Chapter Nineteen

 

If I were still alive, what I’m about to do would be downright suicidal. The irony of it all hits me as I stand on the precipice of the school’s rooftop garden.

After school today, I did my best to get to Vera’s house before she did. I laid out some of her favorite stuffed animals on her pink comforter. When she got home and saw them, she smiled. I had noticed them laid out this way in some of the photos from when she was a kid. I’d hoped she’d think her dad had done it for her.

Then I knocked her iPod off the dresser so she’d think of listening to some music. Anything I could think of to lighten her mood and keep the shadows away was used. When she was fast asleep, I ran over to school.

As I look out over the soccer fields and the baseball diamonds, I replay Matthew’s words: “You’ll find that many things in angelhood, as in life, are simply a matter of having the right tools and believing in the power of God.”

“Okay, God. I need to get to the basilica. I’ve got the tools. I have the wings. I even googled directions to the basilica on Vera’s computer when she was in the bathroom. So give me the power, God. I’ve got to talk with Sophy.”

I look down over the parapet’s edge. It’s a three-story drop to the concrete sidewalk below. It’s a good thing I’m already dead because this drop could kill me. I take a deep breath and spread my wings, a skill I practiced all evening while watching Vera. The wings stretch out beyond my fingertips now.

“Be with me, God.” My knees bend and I drop off the edge.

My eyes are closed, but I can feel myself falling. Then suddenly I feel a contraction in my back and I’m no longer plummeting toward the Earth. The wings beat gently behind me, and I’m soaring over the treetops. The sight of streetlamps and random cars passing below me is even more beautiful than the night Warren had flown me to the meeting.

I enjoy the flying so much I almost forget to look where I am going, but when I recognize a certain stretch of highway below, I realize I’m getting close and veer to the west.

My landing is a little rough. I need to take several extra steps to stop my momentum, but I land successfully on the street in front of Our Lady of Sorrows. The street is dark and quiet except for a few passing cars. After tucking my wings behind me, I walk up the steps and through the first set of doors. I stop momentarily before the inner red doors embossed with the letters S and M. I never did get to ask Warren what they meant. Where is he tonight? Is he okay? Is Ms. Kitchin okay?

On the other side of the red doors, angels kneel in prayer. Not as many as the first night I was here but enough to remind me that I’m not the only one asking for God’s help tonight. The basilica has about twelve little chapels that line the sides of the pews, six on each side. Matthew said to look for the one with the replica of the Pietà in it, but I don’t see any statues that look like Mary holding a crucified Jesus. There’s a dark highly stylized crucifix in one, and another chapel is dedicated to St. Therese, but I don’t see what Matthew described.

Now what? Maybe Matthew was playing a joke on me. I wouldn’t put it past the big jock.

“May I help you?”

Joshua stands behind me. He looks perfectly serene, as if nothing I could say would bother or offend him. I tilt my head to look up at him. Despite his towering size, his presence is calming, not intimidating.

“I’m looking for the chapel with the Pietà ...well, the replica of it at least.”

Joshua smiles. “Seeking Sophy’s wisdom?”

I don’t speak. I just nod.

Joshua lifts his right hand and gestures to a doorway located to the left of the altar.

I point and raise an eyebrow. The back of church seems like an odd place to be hiding an important statue, much less Sophy.

Joshua’s smile widens and he walks away. I head toward the door. As I approach, another Guardian walks out. He is middle aged and haggard.

“Good luck,” he says as he passes. “I’ve been praying for over an hour and no sign of her.” Rather disgruntled, he marches away.

I walk through a hallway and enter a small dark chapel. The white marble statue stands on a raised platform. The walls behind it are dark red on top and white marble on the bottom. A small stained glass window depicts the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan. To my right is a dark wooden staircase that looks like it belongs in an old house, not the back of a church. I wonder where it could possibly lead. To my left, a red exit sign lights up the area near a set of double doors.

I step toward the Pietà and kneel on the lowest level of the platform right in front of it. The serenity on Mary’s face captivates me. How could she be so calm when her son has been murdered? And yet Jesus himself looks peaceful too. I think about my own death. The moments right after it were anything but calm. There was chaos and confusion—darkness and light—but even the light only brought me more bewilderment. Why was I seeing scenes from a strange girl’s life? Where was the peace I had sought when I decided to take my own life?

Maybe peace only comes when your death occurs as it should—and when it should—not when you’ve brought it on yourself.

I can’t help it. I know I’m supposed to be praying for Sophy to appear, but instead I break down and cry. What was I thinking when I took my own life? Did I really think that would bring me peace and happiness? I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the moments in my life I’ll never experience—another curtain call, laughing with friends, flirting with boys, marriage, children, college, being there for my sister as our mom battles cancer. Then there’s all the simple things: a cup of hot cocoa after shoveling the snow on a winter afternoon, long walks in the fall while the leaves crunch under my feet, the summer sun warming my skin after a swim in Lake Michigan, rainbows that stretch across the sky after a spring rain.

Emily’s speech at the end of Our Town makes more sense than ever before. I wish I could be like her and crawl back to my graveyard and not have to think about the lovely things I’ll never know again. But I can’t. Life isn’t a Thornton Wilder play. I’m stuck here watching a girl who doesn’t see the beauty in her own life. I watch her make dinner, and I think about how I’ll never learn to cook. I watch her climb under her pink comforter, and I realize I’ll never know the wonderful soft warmth of snuggling under the covers again. I watch her blush when the boy in English class smiles at her, and I know I’ll never get a smile like that from a living boy again.

Oh, God, I was such an idiot!

“There, there now, darling. No need to get so worked up.”

The soft voice from behind startles me. How long has someone been in the chapel with me? I stand up and wipe away my tears. I’m too ashamed to turn around and face the intruder right away.

“I’ll be all right,” I mutter.

“Of course, you will, dear. Everyone who asks for God’s help receives it.”

“I was actually hoping to meet Sophy.” I turn to face the woman who has interrupted my self-pity session.

Behind me stands a twenty-something woman with a bobbed haircut and a felt hat pushed down low and tight on her head. She wears a pale blue dress with a drop waist and knee-length hem. Several layers of beads drip down the front. Her outfit reminds me of the flapper costume Ally wore for Halloween when we were in eighth grade.

“See? Ask and you shall receive,” she says, opening her arms wide.

“Sophy?”

“Well, darling, what were you expecting? A grandmotherly sort?”

“But you died back in the 20s?”

“Yes, and I was 26 at the time.” Sophy smiles. “Now let’s get to business, shall we? I have many more Guardians to aid tonight.”

“I need help…”

Sophy waves a hand and bangles jingle on her arm. “No need to go through all the details, dearie. I see and know much more than you can imagine. If you’re going to help Vera, you’ll have to get at what’s really troubling her.”

“I managed to get her poem published. She seemed happy about that.”

“Her writing is a blessing to her. That’s true. But what is it that really breaks her heart?”

“Her mother died of cancer.”

Sophy clasps her hands behind her back and walks to stand before the Pietà. Staring at Mary holding Jesus, she says, “Death does cause much sorrow, but you can’t bring back Vera’s mom, just like you can’t do anything to ease the pain your sister has felt since watching you die.”

“Oh God.” My tears rush forward again.

Sophy grabs hold of my shoulders. “Nanette, what else is breaking Vera’s heart day after day after day?”

I stifle a sob. “She seems the worst when she goes home. I can’t even see her sometimes; the shadows are too powerful. When I first started guarding her, she and her dad would eat dinner in silence. Now he’s not even home for dinner at all—just texts her to say he’s working late and not to wait for him. It’s like her father is as dead to her as her own mother.”

“Then you must do something about that.”

“But how? All I can do is move small objects. If I could just talk to her. If I could be like Joshua and appear human to her, I could make a real difference.”

“Nanette, that takes years of growing in grace.” Sophy takes my hands. “But there is something you can do. You can whisper ideas to them.”

I lift my tear-rimmed eyes to Sophy. “She could hear me?”

“Not exactly. It’s more like planting little seeds of thought that can grow into wonderful ideas. Vera will think the idea just occurred to her out of the blue.”

“Isn’t that kind of like mind control?”

“No, humans always have a choice.”

“So it’s more like I’m the proverbial angel on the right shoulder while the shadows are the proverbial demon on the left shoulder. Vera still gets to decide which of us to listen to.”

Sophy smiles. “Yes, I suppose that’s a good comparison.”

“So how do I do it?”

“With a little faith and God’s help.” Before I can question any more, Sophy lifts her hands and places them on my head. “Dear Lord, please grant Nanette the ability to believe that you will help her and in doing so, when her heart is pure and her intentions true, let her whisper your words into the hearts of your faithful. Amen.”

My eyes are closed throughout the prayer. When I feel Sophy lift her hands off my head, I open my eyes and she’s gone. The little chapel is empty.