Entertaining Angels (3 page)

She waited for a while, as if some big booming voice would shout out from the heavens and tell her exactly where to go and what to do.

Still no answer. But then again, she supposed she really hadn’t expected one. Over the years, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy hadn’t meant the same to her as they had to other kids, and she’d learned to deal with it.

Of course, God was supposed to be real—at least, to a lot of people.

So, in spite of a niggling doubt, she cleared her throat and gave it a parting shot. “If you won’t do it for me, then would you do it for the baby?”

A light breeze kicked up, and tree leaves rustled overhead. It wasn’t the James Earl Jones impersonation that she’d been expecting, but it sure beat the silence that had mocked her before.

Aw, come on, Renee, she chided herself. Shake it off. You’re wasting what little daylight you have left.

So she stood and slipped her arms through the straps of the backpack, adjusting her load for comfort, then made her way to the gray block building that she hoped was the public restrooms.

When she spotted a door that said WOMEN, she muttered, “Oh, thank God,” but not to anyone in particular. Then she grabbed the handle, pulled it open, and stepped inside.

There were two stalls to choose from and a table for changing babies. But her gaze immediately dropped to something pink on the floor—a hooded jacket that had been discarded. She picked it up, felt the white fur-like lining that was almost new.

She checked the tag, looking for a girl’s name in it. Some mothers did that. Put a label or marked in their kids’ coats and stuff.

While growing up, Renee sometimes had articles of clothing that still bore the name of the kid who’d gotten them firsthand.

Gretchen, whoever she was, had once owned a hand-knit sweater with a tag that said it had been lovingly made by her grandmother. Renee didn’t know if Gretchen’s mom had given it to the Salvation Army because it had been outgrown or if it was because of the ink stain on the sleeve. Either way, it was cool to think someone’s grandma had made something that ended up in Renee’s drawer.

But the jacket she’d just found didn’t have anyone’s name on it.

It was a little too small, and while she probably could still use it herself, she carefully folded it and placed it on top of the paper towel dispenser. Then she chose a stall and did what she came to do.

After flushing, she went to the sink, where she washed her hands then dried them on a paper towel. While standing near the trash can, she noticed a bluish-green plastic Wal-Mart bag leaning up against the wall. Out of curiosity, she reached for it and peered inside, spotting a couple of empty Tupperware containers, a plastic fork, a child-size box of apple juice with the little straw still attached, an orange, and a package of unopened graham crackers.

She placed the sack on the sink and rustled through it a bit more, then gasped at what she found.

Wow. Too weird.

She pulled out one of three Band-Aids, the designer kind with cartoon characters on them.

If she didn’t know better …

But she did know better. Someone had left the remnants of a picnic lunch in the bathroom. And either that same person or another girl had left behind a jacket when packing up to go home. No need to think of it as a miracle or anything. It had just been a losers-weepers kind of day.

But it still seemed like someone had placed these things here—just for her.

“Thank you,” Renee muttered to the cold gray walls or to Whoever might be listening.

Again, silence followed, which was just as well. She’d probably freak if some booming voice said, “You’re welcome.”

She grabbed a couple of towels from the dispenser, then used them to wash the wound on the inside of her foot and to dab it dry. When she was satisfied that it was clean, she applied a Nemo Band-Aid.

On the way out, she paused at the door. Normally, she didn’t take things that didn’t belong to her. But it was beginning to look like the jacket might be part of a heavenly gift package, so
she went back for it, thinking it could come in handy if it got any colder before she reached the motel.

She took time for a quick drink from the water fountain and refilled her sports bottle. Then she slipped on her sandals and started her trek once again, crossing the park and following the jogging trail on her way to Bedford and the motel, just like the old man at the church had told her. But she hadn’t taken more then five or six steps when a flash of light caught her eye.

Squinting and using her hand as a shield, she tried to determine where it was coming from.

Somewhere in the canyon that lay beyond the park, she guessed.

The reflected light continued to shine and flicker as if someone was sending a message in Morse code. She tried to ignore it, but couldn’t. Maybe God didn’t always use clouds to show people the way.

Okay, this was probably just a fluke and way too weird to contemplate, yet in spite of her better judgment, she cut through the brush, drawn to the light like a moth.

About twenty yards in, she found a path that seemed to lead right to the source, a big tree with a wooden structure built in its branches. A bicycle rim hung over the small doorway—some kind of ornament or decoration, she guessed. Apparently, the chrome had picked up a sunray and shot it at her.

Her curiosity now appeased, she turned to go, then froze in her tracks. She’d asked for a cheap place to spend the night, and an abandoned tree house wouldn’t cost her a dime.

She glanced up at the sky. “I don’t suppose you meant for me to stay here tonight.”

No answer.

Slowly turning around, she made her way to the tree, surveying the sturdy structure and pondering the possibilities. Seven or eight wooden steps had been nailed to the trunk to allow entrance to the little house.

Just think of the money she’d save.

And six feet above the ground, she’d be safe from snakes.

She placed a foot on the bottom rung and began to climb until she reached the opening. Inside, two fringed throw rugs—one blue, the other green—covered the floor. Both were frayed and had seen better days. They were dirty, too. But she could shake them out.

There were a couple of comic books in the corner, as well as a ball of string and an old red coffee can.

On a wooden ledge about eighteen inches from the ceiling, three red candles, each used to various degrees, sat upright, held in place by globs of melted wax.

Well, the place definitely had possibilities.

And it wasn’t far from the park, so she had access to a bathroom and running water …

Renee pulled herself through the opening, then removed her backpack and, with the bag of stuff she found, began to settle in for the night.

What was it Jesse, the hippie guy, had said?

You’ll find everything you’ll need in Fairbrook.

Maybe he’d been right.

But two hours later, as darkness huddled over the canyon and a pack of coyotes yipped and howled just steps away from the tree, Renee wasn’t so sure.

Just as Craig neared Fairbrook’s city limits, the Ford Taurus rumbled one more time, then groaned and shuddered to a complete stop.

Giving in to temptation, he finally let loose and swore under his breath, a reaction he’d been holding back for the past two hundred miles.

Ain’t nothing wrong under the hood,
nearly a legion of mechanics had told him time and again.

Which meant what? That the problem was behind the wheel?

Craig glanced at the clock on the dash. 10:36.

Unable to help himself, he looked heavenward, rolled his eyes, and slowly shook his head.

Deciding he’d better push the car to the shoulder of the road and walk the rest of the way to town, he threw the transmission into neutral and climbed out of the driver’s seat.

With the door still open, he placed one hand on the steering wheel and began to push with the other.

“Need some help?”

Craig nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of an unexpected male voice. He turned to see who was there. Darkness separated them, yet footsteps crunched on the gravel at the side of the road at his approach.

Moments later, the man stepped into the light of the head
lamps. His hair was long and shaggy, and he wore a bushy, silver-streaked beard.

If Craig were a gambler, he’d wager that the guy was homeless based upon his appearance and his clothing—a baggy dark shirt and jacket, frayed jeans with a gaping hole in the knee, and a pair of bulky leather sandals.

Continuing to maneuver the rattletrap hunk of metal and tires out of the road, Craig thanked the stranger for the offer. “It’s all right. I’ve just about got it now.”

The guy nodded toward the city lights. “I’m heading to Fairbrook, too. Would you mind giving me a lift?”

Was he blind? Strung out on something? This car wasn’t going anywhere unless it was attached to a tow truck.

The pent-up frustration that had been building over the past few hours called for a retort, yet everything Craig had been taught at the seminary tamped down a snide comment. “I wish I
could
drive you into town, but I’m afraid we’ll have to walk.”

“Mind if I take a look?” The man nodded toward the hood of the car.

Who was this guy? A down-on-his-luck mechanic?

“Sure. Go ahead.” Craig crossed his arms over his chest, shifted his weight to one hip, and watched the man release the latch, then lift the hood and peer inside.

He didn’t do much, just wiggled a wire or two. Then he lowered the hood with a bang and brushed his hands together. “Why don’t you give it another try now?”

Craig blew out a sigh. With all the trouble he’d been having with this vehicle, he was ready to throw up his hands. Or to stomp his feet and shake his fist. The hold on his temper was stretched to the limit.

Since none of the service station mechanics who’d taken a look could find anything wrong, it seemed futile to think that this shabby stranger would have any more luck with a lot less effort.

But whatever.

Craig slid behind the wheel, turned the ignition, and pumped the gas pedal. The engine started right up.

The stranger came to the passenger side, opened the door, and peered across the seat at Craig. “How about that ride now?”

Speechless, Craig nodded and waited for him to get in. Then he put the transmission in gear and pulled back onto the pavement, the engine purring as though the car had just rolled out of a dealer showroom.

“My name’s Jesse,” he said.

Craig introduced himself and added, “I’m the new associate minister at Parkside Community Church.”

“You don’t say. That’s a noble profession.”

Craig, who didn’t feel very noble right now, supposed that in some cases it was. “My granddad was a missionary for about thirty years. Now he pastors a large congregation in Phoenix, so it seemed like a natural decision.” And one that had certainly pleased his family.

Jesse nodded, as though taking it all in. Then he pointed to the radio on the dash. “Do you mind if I turn that on for a minute or so? I’d like to get the baseball scores.”

“Go ahead.”

Jesse pushed in the button, turning on the power, then tuned into an AM station and sat back in his seat. “Do you follow any of the teams?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I don’t have time for sports anymore.”

“That’s too bad.”

Yeah, it was. Craig did his best not to stew about it, though. At one time, baseball had been his whole life, and giving it up had nearly killed him.

He glanced across the seat at his passenger, a guy who didn’t appear to do much work—or play—then continued to watch the road ahead.

As the radio announcer rattled off the scores of tonight’s
games, including a win for the Padres after a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth, Craig stole another look at Jesse, who was smiling, a glimmer in his eye. If Craig didn’t know better, he’d think Jesse had hit the winning homer himself.

“Did you have money on the game?” Craig asked.

“Nope. I’m not a gambler.” Jesse crossed his arms. “But just before the game, Dave Ellings stopped by Children’s Hospital and promised a kid named Joey that he was going to hit one out of the park for him.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The kid’s going to have surgery tomorrow morning. The odds are against him waking up, but he’ll pull through.”

Craig didn’t pay the homeless man any mind until the radio announcer said, “Before we cut to the next commercial, I’d like to share a bit of news that was just leaked to our producer. Dave Ellings’s homer went way beyond the left field fence tonight. It seems that just this afternoon, Ellings learned that Joey Grabowski, a ten-year-old baseball fan who’s in Children’s Hospital with a brain tumor, is facing surgery tomorrow morning—a surgery that’s both delicate and dangerous. And while the other team members gathered at Petco Park, Ellings risked a fine by making a surprise visit to Joey and promising to hit one out of the park—just for him. What a heartwarming bit of news. My hat’s off to you, Dave.”

Craig looked across the console at Jesse. “How’d you know about that?”

The man shrugged. “I guess you could say that I’ve got a … gift.”

Craig believed people sometimes had gifts, but he wasn’t so sure about this particular guy. If Jesse had been blessed with something special, it hadn’t appeared to have taken him very far.

“There’s an all-night diner on Bedford Parkway,” Jesse said. “Would you mind dropping me off there?”

As much as Craig wanted to drive right to the Delacourts’
house, he figured he owed Jesse the ride he’d requested. He’d probably still be walking if the man hadn’t tinkered with the engine. “I’ll need directions.”

“No problem. Just turn left on Applewood. It’s a couple of blocks beyond Mulberry Park.”

Craig followed his instructions. As they drove past Parkside Community Church, he gave the old-style clapboard structure a once-over, since that’s where he’d be working. It was also where he’d be meeting the senior pastor and the board of elders tomorrow morning.

But it was the park across the street that drew his attention, especially the empty ball field, with the lights still illuminating it. The green and black scoreboard indicated that the home team had won five to two.