A Time of Promise
(This story is dedicated to John McConkey)
From where he sat by the fire, he could see the snow falling softly and silently in the winter night. It was Christmas Eve, and he was alone. The fire danced as it sent out its heat into the cold room, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was the mind-numbing loneliness. It hadn’t always been this way.
In the past, the house had been filled with the sights and smells of Christmas. Fresh evergreen, roasting turkey, twinkling lights, brightly colored packages, and happiness; but not this year. There was nothing. No tree, no lights, only Mary’s dying plants.
It had been Mary who hung the evergreen, cooked the turkey, and wrapped the packages. It had been Mary who made the holidays happy. Had he ever thanked her? He couldn’t remember, and now it was too late. She was gone, taken too early by a silent disease. He was left alone with his anger, grief, and regrets. How could he enjoy Christmas now?
This wasn’t the way their life was supposed to be. What had she said to him the day he retired? “The best is yet to be.” Well, she lied. This wasn’t the best. The best was when their daughter was young and the house was filled with laughter, not the silence that haunted him now. He never knew silence could be so loud. His ears rang from it.
His daughter had wanted him to spend Christmas with her and her family, but the effort of boarding a plane and flying to a different city was too much for him. And so he sat in the empty room, staring at a fire that gave no warmth, wallowing in his misery, and drinking gin and tonic.
The crash from the kitchen startled him, making him spill his drink. The next sound had him on his feet.
“Whoopee, come a six and an ace. The wind blew and the muck flew, and I couldn’t see for a minute or two. Where’s the gin?” A female voice called.
The glass flew from his hand as he rushed from the room. He stopped short in the doorway. In his kitchen, going through his cupboards, was a woman. She was petite and blond. Her short hair was waved with a spit curl on each side of her face. Around her head, she wore a sequined headband that glittered in the kitchen light. The bright red dress fell loosely from thin straps to just below her knees. Her short, fringed skirt swayed around her legs as she moved. A long strand of fake pearls hung from her neck.
“What in the hell is going on, and who are you?”
She turned and looked at him, her bow shaped mouth in a pout.
“Oh don’t get your drawers in a twist, Ed. I’m here to help you. My name is Dorothy, but my friends call me Dotty. I guess you could say we’re friends, since I’ve been assigned to be your guardian angel.”
She turned back and began to rummage through the cupboards again.
“Horsefeathers, don’t you have any gin or hooch? I sure could use a drink. Ah, here it is,” she said as she grabbed the gin bottle.
“Get out of here, or I’m calling the police.”
Ed rushed to the telephone.
“You’re in a real snit, aren’t you, Ed? Listen, I didn’t ask for this assignment, but I have to do it. So whaddya say you and me sit down, have a nice drink, you tell me your problems, and then I’ll fix ‘em for you?”
Dotty took the bottle and a glass and sat down at the kitchen table. Ed stood with his hand hovering over the telephone.
“You really expect me to believe you’re an angel?”
“Yeah I know, hard to imagine isn’t it? I suppose you’d be wantin’ some proof,” Dotty said after she knocked back her gin in one gulp and poured another. “Your name is Edward Petersen, you’re 60 years old, retired. Your wife was named Mary, and she died six months ago. You loved Mary very much, and you aren’t handling her death very well. Every night for the past six months, instead of remembering Mary and the good times, you’ve been crawlin’ into the bottom of a gin bottle,” she leaned back. “How’s that, Eddy boy, pretty good, huh? Nobody else knows about your drinking.”
Ed eyed her cautiously. She looked harmless, but she was obviously crazy. Maybe if he did as she asked, she’d leave. He took a glass out of the cupboard and joined Dotty at the table.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No? Well, how about this? I also know you’re plannin’ ways to bump yourself off. By the way, the idea involvin’ the gun is not good, Eddy, it leaves a real mess.”
Ed stared at his glass. She was right. He’d been contemplating suicide—at night when the gin didn’t ease the pain and all he saw were empty years stretching before him.
“Look, Ed, I’ve been trying to get through to you in subtle ways—a whisper in your ear, a phone call from a friend—but you aren’t pickin’ up. Now I’ve gotta use a more direct approach,” she said, sipping her gin.
He shook his head in disbelief. “This can’t be happening.”
“Well, it is. Here’s the deal, see. Life goes on, you gotta move ahead. Your wife’s in a better place. There, feel better?”
Satisfied, Dotty stood up and took one last drink of her gin. “I’m outta here.”
“Wait a minute, you call that helping? Quoting platitudes and clichés? You’re not a very good guardian angel, are you?” Ed snorted.
“All right already, no need to get personal, Eddy.” Dotty sat back down, filling her glass with more gin. “Actually, I’m an angel-in-training.”
“Great, my life is down the toilet, and I get an angel-in-training?” Ed said as he buried his face in his hands.
“See, Ed, that’s your problem, you think your life is in the toilet. It isn’t. You have a lot going for you, a daughter who loves you and friends who care. You need to think about what you have, not about what you’ve lost.”
“Forget about Mary?”
“’Course not. You should never forget about Mary. From what I hear, she was a nice lady and deserves to be missed. But miss her in a good way, not the bad way you’ve been doin’ here,” Dotty reached across the table to pat his hand, but Ed jerked it back.
“What do you know about missing someone? Were you ever married?” Ed tilted his glass back, letting the gin pour down his tight throat.
“No, Eddy. I wasn’t married. I never had the chance. I may not know about missin’ somebody, but I know about missin’ just the same.”
“Yeah, like what?”
Dotty shook her head and smiled. “Life, Eddy, life. Let me tell you, I had me some good times—speakeasies, joints, bath-tub gin, dancing the Charleston, partying all night. The world was my oyster,” Dotty said then frowned, “but it ended too soon.”
“What happened?”
“It gives me the heebie-jeebies talking about it, but I suppose if it’ll help you...it was Christmas Eve, 1925. Me and my fella, Benny, we were havin’ a great time at the club. Benny was a real sheik, you know, good-lookin’. Anyway, this dame starts making eyes at him and showin’ off her gams, fluttering her lashes, that kind of thing. I told her to scram, and when she didn’t, we got in a fight. Benny stepped in.” She gave her head a slight shake, sending sparks of light from her glittered headband across the room. “Then I got mad at him for interferin’. I shouldn’t’ave done it, but I was so upset I couldn’t see straight. I took off in his car. Wrapped it right around a tree, not a block from the club. That was it. No more Benny, no more fun, and no more me.”
A tear rolled down Dotty’s cheek.
“I’m sorry for you, Dotty.”
This time Ed patted her hand.
Dotty looked at him, her eyes wet with tears, “You see, Ed, it doesn’t have to be that way for you. You still got time, time I never got, to enjoy life.”
“I don’t know if I want anymore time, Dotty.”
“Listen, Christmas is a special time of year, always has been. It’s a time of promise. A promise that there’s a new beginnin’ just waitin’ ‘round the corner.”
“But I don’t see any new beginnings, only endings.”
“Aw, you’re all wet,” she said with a wave of her hand. “In every endin’, there’s a beginnin’. Maybe not the one you want, but still some kinda beginnin’. You could see it if you looked. Why, look at me. Who’d a thought a dumb Dora like me would wind up an angel? Now there’s a beginnin’ for ya, Eddy boy.”
“You’re an angel-in-training, remember,” Ed smiled.
“Yeah, but I’m workin’ on it.” Dotty smiled back. “You could work at it, too. Believe in the promise and find a new beginnin’ for yourself.”
“I don’t know,” Ed shook his head.
“Will you think about it?”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m awful sleepy now, Dotty,” Ed said as he laid his head on the table.
“Oh, and Ed, one more thing before I go. Next time when you hear a whisper in your ear, listen. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure thing, Dotty,” Ed’s eyes drifted shut.
*
From where he lay on the couch, he could see the sun rising above the horizon. His head felt like a brick, and his neck was cramped from another night on the sofa. On the floor beside him lay an empty bottle of gin. No wonder the sun hurt his eyes. Shielding his eyes, he stumbled from the couch to shut the drapes.
Outside the window, the new fallen snow glistened in the early morning light. It hung on the dark green pines in thick white clumps. The whole world looked fresh and clean to Ed’s tired eyes. It was a brand new world just waiting to start.
“A time of promise,” said the whisper in his ear.
Was that the faint odor of gin he smelled? The memory of the night before crashed through his hazy brain. Nah, couldn’t be. There’s no such thing as angels, even on Christmas. Maybe he just needed to lay off the booze for a while.
The ringing phone jarred Ed back to reality. He made his way to the phone, past the empty bottle.
“Hello.”
“Dad, Merry Christmas.”
“Julie, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Dad. We sure miss you. I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about coming for a visit?”
Ed looked around the sad, empty room as he thought of his answer. Thoughts of Dotty crowded into his mind. What was it she said about a promise of a new beginning? Suddenly, his eyes fell on Mary’s Christmas cactus. Yesterday it had been dying, now it was covered with bright coral blossoms.
“Yes, I’ve changed my mind, Julie. I’ll be on the first flight out. Can’t wait to see you and the kids. Oh and Julie, I love you.”
(but then again, maybe not)