Manny had to look closely, but he could see it. An image emerging within his cup. He held his breath as he worked, angling his mug side to side as the ivory liquid marbled the velvety espresso. He had picked up some impressive moves from Katrina over the last week. He didn’t know much about the latest addition to their team, but he knew he liked her. His rapid-fire questions had debunked his theory that Katrina might be a fellow angel. Even still, he had a hunch that it was more than the planet Saturn that had brought her.
“I must ask Gabriel about her,” he said to himself as he finished his latte with a final flick of the wrist. In the end, his leaf design looked more like corn on the cob, but it was certainly an improvement on the ghostly blob floating in yesterday morning’s latte.
Manny had come to love these quiet mornings in the café. Not many employees would enjoy the extra responsibility, but when Chelsea asked if he would take on early-morning prep so she could have more time with the kids, he had jumped at the chance. (And he even landed on his feet.)
Ever since the God Blog went live, the café had been a hub of constant activity. But as much as Manny enjoyed the rush of customers, he relished more his moments in Grandmother Sophia’s prayer closet.
He followed a trail of whispers to a set of doors tucked between the staircase and the café. He pulled back the accordion doors, drinking in the sights and sounds of a sunroom washed in buttery paint and brimming with boxes, antiques, and trinkets from eras past. Delicate lace drapes framed a picture-perfect bay window, still hours away from flooding the room with light. Nestled between the floaty antique fabric was a wingback chair holding a needlepoint pillow with the phrase Living on coffee and a prayer. Manny sipped his latte and leaned into the space. The whispers swelled into words and phrases pulled from the ether. He closed his eyes and listened to the symphony . . . the kind only angels hear.
“Oh Father, you are faithful and true . . .”
“I need your help, God . . .”
“. . . bring healing to my family”
“Lord, bless my daughters . . .”
Decades of prayers resounded through the small room. Prayers that pass through the lips in a moment, but endure for all eternity.
“. . . help my girls to forgive their father . . .”
“. . . thank you for your mercy . . .”
“Lord, give Chelsea the grace she needs . . .”
“May your angels be encamped around my family . . .”
“. . . and let this place be a house of prayer.”
As Manny soaked in the chorus of prayers, his eyes roamed the maze of memories that filled the room. Beneath the film of dust was a colorful past. Stacks of photo albums, a rainbow of books, newspaper clippings. In the far corner, an imposing cabinet showcased rows of amber and green Depression glass dotted with blue ribbons and elementary school pottery projects. To Manny’s right, a mint-condition phonograph sat atop a tower of vinyl records, surrounded by several hand-loomed tapestries and a small rocking horse from Mexico.
Remembering the family’s vacation in Acapulco brought a smile to Manny’s face. He could still see a carefree Chelsea splashing through the waves on the beach, one hand in her mom’s, the other tucked securely in her dad’s. Manny had been with Chelsea through it all. Yet for all the progress she had made, Chelsea still had a lot of unpacking to do.
Manny pulled the doors shut. As he did, an image flashed before him. A vision of the room from heaven’s view. Cutting through the dark landscape of the neighborhood, a glow had been emanating from this very corner of the café. Manny was certain this forgotten corner was meant to be more than a storehouse for memories; it was a sacred space. A house of prayer. Though neglected for a time, Manny had a suspicion the room would soon be put to good use once again.