Entertaining Angels (6 page)

Cassandra stirred her coffee slowly, then tapped the spoon lightly on the rim of the china cup. “I have to admit she was truly a godsend back then.”

Unable to steer clear of a situation he probably ought to tiptoe around, Craig asked, “So what changed?”

“Kristy was a year older than most of the girls in her class, probably because of a transient lifestyle and getting a late start in school. And while she was somewhat homely and gangly, she developed early. She grew into those long legs and tamed her hair.” Cassandra paused, as though wondering how to best finish her thoughts when talking to a minister.

But Craig got the picture. The ugly little redheaded duckling had morphed into a leggy, auburn-haired swan.

“By the time she hit high school,” Daniel added, “the boys had taken a real shine to her.”

Cassandra crossed her arms, wrinkling the crisply-pressed blouse she wore. “Kristy was a wild thing, just like her mother. And she got pregnant during her junior year. God only knows who fathered her baby, and it completely ruined her only chance to make something out of her life.”

“Cassie,” Daniel said, “I’ll admit I wasn’t happy about that friendship from the get-go, but the two girls have an unexpected closeness.”

“Yes, I realize that. But they had very little in common back then.”

Daniel pushed his chair away from the table and got to his feet. After walking to the pantry and pulling out a to-go cup, he transferred his coffee and left his mug in the sink.

“Nevertheless,” he said to his wife, “I plan to honor their friendship. Those bouts of chemo used to knock Shana for a loop, yet Kristy never blinked an eye about it. She read to her when she was too tired or too nauseous to play. And she never once mentioned the hair loss. That’s something I’ll never forget.”

“Neither will I, sweetheart.” Cassandra tore a piece from the top of her bran muffin. “But they still don’t have anything in common. And even less so now that Kristy is waiting tables at Paddy’s Pub and Shana is working toward a master’s degree.”

“But they’ve still maintained a friendship,” Daniel said.

“Yes, honey. I know. And of all the people in Fairbrook …” Cassandra’s words faded, and she focused on the muffin she was nibbling at piece by piece.

“Shana has pulled away from a lot of people,” Daniel said to Craig. “Even her mom and me, although I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“She’s still close to
you,”
Cassandra told her husband.

Silence followed, leaving Craig to wonder if there was trouble in paradise.

Things aren’t always what they seem,
Jesse had told him.

But Craig shook it off. The last thing he needed to do was place too much stock in the ramblings of a homeless man.

Besides, he had his own problems to deal with.

Kristy had the early shift today, and since the car was on the blink and she would have to take the bus to work, she wanted to give herself some extra time.

“Honey?” Gram called out.

“Yes?” Kristy made her way to Gram’s room, where antique furnishings and crocheted doilies couldn’t mask the hospital bed that lurked near the window.

“Are you leaving for work now?” the elderly woman asked.

“I’ll be going soon.” Kristy approached the adjustable bed that made lifting the partially paralyzed woman easier. As she leaned to place a kiss on Gram’s cheek, she caught a whiff of gardenia mingled with Bengay.

“What time is it?” Gram turned her head toward the clock on the nightstand, revealing the curls crushed and tangled by repeated contact with the pillow. Gray roots she used to hide with the help of Lady Clairol and frequent visits to the beauty shop on First Avenue tugged at Kristy’s heart.

“Nearly ten o’clock,” Kristy answered, even though the woman had looked for herself.

Gram took a deep breath, then let out a brittle, bone-weary sigh.

Eager to give her grandma something to look forward to, Kristy said, “It looks like we’ll need to color your hair again. Why don’t we get you all prettied up tomorrow? I can give you a manicure and a pedicure, too.”

Gram rolled her tired eyes. “I can’t see any reason to fuss about my looks. I don’t go out. And other than Pastor George, I don’t get many visitors.”

“I have a feeling it’s because you run them off.”

Gram furrowed her wrinkled brow. “What do you mean, I run them off?”

“Well, it’s not as though you tell them to leave or throw bedpans and pill bottles at them. But people who love and care about you have a difficult time when you talk about wanting to die and discuss the funeral arrangements you’ve already made.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m practically dead already. The Good Lord just wants to punish me and keep me here on earth, useless and unproductive. A burden. For goodness sake, I can’t paint. I can’t work in the garden. I can’t even look after Jason while you work.”

“I doubt God would punish a good, kindhearted woman who’d once been active in church and in the community.”

If He was punishing anyone, it had to be Kristy.

Each time she saw Gram lying in that bed, imprisoned in a body that was failing, she was reminded of her negligence.

If she’d been home the night her grandmother suffered the first and most devastating stroke, instead of at that party at the Rensfields’ estate, she might have called the paramedics and gotten help for Gram sooner. But Kristy hadn’t snuck in until the wee hours of the morning. And her grandmother had spent most of the night on the living room floor.

The memory was as clear today as it had been when she’d opened the door and found Gram lying on the drab, olive-green carpet, unable to move, unable to speak. The distorted mouth. That cold, glassy stare.

Oh, God,
she pleaded again.
Make it go away, will you?

But the scene never faded, the memory never went away. And she’d have to deal with the guilt for the rest of her life.

Still, she wished Gram would just accept the reality they all had to live with. Didn’t she realize that Kristy was emotionally pedaling as fast as she could?

She did the best she could to shake off the negativity and the resentment that crept in whenever she let down her guard.

“You’re too young to have to be burdened by me,” Gram said.

“Don’t even go there. When my mom ran off, you stepped in. And from that day on, my life changed dramatically. You
have no idea what it was like, begging for handouts with her at intersections, crying myself to sleep in homeless shelters.”

“It was the drugs that made your mother that way. I’m sorry that she failed you.”

So was Kristy, although she couldn’t—no, make that
wouldn’t
—blame drugs for it. And her mom’s abandonment still hurt, if she let it.

“But
you
didn’t fail me,” she told Gram.

And that was a fact.

In her grandmother’s care, Kristy had gotten a room of her own, three home-cooked meals a day and a magical cookie jar that seemed to always stay filled. And even though Gram had been nearly sixty, she’d been a loving guardian who’d jumped right in with parents half her age. There wasn’t a field trip that she hadn’t driven on, a school program she hadn’t attended. A PTA meeting that she’d missed.

And how had Kristy paid her back?

By being as wild as her mother had no doubt been. But those days of foolish, teenage rebellion were over. Kristy would take care of her grandmother, just the way Gram had always taken care of her.

And she wouldn’t complain—ever—although that didn’t mean she liked listening to death wishes.

She mustered a smile and tried to change the subject. “Hey, I forgot to tell you. Shana Delacourt is going to get married in August. To Brad Rensfield.”

Gram managed a smile—something Kristy rarely seemed to see these days. “The Delacourts ought to be ecstatic. The Rensfield boy is as rich as old fury and a fine catch.”

Without thinking, Kristy muttered, “I’m not so sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

Kristy hadn’t meant to broach her thoughts about that with anyone, let alone her grandmother. “I really didn’t mean anything by that comment. It’s just that he’s a bit spoiled. And
he’s sowed so many wild oats that his folks ought to invest in a granary.”

“Oh, well. Boys will be boys. Now that he’s grown up, he’s probably gotten that tomfoolery out of his system.”

Kristy sure hoped so.

If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Shana.

Gram shifted in bed, undoubtedly trying to find a comfortable spot, and grimaced.

Kristy took her frail, liver-spotted hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“No, not yet.” The old woman blew out another feeble breath. “I wish that you didn’t have to ask, that I didn’t need help. I’m sorry for being so much trouble.”

Kristy pushed the button that lifted the head of the bed, then helped her grandmother sit up a bit. “I love you. And you’re no trouble.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Kristy. Look at me. I’m worthless like this. Why couldn’t I have just died that night?”

“You’re the one with all the faith, Gram. Maybe God has a reason to keep you here.”

“Humph. And just what would that be?”

“You’ll have to ask Him,” Kristy said, only too glad to pass the buck on spiritual and philosophical issues and change the subject.

When Gram humphed again, Kristy asked, “Do you think we have enough time to pull off an August wedding?”

Gram paused, as though weighing the benefits of stewing in self-pity or answering Kristy’s question. “Mildred Walker’s granddaughter started planning her wedding more than a year in advance.”

“That’s the kind of time frame I was thinking of. But Shana’s determined to get married this summer. And since she’s in Australia and can’t do much in preparation, she asked me to help.” Kristy drew open the drapes to let in a bit of sunlight. “I suppose I’ll have to hustle, but I don’t mind.”

“I remember my own wedding day,” Gram said, her faded gaze wistful. “My sister Grace did most of the work. And she even baked the cake.”

“Well, I’m not sure what I’m getting myself into. Shana asked me to help with the planning, but I have a feeling I’m going to butt heads with her mom.” And that wasn’t something she was looking forward to, especially when the woman had never thought Kristy was good enough to be her daughter’s friend.

Of course, it wasn’t as though she’d ever been mean. She just had a way about her that shouted out her objections loud and clear.

“Cassandra Delacourt can be a bit fussy, but she’s got a good heart. And she’s done a lot of charity work over the years. In fact, Pastor George mentioned that she planned a fashion show last fall, and the proceeds went to fund the soup kitchen.”

Kristy had heard that. And she suspected the money was helpful. But she couldn’t imagine Cassandra donating her time at the kitchen.

Of course, who was Kristy to criticize? She didn’t have the time or the means to support the kitchen at all.

And attend a fashion show at fifty dollars a head?

In her dreams.

The doorbell rang, and Kristy stepped away from the bed. “That’s probably Barb. I’d better let her in.”

Barbara Crenshaw, the licensed vocational nurse, had been a godsend, especially since she looked after both Gram and Jason while Kristy worked, eliminating the additional cost of daycare.

“Can’t Jason get the door?” Gram asked.

“He went out to play with Danny and Tommy,” Kristy said, as she turned to leave the room.

“Well,” Gram said, “if I don’t see you before you leave, have a good day.”

Kristy stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “You, too.”

The look in Gram’s eyes said that a “good day” wasn’t likely.

If Kristy could have conjured up an upbeat response, she would have. But if truth be told, she wasn’t expecting a good day, either.

Renee sat on a swing at the playground in the park, the toes of her sandals shoved into the sand.

She gripped the chains, leaned back and looked at the sky, trying to gauge the position of the sun. It was late morning; she knew that for sure.

Since she had no way of knowing when it was eleven o’clock, she decided to sit in the park and wait until she saw people heading toward the church across the street.

That was another thing she should have asked the boys to provide—an alarm clock so she could tell time. What if she had a job interview or someplace else to go to?

Her stomach growled, and she placed a hand on the bump where her baby grew, rubbing it gently. “I’ll get you something to eat as soon as I can.”

She could, she supposed, just hang out in front of the church until the soup kitchen doors opened, but she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than necessary. All she needed was for some do-gooder to turn her in to social services, thinking they were looking out for her best interests.

“Having fun?” a man asked.

She glanced to the edge of the playground, where Jesse, the hippie guy, stood. He was holding a small, brown paper bag in one hand.

He looked pretty much the same as he did yesterday, when he suggested she come to Fairbrook. He still wore the same baggy green shirt, the same faded jeans—she could tell by the frayed hole in the knee.

It seemed safe to guess that he was homeless and didn’t have access to a shower.

At least she’d managed to clean up this morning and change her clothes. But she wouldn’t hold that against him. She could end up in that same situation if she wasn’t careful.

“Hey,” she said. “I see you made it.”

He nodded. “I got in last night. So what do you think of the place so far?”

“It’s okay.” She tightened her grip on the chains, pushed back with her feet, and set herself in motion. “I’ll feel better when I get a job, though.”

“Something tells me you’d be better off in school.”

She stopped pumping, felt the swing slow, then kicked again—determined to blow off the remark as ridiculous. “Why would you say that?”

“You look pretty young to me.”

“Well,” she said, pumping for all she was worth, “just so you know, youngness runs in my family.”