A Gift of Wings (6 page)

“Miss?”

The bus driver’s impatient query made Lucky realize he was waiting for her to move so he could close the door. She stepped away from the bus. Before she could get the word “Sorry” out of her mouth, the door was already closing, and the bus was pulling away from the curb.

She turned to look back down the block after the man in the duster, but he was nowhere to be seen. She sighed. Bat wings and a tail. Right. “Get a grip, Lucky,” she murmured under her breath.

Adjusting her backpack on her shoulder, she held onto her iPod, taking comfort in the smooth, familiar shape of it in her hand, and settled in to wait for her next bus. The playlist switched to the next song, and she frowned as the opening to “Icarus Falling” filled her ears. It had been a weekend for weirdness. Momentarily hallucinating a tail and bat wings on an angry stranger paled in comparison to her experience at the Icarus show the night before. What had that all been about anyway? In the midst of the mundane activity of waiting at a bus stop, the almost mystical quality of her experience of the music seemed even more surreal and dreamlike. She must have imagined it all. And yet, she knew she hadn’t imagined her conversations with Aidan, nor had she imagined the intensity with which he had stared after her as she and Mo and Josh were leaving. Whatever was going on, he had felt some part of it too, had
been
a part of it.

As she listened to the words of the song, she remembered the feeling of being inside the music, the song, the story. She recalled the sensation of the leather harness of the wings against her skin and the strangeness of the moment when she felt the heat of the melting wax on her back. She also recalled the sense of oneness with Aidan’s beautiful voice. She could feel herself rising and falling with the melody, feel the rhythm of his voice stroking against the edges of her mind, wrapping her in warm, dark silk. She caught her breath as she remembered the flaming wings she had seen rising and spreading from his shoulders, wings she had seen again in her dream, when, like Icarus’, they caught fire, and he fell from the sky. She had assumed the flaming wings were a part of the show, special effects, but now she was beginning to wonder. Aidan had seemed startled when she had first asked him about them, and now she had seen wings of another sort on someone else. Was it just her? Was she seeing things?

Her worries were interrupted by the arrival of the 151. Lucky swiped her card and took an empty seat next to the window. She stared out at the people on the sidewalk, wondering what they were thinking. She guessed they all had plenty of things to worry about. She wondered if any of them, like her, were starting to have doubts about the sureness of their grip on reality.

She had spent months worrying about G-Ma. What if her own mind was failing? It wasn’t exactly normal to go around seeing angel or demon wings on people. She wasn’t even sure she believed in angels and demons. She had attended Catholic school, but she had not been raised to be especially religious, so angels and demons for her were figures from fantasy or horror movies, not beings one encountered in one’s daily life. But since she hadn’t ever been particularly fascinated with them, why would she start imagining them now? It didn’t make sense. Then again, it seemed that life often didn’t make sense. Look at what had happened to G-Ma. Was it really so much more nonsensical for her to be imagining that people had wings than it was for a highly intelligent, independent woman to have suddenly lost the ability to remember where she lived, or how to operate a stove or a television? If such a thing could happen to G-Ma, then pretty much anything could happen to anybody at any time.

Lucky’s jaw tightened as she realized they had reached her stop at Sheridan and Diversey. She got off the bus, quickly stepping away from the door this time, since there was no yellow-eyed, bat-winged stranger to distract her. She walked the remaining blocks to the assisted living facility and hesitated for a few moments outside the door. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and went in.

After Lucky had signed in at the front desk, she started down the first of several somewhat maze-like corridors toward G-Ma’s room. She hoped she’d find her grandmother there so she wouldn’t have to wander around the building looking for her. When she turned down the last hallway, she was relieved to see G-Ma walking toward her down the hall. At the sight of her granddaughter, G-Ma’s face lit up in a smile, and she spread her arms wide. Lucky was almost running as she closed the remaining distance and wrapped her arms around her grandmother. Tears filled her eyes as she was enveloped in G-Ma’s embrace. It felt so normal, so right, and yet she knew that her relationship with her grandmother would never return to what it had been before.

“It’s so good to see you,” G-Ma said, pressing her cheek against Lucky’s. “I’ve missed you, my dear.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Lucky replied, a slight break in her voice.

She tightened her arms around her grandmother’s slight form. G-Ma had never been a large woman, and in the last several months, she had gotten smaller. She wasn’t frail, but she no longer had the wiry muscular strength she had once possessed. After a final squeeze, Lucky stepped back from her grandmother.

Slipping her hand around Lucky’s elbow, G-Ma turned back down the hallway to her room. “Let’s go sit down and visit for a while.”

Once in G-Ma’s room, Lucky refused the offered recliner, which she knew was G-Ma’s favorite chair, and settled into the rocking chair across from her. Looking around the room, she was pleased to see that it was bright and cheery. The curtains were pulled back and the blinds were open, allowing sunlight to stream through the window. The walls and shelves were covered with family photographs and artwork, the latter a combination of pieces by some of G-Ma’s favorite artists and those she had made herself. G-Ma had been an art teacher, and she had explored various media over the years. Most recently, she had been working with oil paints. Lucky was pleased to see a partially finished painting and tubes of paint laid out on the artist’s table in the far corner of the room. With all that G-Ma had lost, it was a relief to know that she still had her art.

“What are you working on?” Lucky asked, getting up from the chair and moving toward the art table.

“Well, I’m not sure,” G-Ma responded.

Hearing the uncertainty in her voice, Lucky stopped and turned to look at her grandmother. The older woman’s face wore a puzzled frown. “I had intended to paint a still life.”

She gestured toward the dresser, atop which sat a small, lapis-colored ceramic bowl filled with vibrant yellow lemons and bright green limes. Next to the bowl was a narrow, clear blue vase which contained three cheerful daisies. G-Ma walked over to the dresser and picked up a lemon, cradling it in her hand.

“One of the girls brought me the flowers, and when I mentioned I’d like to paint them next to that bowl, and that it would be even better if there were some lemons and limes in it, she brought me those. Wasn’t that nice of her?” G-Ma looked at Lucky and smiled, then lifted the lemon to her nose and sniffed. “It smells so fresh.”

Turning back to the dresser, she replaced the lemon in the bowl and gazed at the little display with satisfaction. “It will make quite a nice painting, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Yes, G-Ma,” Lucky said. “It will make a very nice painting.” She took another step toward the art table in the corner. “And what is it you’re working on right now?” She glanced back at her grandmother.

G-Ma lost her smile and frowned again. Slowly, she walked over to join Lucky, and together they took the final steps to the table, moving around to the far side of it, so they could see the painting right side up. G-Ma put out her hand toward the painting, but paused before her fingers touched it.

“I don’t know what this is,” she said. “When I sat down to paint, the image came into my head, and I had to paint it. It’s not finished, but I can’t see the rest of it yet.”

As Lucky examined the piece, she felt her own forehead crease with a frown. It was unlike anything G-Ma had ever painted before. Usually, her paintings were realistic—still lifes, leaves, trees, and flowers. She’d once said that she liked to paint natural images because, living in the city, she didn’t get to see enough nature; if she filled her house with paintings, she could give herself the illusion of being surrounded by it.

This painting was definitely not a nature scene, although, like G-Ma, Lucky wasn’t sure what it depicted. Approximately the right third of the sheet was filled with a dark, cloud-like image. Swooping diagonally across the canvas were swirls of gray and black with occasional streaks of red. Although the cloudy shape was abstract, it somehow gave the impression of animation, of personality—and of distinct malevolence. The longer Lucky looked at the image, the more convinced she was that the subject was some sort of being. She noticed two yellow-tinged red spots amidst the darkness that could even be representative of eyes.

The remaining two-thirds of the painting was little more than a sketch. The colors were lighter—blues, golds, some paler grays—and it looked as if several figures were beginning to take shape. Ultimately, though, the image was as yet indeterminate. Lucky found the painting both fascinating and deeply disturbing. Something in her clamored to see the finished version, while another part of her never wanted to look on the image again.

“I was going to paint a still life,” G-Ma said in a small, uncertain voice, her fingers still reaching toward but not touching the half-finished canvas. Now that she had seen the painting, Lucky found that the words filled her with a strange sort of dread.

Shaking her head and looking up at Lucky as if awakening from a dream, G-Ma asked, “Would you like a cup of tea, dear? I’ll heat some water.” Then she looked around the room with a puzzled frown. “Oh, it looks like someone took my stove.” She turned to Lucky and spoke in a lowered voice, as if sharing a secret. “They do that, you know. Things just disappear. My dishes and my silverware have almost all gone missing. Someone just comes in here when I’m gone and walks right out with my things.”

Lucky wasn’t sure how to respond. They hadn’t brought any dishes or silverware when they had moved G-Ma into the assisted living facility. All her meals here would be in the facility’s dining room, so she didn’t need her own personal items. “I’m—sure they’ll bring them back,” she said.

“Yes, and if they don’t, I’ll let someone know about it,” G-Ma stated.

Just then, there was a knock at the open door, and a pretty young black woman stepped inside.

“Lucinda, are you ready for lunch?” she asked.

Seeing Lucky, she smiled and held out her hand. “I’m DeShawn,” she said. “You must be Lucky. Lucinda talks about you all the time.”

Lucky shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you the one who brought G-Ma the flowers?”

DeShawn’s smile widened. “Yes. They caught my eye when I walked past the flower display at the market yesterday, and I thought of Lucinda, because when I first met her on Friday, she said she liked daisies.”

“Thank you,” said Lucky with a smile. “That was very kind.”

DeShawn waved away the thanks. “Oh, it was no big deal. She’s a neat lady, your grandmother.”

She held her hand out toward G-Ma, who took it without hesitation. “Are you hungry, Lucinda?”

G-Ma nodded. “I hope they have chicken,” she said. “Chicken and mashed potatoes would be nice.”

DeShawn laughed. “You know, I think we are having chicken today.” She turned toward Lucky. “Would you like to have lunch with your grandmother? We can fix you a plate too.”

Lucky looked at G-Ma. “Why not?” she said. “If you’re sure it’s no bother.”

“No bother at all,” DeShawn replied, leading G-Ma from the room.

Lucky stepped through the door after them, casting one last troubled glance toward the unfinished painting, before pulling the door closed.

The rest of Lucky’s visit was uneventful. During lunch, she met some of the other residents. Although most of the people who shared her grandmother’s table were several years older than G-Ma, they all seemed to be at much the same stage of dementia as she was. They were all still capable of carrying on conversations, even though those conversations were sometimes bizarre. Some of the residents at other tables were in later stages of the disease, several of them in wheelchairs, and many of them needing assistance eating their meals. It made Lucky sad to see all these people whose lives had been disrupted. She was sure they had never imagined that this would be how they would spend their final years.

After lunch was over, she and G-Ma wandered through the halls until they found the lounge, where G-Ma was going to sit with some of the other residents and watch television. Lucky kissed G-Ma good-bye and blinked away tears at her grandmother’s prolonged embrace. When G-Ma released her, she reached up to pat her granddaughter’s cheek.

“I love you so much, Lucky,” G-Ma said, her hazel eyes filled with warmth.

“I love you too, G-Ma,” Lucky responded. “I’ll come back and see you soon.”

G-Ma nodded. “That’s good,” she said.

Lucky had taken only a few steps toward the door, when her grandmother called her name.

“What is it, G-Ma?” Lucky asked, turning around.

G-Ma’s face was serious. “Watch out for the dark, Lucky,” she said, her voice filled with warning. “Watch out for the dark.”

CHAPTER 5