessing she’d had a field day at the mall. My cheeks ached, trying to hold back a smile. Finally, Jade was getting something she deserved.

Her mother hovered in the doorway, looking nervous and embarrassed. It seemed just deserts were on the menu for the day. Until Jade took pity on her.

“Mom, will you sit with me?”

T
here was a flash of anger as I watched the relief wash over Marilyn’s face. I must have had a serious problem if someone’s kindness towards another person was enough to piss me off, but Jade’s mother was the last person on Earth to deserve it. Especially, from Jade.

But that didn’t matter to her. She really was an Angel.
             

“Are you all just going to sit around watching me?” A dark flush crept into Jade’s cheeks, settling into a warm burn that cast off more heat than the fireplace.

The smile had vanished from her face and her eyes darted anxiously from one person to the next.

When they reached me, I smirked at her. “Yes. So you’d better get to it, or it’s going to be a boring show.”

“Cal!” Task accomplished. All eyes turned to us as Mom smacked my arm. I could have sworn I even heard Jade chuckle before she tore into her first present.

When she’d finished opening everything from Kiernan and Mom, and thanked them both a zillion times, I still hadn’t decided what to do with the tiny box tucked neatly away in my pocket. I couldn’t just whip it out and hand it to her in front of everyone. And the fact that I felt the need to hide it spoke volumes toward the foolishness of giving it to her at all.

In the end, I decided to make as little of it as possible. I didn’t need to see her face when she opened it. And I didn’t need her thanks. She didn’t even need to know who it was from. Though the angel wing would probably give that much away.

I waited until she retreated upstairs with Kiernan and dug her jacket out of the closet. Zipping it into the pocket, I left it for her to find. That way she wouldn’t feel pressured to wear it, or even keep it, if it made her uncomfortable.

They were gone for a long time. Hours without resurfacing. I thought Mom would go up and check on them, but she didn’t. If I’d taken a girl to my room in high school . . .
Yeah. No way
. But as we all knew, things were different for Kiernan. And evidently, Mom felt inclined to let him spend his Christmas any way he pleased.

Jade’s mother, for the most part, seemed to be struggling just to keep up with my mother. Not a task I envied her. Mom was on a mission. Whe
n it came to holiday dinners, she was this multitasking super woman extraordinaire. You either kept up, or got run over.

I steered clear, spending most of the afternoon stretched out on the sofa, reading a new book.

Dinnertime didn’t need to be announced. You could smell it. And it smelled . . . amazing.

Kiernan and Jade joined us in the dining room as we rearranged decorations to fit the gargantuan turkey Mom had baked to perfection, along with every side dish imaginable.
Settled around the table, we started passing bowls until everyone’s plates were filled to overflowing. Then, we dug in.

Food was not something we were shy about in our house. We could afford the good stuff, so we bought the good stuff. We cooked the good stuff. And we ate the good stuff. We
enjoyed
the good stuff. Not to unhealthy proportions—except maybe on holidays—but we didn’t hold back.

Something both Jade and, strangely, her mother found very amusing.
They watched us stuff our faces and then they laughed.
Both
of them. Something that seemed to surprise Jade as much as it did me.

“What’s so funny?”
Dropping my fork in a puddle of gravy, I sat back to watch them.

They laughed and smiled at each other. Jade looked so damn . . . happy.
She was practically glowing. My ceaseless prayers for Kiernan took a backseat for a moment as I offered up a new one.

Please
, let this work. Please, let this be her life from now on. Let her be happy. Please . . . just let her be happy.

But I’d been praying for a really long time without answer.

“Dinner was fantastic, Claire. Thank you.” When the meal was over, Marilyn stood, collecting Jade’s plate along with her own and rounded the table. “Can I help you with cleanup?”

“That would be great. Thanks.” Mom gathered a few empty bowls and headed into the kitchen.

A heavy sadness crept over Jade, weighing her shoulders and her smile down, as she watched them go.

“You okay?” Kiernan had noticed it, too.

“Yeah. I just . . . I don’t know . . . It’s just . . . Too good to be true, ya know? Like . . . Like . . .” She seemed unsure what she was trying to say, but I knew exactly what she was feeling.

“You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop?” Because I’d felt it, too. Too many times to count.

She caught my eye and I knew she felt it, the understanding between us. The recognition of shared fears and disappointments.

“Yeah. Like this can’t possibly last. This can’t possibly be my life and I should hang on to it for as long as I can.”

“Good things do happen, Jade.” Kiernan’s lips pressed into a flat line as he scooted closer to hers. “It’s okay to have hope.”

“But what if . . .”

“You dare to hope and it’s taken away?” I knew what that felt like, too. Every single time they’d started Kiernan on a new drug, recommended a new therapy, I’d had that rising tide of hope wash over me. And every time the therapy failed, every time the drugs were ineffective, I felt that wave of utter heartbreak and disappointment crash down.

The look Kiernan shot me warned that I was on dangerous ground. “You can’t be afraid to hope, Jade. Life without hope . . . That’s not life. Trust me.”

He was
guilting
her into having hope. A low-handed move to begin with. But when that fragile hope hinged on an addict’s ability to stay sober . . .

“You’re right. I should be thankful for what I have and not waste it being afraid that I may lose it.”

“There’s my girl.” Kiernan cupped her chin, running his thumb over the cheek of ‘his girl’.
His
girl. And she closed her eyes to savor
his
touch.

My stomach felt heavy, as though I’d eaten one too many helpings of mashed potatoes and gravy. Extracting myself from their private moment, I went upstairs to lie down and digest.

***

I woke with a sudden start, stunned that I’d actually fallen asleep.
Stretching out a kink in my neck, I went in search of anyone who could tell me what I’d missed. The house was quiet. The only sounds coming from where Kiernan’s bedroom door hadn’t quite shut all the way.

Muffled, tear-filled sobs.

Angling myself to the gap, I saw him clutching something to his chest as he cried his eyes out.

He’d cried a few times in the beginning, though not as
much as you’d expect. He’d cried for the fight ahead of him, the pain, the loss of our father . . . but this time was different. There had always been something buried beneath his grief in the past. Hope, helping him to hold on, giving him strength. That was gone now. He no longer cried for a difficult future, but the lack of one. His sorrow was all encompassing, and it swamped me.