Chelsea’s eyes stung as she opened them. Through a haze she saw Sara seated nearby, her head bowed in prayer, a singed photo album resting in her lap. When she opened her mouth to speak, she felt as though the contents of a fireplace had gathered in her throat.
“Sara,” Chelsea whispered in a gravelly voice.
“Chelsea!” Sara rose to her sister’s bedside, taking her hand, careful to avoid the IV. “How do you feel?”
“Awful, but alive,” Chelsea said with a wry smile that lasted only a second. “Hancock and Emily?”
“They’re okay. They’re perfect.” Sara poured Chelsea a small cup of ice water. “Sawyer has them. They’ve been staying at our place.”
Chelsea took a sip of water, tears of relief forming in her eyes. “Manny saved me last night.”
Sara nodded, her own eyes brimming with emotion. “He did. But that was two nights ago. It’s Sunday now. Easter.”
“Was it Manny who got the kids out?”
“Actually, that was Sawyer.”
“Sawyer?”
Sara nodded. “I don’t know why he was there, but thank God he was. He’s the one who called the fire department and pulled both Hancock and Emily from upstairs. But he couldn’t find you, and the smoke had really gotten to him. Manny showed up right in time. He found you in Mom’s old room, right near where the fire started.”
“What caused it?”
“The storm. It hit just right and caused all that old wiring to short-circuit. The fire started, and once it did . . .” Sara shook her head, her voice quaking. “They said it’s a miracle y’all made it out.”
“So the café . . .”
“It’s gone.”
Chelsea swallowed hard. She knew it would take a while for that reality to set in. Still, she was grateful. Compared to the lives of her children and herself, the loss was small.
“Chelsea, there’s one more thing,” Sara said, reaching for the photo album on her chair. “You had this when Manny found you. The nurses gave it to me with some of your things, so I’ve been looking through it. Just to remind myself of, well, how good God has been over the years.”
Chelsea nodded, even if she did not fully agree.
“Well, I found this tucked in one of the pages.” Sara pulled out a newspaper clipping from the Tribune, yellowed with age. Chelsea scanned the article, which detailed their fateful accident from her childhood.
“Look there,” Sara said, rolling back the crinkled edges to give Chelsea a better view of the accompanying photograph, a rare artifact caught by an onlooker. “Do you see that?”
Chelsea studied the fuzzy photograph. Emerging from the fiery wreck was a man cradling an eleven-year-old Chelsea in his arms. This mysterious hero was Hispanic, around age thirty, and strikingly familiar.
“Call me crazy, but who does he look like to you?”
“It’s . . . it’s Manny,” Chelsea said, her head shaking in disbelief.
“Exactly!” Sara exclaimed. “But how?”
Chelsea awoke this time to the sight of a kindly nun dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth. “Are you all right, honey? You were mumbling in your sleep.”
“Is it still Easter?” Chelsea whispered.
“It is indeed,” she said, offering Chelsea the straw from a Styrofoam mug. “I’m Sister Margaret. I’ll be looking after you this evening.” Sister Margaret’s smile was deep and sincere, as if etched into her face from years of loving care.
Chelsea drank deep, the cool liquid a comforting balm to her scorched throat. “Thank you.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“Is there a chapel in the hospital?” Chelsea asked.
After assisting Chelsea into a fresh white hospital gown, Sister Margaret wheeled her through the double doors of a simple chapel. Chelsea continued down the center aisle, which extended the length of three oak pews, ending at an altar beneath a polished wooden crucifix.
“Shall I leave you for just a bit?” Sister Margaret asked.
With a nod from Chelsea, Sister Margaret locked the wheelchair in place and slipped out the door, leaving Chelsea alone in the silent sanctuary.
Chelsea stared at the cross, her mind flooding with so many things she wanted to yell, ask, and scream. But amongst the torrent, eight simple words floated to the surface.
“How will I make it on my own?” Chelsea asked of the heavens through a stream of tears. Yet once again her question seemed meaningless, destined to remain unanswered, as if she had cast a message in a bottle into an infinite sea of stars.
A twinkle of light caught Chelsea’s eye. She wiped her eyes and turned to see a familiar face in the pew beside her.
“Manny?”
“Hi, Chelsea,” he answered.
Chelsea blinked as her eyes adjusted to a bright light. She was certain the face smiling back at her was indeed Manny, but something was different. He glowed, as if illuminated from the inside out. Chelsea didn’t dare say aloud the thought crossing her mind. Instead, she formed her words carefully. “You’re . . . not from around here, are you?”
Manny chuckled. “You’ve got that right.”
“So you’re—” She still couldn’t say it.
“An angel,” Manny said matter-of-factly. “Your guardian angel.”
“Is this real life?” Chelsea glanced around the empty sanctuary, rubbing her forehead. Her imagination was in crisis mode. The Manny she was looking at was anything but human. But that was impossible. An impossibility that offered answers to the questions she had been asking for months. Chelsea’s steel trap of a mind had been sprung wide open.
“So the God Blog? That was you?”
“Oh no. I suggested the idea. But the answers? All him.” Manny pointed to the heavens.
“And the people who brought the router, they were also—”
Manny nodded. “Just like me. But in better-looking disguises.”
“And . . . the car accident?”
Manny nodded. “He sent me there too.”
Chelsea held her forehead, struggling to put the pieces together.
“The question you were asking,” Manny said.
“How will I make it on my own?” she offered.
“Chelsea, you won’t ever have to make it on your own.” Manny took her by the hand. “Let me show you.”