Down From the Clouds (14 page)

"You could do it."

Her eyes glistened as she smiled. "I could?"

"Yeah. We could plan lessons around her schedule or something."

"I'll call her tomorrow. That would help her out so much."

A few minutes later we were told that I couldn't see Sarah since I wasn't family. They weren't going to allow Ella either, but she convinced them since Sarah had Ella down as an emergency contact. I kissed her and watched her as a nurse led her out of my sight. 

I looked through photography and art on my phone as I waited. An hour ticked by and I fell asleep. Two hours and seventeen minutes later Ella touched my arm. I opened my eyes only to see hers filled with tears. Hands shaking, she wiped her face and pulled my hand. I stood and followed her outside where we stood under a tree in the pouring rain. The leaves weren't the best umbrella in the world, but we didn’t care. She broke down in my arms. I knew she would. Life can surprise us at an moment with circumstances beyond our control. Leaving us breathless and trapped in an ocean of salty tears with no shore to dance on.

Ella and I wrapped ourselves around each other as we drowned in our ocean of life, both of us too tired and sad to look for a plank to support ourselves. But that's okay. For once I had someone to drown with. Tomorrow we'd come up for air and be new people because of it.

As the rain mixed with our tears I heard Pop's words echo in the hidden corners of my heart. "Sometimes we benefit more from letting go than we do from frantically looking for an escape."

Chapter Sixteen

Sometimes life felt like one of those books from middle school. You know the ones where you choose the path and ultimately the end of your story. I used to feel like a pawn in the game of life, but not anymore. Life is bigger than that. I'm more than a pawn. I may not be able to control my circumstances, but I can control my reactions to them. And because of that, in a sense, I determine the end of my story. 

So, I decided to stop choosing the wrong paths just because they were easier or safer. I decided to stop standing at forks in the road and choosing to sit on benches, going nowhere fast.

I decided to forgive my father.

Ella and I invited him over for dinner. She cooked a fantastic four course meal. Spring rolls first. Then quinoa salad with cranberries and honey lime dressing. A pasta dish that made me like pasta for the first time in my life. And the grand finale filled the house before Harold arrived, tempting me to skip the other three courses and go straight for the peach and blackberry pie. One-hundred percent from scratch. I wish I could say I helped.

She set the dining room up as though we had been married and entertaining guests for years. I helped, which mostly resulted in laughter. I'm an artist. I'm better with designing the napkins than I am setting the table.

We welcomed Harold to dine with us under the chandelier I fixed the day before. Small talk ensued and managed to keep us all chipper and awake for an hour. When Ella brought out the pie Harold held back tears. I noticed. And I noticed Ella notice. And we both knew Harold saw us notice. 

"I'm s-s-sorry,” he said. "It's just t-t-that your mother made the s-same exact pie every year f-f-for my birthday. It's m-m-my favorite."

Ella placed the pie in the middle of the table and handed us all a warm slice. We wasted no time digging our forks into the gooey goodness.

Ella put her elbows on the table and leaned in. "Tell me about her."

Harold cleared his throat, took a drink of water, and said, "She was, um, q-quiet. Everyone thought s-s-she didn't speak or had n-n-no personality, but with me she would talk m-m-my ears off every night until I c-c-couldn’t hold my eyes open. She was g-gentle. Loved me m-m-more than I've ever seen a bride love her groom. I, um, I never f-f-forced my views on her about anything. I l-l-loved her so much I wanted whatever made her h-happy. But she felt the s-s-same about me. Making decisions was easy because I knew she would s-s-support me either way. Not like a lot of newlyweds who argue all the time, trying to get the other to c-c-conform to their way of life instead of just loving them. We had s-s-something good. Real good."

"And that's why you hated me," I said. "Because you found the best gift in the world and I took it away."

Ella's hand warmed mine. Harold looked down, rubbed his face, and shifted in his seat.

"No need to feel uncomfortable," I said. "I forgive you, but I guess you need to decide if you forgive me."

"You were only a b-b-baby, Gavin." He looked into my eyes, then back down. "She made the d-decision. I guess what k-killed me every time I looked at you was that she chose you over m-m-me. Your life was more important to her than living the r-r-rest of her life with me."

"And my life wasn't more important to you? Do you wish you had just aborted me?"

He cleared his throat again. "For a l-long time I did. I've s-s-spent the last twenty years homeless, wallowing in the p-past. The only lovers I've had since your mom have been p-p-prostitutes.” He tipped his hat to Ella. “Forgive me, Ella. I’ve b-b-been on more drugs than I can even name. Who knows what I d-d-did while on them."

"But you seem too intelligent for all that," Ella said.

"Intelligence is n-nothing,” he said. "My dad always t-t-taught me that a man can have all the brains he wants, but it's how much wisdom he has that d-d-determines his future."

Ella thought for a moment, then said, "What's that mean exactly?"

I pulled her hand to my chest and said, "When I was a kid I asked the same thing. Pop told me the difference between intelligence and wisdom is that intelligence gets stuck in your brain, but wisdom takes a journey to your heart."

"So it's when you think with your heart?"

"No," Harold said. "That would b-be your emotions. Wisdom is when your heart marries your m-m-mind. It's something unexplainable really. Kind of like love."

"Interesting," she said. "I always assumed wisdom and intelligence were similar. Maybe wisdom just a little more perceptive."

"I wish you could've met Pop," I said. "He would've loved you."

"I agree," Harold said. "Anyway, I have this b-box from him. He t-t-told me to give this to you, but it didn't seem right last time we met." He pulled the box from a plastic grocery bag and slid it across the table. "I better get going."

"Do you have a home now?" Ella said as we walked him to the door.

"I do. My dad gave me some money to get b-b-back on my feet. So, I guess you could say I'm back on my feet."

I watched Harold walk to his car and drive off. Another face in a busy city. Ella leaned into me. I twirled a strand of her hair as we stood in the glares of the sleepy sun.

"You've rubbed off on me," I said.

"Why do you say that?"

"I feel bad for the guy."

"It's sad. He has no one but us."

I nodded and sat on the front steps. Ella sat on the step below and leaned into me. We watched the sun dip behind the horizon. No words needed. Just us.

The streetlights flickered as Ella looked up at me and broke the silence. "I'd like to marry you sooner, but I want to wait until we finish these letters from Pop."

"What about Sarah?"

"The doctors told me she has a small chance of living. Very small. Possible, but small. If she does live she won't be able to see our wedding anyway. She'll be there for a long time."

I wiped the tears from her face and kissed her forehead.

"I just wish I could take her place. She's been through enough already and the girl has barely complained once in her life."

"I know what you mean, but we can't change what's happened. Any word on James?"

"They said he is adjusting well. I talked with his mom today. She has the little one for now. She said James proposed right before the accident. He texted his family a picture of her hand with the ring on it. Apparently there was a gas leak. They roasted marshmallows and didn’t put the fire out, then fell asleep in the tent and the fire caught the gas and went right to the tent.”

"Wow. I can’t even imagine. Do you think James will still marry her?”

"I hope so, but not many people would want to marry a girl who loses her beauty. I know it sounds bad, but sometimes I wish for her to die so she doesn't have to experience life like that."

"She will be okay. Whatever happens she'll be okay."

I said it, wondering if I even believed the words that came out of my mouth.

We went back inside and opened the box. Weird to go on living when someone close to you is stuck in a coma. Didn't seem fair.

Ella pulled out a few pictures from the box. "Is this you and your grandfather?"

"That's us." I smiled. "He always said we were destined to be together. After my grandma died he could barely go on. He needed something to live for. Then my dad left me and Pop had to take care of me. We were close. Inseparable."

I opened the letter and inhaled so much I nearly broke my own heart. After all he did for me. After all those years. I decided to sit on a bench and ignore him while he took his last breath. All because it was too hard for me to say goodbye.

I handed the letter to Ella and asked her to read aloud.

Dear Gavin,

When I write these letters I sometimes catch myself wanting to write "dear child." To me, an old fool, you'll always be a child. I stop myself though, because you are a man now. Time for you to start acting like it.

You've played a good man on the outside. Great artist, stable jobs, good friends, and a smile that lights up the room. You've been good at hiding behind that smile of yours. Too good if you ask me.

I'm glad you've forgiven your father. That's the one thing I wanted before revealing my will to you. I gave your dad some money before I died, but everything in my will is for you and your future family.

Come to the house when you're ready. The key is in this box if you no longer have yours. The will is in my bedroom, the first box under the tree was empty. Take what I am giving you and use it for good. Don't refuse my one last wish for you. Accept it because you love me.

It's never goodbye, Gavin. Only see you soon. Take care of yourself and live well. No regrets. Death can steal your breath at any time.

I love you always,

Your old man 

Chapter Seventeen

Before we knew it another week had passed. Late Friday afternoon Ella and I finished up our last lesson of the day. I never thought I'd use my talents to teach kids, but I actually enjoyed it. Mostly because I got to work with my love beside me, but the kids were a lot of fun, too. 

We handed them off to their happy-eyed parents and went upstairs to prepare the house for our friends. Matt wanted to invite his sister, Miranda, over so she could get to know everyone. About a month after Matt’s wedding she moved to Philly to be with her boyfriend, but he never included her in what he did and they soon broke up. I’d been looking for an excuse to have some friends over, so I jumped on the opportunity. 

We straightened up the dining room and put some snacks and drinks on the table.

"Would you like to come to Pop's house with me tomorrow?" I said. 

"Of course." She smiled.

"And then we can get married tomorrow night?"

She laughed. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something. I am completely fine with ditching my dreams of a big regency wedding, but I was thinking about Sarah again. I really want her to be there, if possible. I was wondering if we could wait a few weeks until she comes out of a coma and get married in the chapel at the hospital."

"Wow. That would be . . . interesting."

"It would be." She walked to the couch. "But wouldn't it be worth it?"

I sat beside her. "It would be. I think it's a good idea."

"Oh, and I talked to Tylissa. She said she would love if we could watch Asylia while she works. Probably only Tuesday and Thursday. She found a job through a friend and they are allowing her to work from home the other three days of the week."

"That's good. I was worried she wouldn't get a job with Mwenye's reputation."

"I don't get it. I wish she'd talk to me. She won't tell anyone the truth. Why would he want his reputation and his wife and child's reputation ruined for something he didn't do?"

"I don't know, Ella. Sounds weird. I can't wrap my head around the fact that he is innocent. All the evidence points to him. Why he would kill a bunch of kids in such a gruesome way, I have no idea. It doesn't make sense, but it also doesn't make sense that they have all this evidence and let us not forget that he himself claims he is guilty of the crime. If he really is innocent, then there must be a really good reason why he is willing to sacrifice so much for whoever it is that actually killed those kids."

Someone knocked on the door. We jumped. Then laughed.

I opened the door with Ella by my side.

"Hey, hey," Matt said. "We come with bundles of joy."

"I'm sure you do," I said, ushering them inside to the couches.

"No, really," Lydia said. "We've come with a bundle of joy."

Ella gasped. "No way."

"Yes way," Matt said. "We are having a baby."

"Wow," I said. “What happened to waiting?”

Matt shrugged. Huge grin on his face. Ella and Lydia hugged and immediately started talking about Sarah. Another knock on the door.

"Oh." Lydia came to greet the girls and introduce me. "This is Myra and Evelyn."

"Nice to meet you," Evelyn said, English accent hard to miss.

"Yes. Very nice to meet you," Myra said.

Ella gave them both a hug. "Where are you two from?"

"Evelyn is from the UK and Myra is from the Philippines," Lydia said. "They were my roommates in school. People always called us the Spice Girls because I had reddish hair, Evelyn's blonde as blonde can be, and Myra is Filipino."

The girls smiled and nodded their heads in unison. Both pretty, but not as beautiful as my Ella. No one could compare. Ever. Tons of women had beauty. All of them if you ask an artist like me. But none of them bear the same kind of beauty as the one you call home. It's more than curves and smiles. It's hidden in the eyes. Two women can have a bazillion plastic surgeries and look identical, but no two women can be the same when you look into their eyes. That's where their real beauty is. I could look into Ella's Emerald City and see another life, a world only she knew. That's why I focused so much on the eyes when I painted portraits of others. The eyes are the doorway to the heart.