The Heavenly Heart (18 page)

After dinner, my father gives my mother this diamond circle pendant necklace. It’s white gold and real pretty. He motions for her to turn around he puts the necklace around her neck and makes sure its securely clasped..

“To new beginnings,” he says.

I take a good look at this necklace. I’m sure I’ve seen one like it before. Huh-huh! It’s exactly like the one he gave Kirsten.
And
he said the very same words when he gave it to her!

My father has absolutely no shame.

FIFTY-SIX

The Golden Window

Carla’s had a major set-back and if you ask me she’s depressed. Maybe The Stairs to the Hereafter are meant to be climbed lickety-split. And allowing us to come back to the front porch—as Pete refers to this place—until you hit the last step may not be such a good idea.

I’m sitting in Carla’s Golden Window trying to cheer her up.

“I’ve got some great jokes,” I say. “Listen to this.”

Hugging one of the pillows I lean over and try hard to remember every one-liner I know.

“Okay. Listen up—there’s two cowboys in the kitchen. Which one’s the real cowboy?” I say. “Give up? The one on the range.”

Carla barely grunts.

 “Well, how about this one? What’s pink and puffy?”

Carla shrugs her shoulders like she could care less.

“Give up?” I ask. “Pink fluff.”

Carla smiles—I got her now.

“What’s blue and fluffy?”

“Blue fluff,” she says, and sits up.

“Pink fluff holding it’s breath.”

“Uuuuhhh,” Carla says and rolls over onto the pillow she’s hugging.

“Okay, this is the best joke I know,” I say. “It’s kind of long. Here goes: three men are standing in line to get into heaven and Pete’s had a very busy day and says, ‘Sorry, Heaven’s pretty full today. I can only admit people who have had a horrible death. What’s your story?’”

“You better hurry up and finish this before Pete shows up,” Carla says.

I motion for her to be quiet. I’m losing my train of thought. “Okay, so the first man says, ‘Well when I got home from work I smelled a strange man’s cologne and figured my wife was being unfaithful again. I searched around and found a guy hanging off our balcony on the 25
^th
floor. Boy was I mad, so I started beating him, but he wouldn’t let go, so I went into the apartment and got a hammer and proceeded to beat his fingers with it till he let go. And he fell twenty-five stories to the ground, but he landed in the bushes and was fine. I couldn’t stand it so I went and got our refrigerator and tossed it over the edge. It landed on him, alright, but in all the excitement I had a heart attack and here I am.’”

“Is this supposed to be funny?” Carla says, interrupting.

“Let me finish! And Pete says, ‘That’s terrible. You can’t come in.’ Then the next guy shows up and Pete gives him the same spiel about Heaven being full today and what’s his story and the guy says it’s been a very strange day. I live on the 26
^th
floor of my apartment building and every morning I do my exercises out on the balcony and don’t ask me how, but I lost my balance and fell over the edge, but I got lucky and caught the railing of the balcony on the floor below, but then this guy starts beating me up, and I wouldn’t let go, so he gets a hammer and pounds on my hands till I have to let go, and then I get lucky again and land in the bushes, but he throws a refrigerator over the edge and it lands on top of me and here I am. And Pete says, ‘That’s terrible. You can come in.’ And then Pete turns to the last guy in line that day and he’s getting really tired and he says, ‘Okay, what’s
your
story?’ And the guy says, ‘Picture this, I’m hiding naked in this refrigerator and—’”

We both break up into hysterics.

“You’re gonna get it if Pete hears you,” Carla says.

Finally, she’s back to her old self.

“Nah! He likes good jokes.”

FIFTY-SEVEN

The Silver Lining

I don’t know why I still have this fascination with the Silver Lining. It’s obvious that this window isn’t going to change anything. Still, whenever I look at earth through the Golden Window, it makes me want to go to the Silver Lining and see what would have happened if I were still alive.

Pete says, “Well, good. There’s something I would like you to see through the lining. I think you should go. I’ve asked that you go, remember?”

Here we go again. I look at him but say absolutely nothing. Of course I remember. It still makes me want to eat everything up here.

But this time I’ll go. Besides, I want to be sure that Mona’s still alright with the motorcycle man’s kidney, which is foolish of course, because she doesn’t really have it, since I’m here and she has mine. But, I can’t help myself. I still fantasize that I’m there and she’s there, too. And, then I remember—I could baby-sit!—That’s cool. I’d get to know her children first-hand. So I’m all excited and about ready to leave when I hear Miss Lily crying.

I take off looking for her. It’s strange. Her cries are real far away, but I can hear them like she’s standing next to me. I make my way to the Stairs of the Hereafter. Her cries are getting louder, so I must be getting closer. But when I pass the Step of Denial, I notice her cries grow fainter. I turn around and open the door and wander past the forest of trees. Miss Lily isn’t here.  And then her crying stops as abruptly as it started.

“Miss Lily?” I call out to her. “Are you here? It’s Lorelei.”

She doesn’t answer. I go back and climb into the Silver Lining. I’ll look for her later and see if she’ll tell me what’s bothering her. In the meantime I’ll check on Mona and offer to baby-sit. Everything will be great now that she’s home from Mayo. Well, things should be great. I’m counting on it.

FIFTY-EIGHT

The Silver Lining

I forgot all about what Pete said! Yes, Mona did get home safely with the motorcycle man’s kidney, but she arrived a day too late. Andy drowned in the pool the day before. She wasn’t there to save him. I’m a total retard. How could I forget that?

When I get to her house, Rita’s with her. She’s been crying for hours.

“Hello, Mona,” I say. “I thought you might need me to baby-sit and I was in the area—”

“Lorelei,” she says, “How in the world did you know—”

“Pete told me,” I say.

“Pete?”

“Yes, he, he—”

“You must mean Mr. Anderson. Pete Anderson,” Mona says, “the gentleman across the street.” She nods her head, happy to have figured out the puzzle.

I don’t correct her.

“Come in,
please
.”

She introduces me to Rita. I tell her how sorry I am to hear about Andy, but I don’t know what else to say. She must be under some very heavy medication. Her eyes are dilated and she’s having trouble getting up from the sofa to shake my hand.

“Here, let me help you,” I say, and steady her on her feet. She’s leaning worse than the Tower of Pisa. “Maybe you should sit down,” I say. She doesn’t argue.

I take a look around. The living room is just the way it was the day my father came to meet Mona for the very first time. Only the stain on the rug is gone from where Bobby, Jr. spilled the lemon-aid.

“Where are the children?” I ask.

“There with another neighbor. She’s going to watch them while we’re at the funeral.”

“Oh, I’d be so happy to take care of them!” I say, a bit too eager. “Is that okay?”

Mona clears her throat and smiles. “Well,” she says. “I—I—“

“Oh please? It’d mean a lot to me,” I say. “Really.”

“Well, I don’t see why not,” Mona says and looks at Rita to see what she thinks. Rita’s staring at the wall. She totally needs someone to watch over her.

So, it’s a deal. I’ll stay with Rita while Mona brings the children home. I remind her about all of the certificates I have in childcare.

“Yes, I remember,” she says.

Still, it’s a bit strange for her to trust me so readily. I mean, basically I’m a perfect stranger. I only met her once. I’m thinking that Pete has his hand in this. And then I remember how eager he was for me to go through the Silver Lining. And that makes my stomach turn over and I start wondering what it is he wants me to see. He’s been after me for days. And it’s kinda ruining the moment. And I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have come when Bobby, Jr. comes barreling through the front door. He’s whooping and hollering.

“Good riddance Mrs. Findley,” he says. “She smells like bad breath.”

“Bobby, don’t say that,” Mona says.

“She does,” Bobby says. “Her whole body stinks.” He’s wearing a blue t-shirt and a very large grin. “I’m glad I’m home. I’m glad I’m home.” He starts marching around the room.

Mona turns to me. “Bobby, Jr.,” she says and nods her head

Next she introduces me to Allison and little Bradley. The children all seem very glad to see me. Maybe Mrs. Findley does stink. Or maybe Pete’s has hand in this, too. Maybe he’s up to something.

FIFTY-NINE

The Silver Lining

Bobby, Jr.’s a real handful. We’re making chocolate chip cookies, but he’s managed to eat all but two of the chocolate chips.

“Sprinkle sugar on’em and make sugar cookies!” he says, which is a good idea and about the only thing we can really do at this point.

Allison’s doing the mixing. Since she’s only three, I’ve given her a wooden spoon, but what we need is the mixer. And that is out of the question. I’m afraid one of her fingers will end up in the dough. I let her continue mixing by hand. It’s pathetic. The yolks of the eggs are still jiggling on top of the butter.

“Can I help you mix?” I say.

“Okay,” she says and gives me a look like she’s very relieved.

I really like these children. They’re no trouble at all—except maybe Bradley. He has diarrhea and his diapers are driving me up the wall. Twice I had to go to the bathroom and gag over the toilet.

“Are you okay in there?” Bobby Jr. said, and rapped on the door.

“Perfectly fine,” I answered, but actually I felt like barfing all over Bradley. He’s sleeping now. I hope Mona’s home by the next diaper change. The house just stinks. I’m hoping the smell of cookies floating through the house will take away the smell. It’s so gross, I’m telling you. So making cookies was a brilliant idea.

“Andy’s going to heaven,” Allison says. “Mommie’s taking him there with Rita.”

“Is not,” Bobby, Jr. says. “He’s going to a funeral. Right, Lorelei?”

I hate it when children ask questions.

“Well,” I say, “he’s not actually going to a funeral. Your mother and your father and Rita and her husband and all the grown-up people who love Andy are going to the funeral. It’s a funeral for Andy.”

“What’s a fewnul?” Allison says.

See why I hate when children ask questions? They quickly get very complicated.

“It’s kind of like a party to celebrate someone’s life,” I say.

“Why?” Allison asks.

“Cause he’s going to heaven,” Bobby, Jr. says.

“Right,” I say. “He’s going to heaven and it’s a very special place to be, so they’re having a party.”

“I wanna go to the party,” Allison says.

She proceeds to have a meltdown and starts crying directly into the cookie dough. I’m about ready to go back and hang my head over the john.

“You can go next time,” I say, drying her eyes.

“Okay,” she says, the tears forgotten. She starts licking the cookie dough off the spoon which has been resting in the bowl along with her tears. I’m not eating any of these cookies, no matter what. Seriously, I could be starving to death and even then I wouldn’t touch them, not one bite.

Wouldn’t you know—smoke starts pouring out of the oven.

“Oh, no!!” I yell. “We forgot about the first batch.”

I turn off the oven and open the door. Too late; the cookies look like bits of coal.

“Do we have to eat them?” Bobby asks.

I give him a look that says, you’ve got to be kidding. He puts his hand over his mouth and giggles.

I toss them in the trash can next to the sink and give up on the cookies.

“I can make some finger paints,” I say. “I know the recipe by heart. Would you like to finger paint?”

“Yes, yes!” Allison says jumping up and down.

“Yeah! Let’s finger paint,” Bobby yells loud enough to alert the next city.

Bradley hears the commotion and joins us in the kitchen. He’s managed to climb out of his crib. Apparently I didn’t fasten his diaper as tight as I should have. They’re hanging down around his knees and his diarrhea is very much still with us. The finger paints will have to wait. I need to make a quick trip to the john.

*       *        *

My mother and Mr. Warren are
not
sleeping together. They’re discussing sleeping together.

“I promised myself I’d never cheat on him again, no matter what,” she says.

“
Again
?” Mr. Warren inquires.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you,” my mother says. Shame is resting on her face like lipstick. “My husband’s partner did not force himself on me—I—I don’t know why I didn’t tell you the truth to begin—”

So Onetta wasn’t lying.  No wonder she looked so strange that day. I thought it was what we were talking about. I guess she wanted to protect me. And she wanted it badly enough she was willing to lie. That says a lot about her love for me. Onetta lying?  I could just hug her tight and never let go.

Mr. Warren puts his hand over my mother’s mouth.

“Grace, sssshhhh,” he whispers. “You don’t need to—I mean you hardly owe me an explanation.”

My mother’s relieved. She dabs at her face with her handkerchief. Her face is very relaxed. She looks like a regular person who’s just had a good cry.

“I want us to be together,” Mr. Warren says. “Do you want that?”

My mother shakes her head adamantly that she does.

“Then it’s settled,” he says.

“Settled?”

“He’ll have to give you a divorce.”

“A d-d-divorce?” my mother stutters.

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Warren says, and puts his arms around my mother. “We’ll go see him together.”