Proof of Angels (14 page)

“Christ,” Sean said, shaking his head as if not wanting to hear anymore. “You didn't . . .”

“We did.”

“Christ,” Sean said again, pushing Libby off his chest. “You're right, I really wish you hadn't told me. So what are you going to do? Break ol' James's heart? Send him packing? Where is Mr. Right Now, today? You guys taking advantage of James's shifts for some lovers' rendezvous? Is he downstairs?”

“No. God. No. He wasn't clean, Sean. He's still using and he didn't just want me, want us to work out. He wanted my money and wanted to score with me.”

“Libby, Libby, Libby,” Sean said, shaking his head.

“See, it's complicated. If I tell James, I kill what we have forever. I kill all the hope and innocence and love he has inside and all the love, hope, and innocence he thinks he sees in me. No one has ever looked at me the way James looks at me. I don't want to lose that. I can't.” Libby's voice cracked in desperation.

“Libby, he won't. You tell him everything. Everything you just told me. You be honest with him. He's a good guy. He'll understand. Love will see you through this.”

“Sean, how can you be so blind? So damn hopeful? Don't you see? Don't you see what this means for
you
?
For Chiara?
”

“No, Libby, I am sorry but I don't.”

“Your obsession with this woman, it's no different from what just happened to me. You're going to go blow into her life like a tornado and rip it to pieces, just so you can feel better. Get a hit. Get some juice. Score your thrill. At least my guy was up-front, he was just jonesing for a hit, the real thing. You're worse! You're replacing your juice with her. Your latest addiction is her! And what happens when you use her all up? Huh? What happens to her? Does she get to go on living her life? Does she get to pick up with the man she is probably very happy with right now? No. No, she doesn't, because you've ruined it for her. Could you just please drop this? Drop this Chiara thing? There are a million girls right out there on Venice Beach. You're in a city filled with the most beautiful people on the planet willing to be anything you want them to be and you can't make do with one of them?”

“Chiara is not an obsession, Libby. I am sorry about what happened to you, but I am not like that dirtbag boyfriend of yours. I am not. And from what I remember of Chiara, she has more common sense than you. And I would think after all of these months, after everything you've learned about me and know about me, you'd think better of me, of James, of humanity in general. It's not rife with amoral assholes looking to score.”

Libby was wiping the tears that were dropping off her face in quick succession.

“I'm going to Italy, Libby. That I know for sure. I don't know what you're going to do, but I know what I want. I have known for a while now. I don't think you can say the same. And the only person I feel badly for right now is James, because he has no idea what a pile of crap he just stepped into.”

“Sean, I didn't mean to hurt anybody.”

“Libby, no one ever does.”

“I just wanted to believe that what we shared all those years ago was real. I wanted to be sure. I wanted it to mean something.
I
wanted to mean something.”

“Libby, you know what I wanted? For a split second tonight while I was on the elevator, I had this crazy idea come into my head. I thought, wouldn't it be great if Tom, his wife, and you and James all got on a plane and we went together, we all found love together? We all got our second chances. Because that's what I believe in. That's what I think is real. But you went and fucked it all up.”

“Sean, I am sorry.”

“I think you should go, Libby.”

“Sean, you won't say anything . . .”

“No, Libby. I won't. You should be the one to say something. I'm done breaking people's hearts.”

“Funny,” Libby said.

“What's so funny?”

“You just broke mine.”

“James is my friend, Lib. My friend.”

“I thought I was yours, too,” Libby said, shutting the door behind her.

B
EFORE
T
OM ARRIVED THE FOLLOWING DAY TO PICK
Sean up and head to the gym, Sean went out and sat on the balcony with Chief to watch the morning surfers, swimmers, speed walkers, and joggers. “All the usual suspects, Chief,” he said, lifting his coffee and watching them. “Humans and their habits, addictions, routines. They're so predictable.”

Sean did not hear Tom knocking on the door or shouting, so he was startled when Tom flung open the sliding door and shouted, “Oh thank God, you're alive and still here!”

“Where else would I be?” Sean said, wiping the coffee he'd just spilled all over himself.

“I don't know. You didn't answer the door. You didn't answer my texts. And when I checked my voice mails this morning, I noticed that Libby left a bunch of messages saying how stupid and irresponsible I was. I thought you never made it upstairs or had some crazy idea to go to Italy all alone.
Libby mentioned Italy. I don't know. She wasn't easy to understand. She sounded hysterical. I panicked.”

Sean looked up at him and winced.

“Don't look at me like that. What happened?”

“Well, you'll be happy to know any attempts to get to Italy anytime soon were thwarted by my kitchen counter,” Sean said, turning and showing his bruised face and ear. “And as for your other concern, I was unconscious for a bit, but I'm decidedly alive.”

“I knew it. I knew something bad was gonna happen! I leave you two alone for five minutes . . .”

“Actually, it was more like all day . . .”

“Crap. Are you okay? Do we need to get you to a doctor?”

“No more doctors.”

“You're sure you're fine? You don't need to be examined?”

“I'm fine. Just a little fed up. Just a little sick and tired of everything—these legs, these hands, this ear, and now my other ear, and being trapped here and not able to get to where I want to be—Italy,” Sean complained.

“I get it. Let's take the day off from the gym. I worked you too hard. I have an idea.”

“What sort of idea?”

“I want to take you to do something. I think you're ready. I think we're both ready. We'll need these,” Tom said, pointing to the boards hanging on the wall.

“You can't be serious? I can't even bend down and touch my toes.”

“You'll see. I'll go get your wet suit and gloves. I hope you have one with a hood to protect the burns on your face and neck. Grab your walker and help me find the stuff.”

“About that . . .”

“What?”

“Can we ditch it?”

“Jesus, Sean. A few days in the gym walking without braces and a walker and you think you can just throw your walker away?”

“What can I say? I believe in my own abilities even if
everyone else
around me doesn't seem to. Besides, I have a cane, too. I can use that.”

Tom stopped for a moment, picking up on the stressed
everyone
else
that Sean had just said. In all the months he had known Sean, not once had he said something so blasé, so passive aggressive. “Just who is this
everyone else
, Sean? I didn't say anything to you about your abilities. All I said was, you need your walker. And I know James thinks you're doing well and Libby, too.”

“Huh, don't get me started on Libby,” Sean said with a wave of his arm.

Tom stopped for a moment, looked at Sean, then looked back in the apartment.

“What's going on with you and Libby, Sean?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“No? Then why are you sitting out here like some kid sent to sit out recess? Shoulders all slumped and pouty? Complaining about Libby?”

“Nothing, I don't want to talk about it. Are we going out or are we going out?”

“Yeah, we're going out. But before you do, do you have something to tell me? Something I should know? Are you using? Is she? Do I have to lock up my med bag when I'm
around you? What's going on? I'm getting a vibe that something is going on,” Tom said, assessing the room.

“It's nothing, Tom. And why does everyone automatically assume I am using or drinking? That I just can't be happy? That I just can't be upbeat without a drug? Or I can't be down, because I am down.”

“There you go with that
everyone
business. Jesus, you sound like my mother.”

“Is she Irish? It's passive aggression. It's an Irish-Catholic tradition. Passed down with the Waterford, Belleek, and lace curtains.”

“Be serious for a solid second. What happened yesterday? How did you hit your head?”

“Tom, please, let's change the topic. How did it go with the wife yesterday?”

“
The wife's
name is Melissa. And she asked me if I was the one on drugs when I showed up at home early, with dinner.”

“What? She didn't like it?”

“No.” Tom shook his head and smiled. “She did. We talked all night. It was great. And then it was not so great sometimes. But over all, it was a good thing you made me go home when I did. It's a miracle really. Like, I don't know, perfect timing. Like a message from God or something, if I believed in that crap. I had no idea how close to the brink she was, how lonely she had become, how resentful she was of me. To be honest, some of the stuff she said to me hurt, but it was all true. I would say we hadn't talked like that in years. I honestly don't know what happened to us.”

“Routine.”

“Excuse me?”

“Routine. It ruins the best of everything. You know how many people I see take the same walking route? See that guy down there? Like clockwork, I could set my watch by him. I see him every day. Rain, shine, heat, wind. Doesn't matter. Funny thing: he hasn't lost a pound of that gut he's been carrying around. Probably eats the same four thousand calories a day, too. And look over there: that surfer goes to the same damn spot every day. Even though the tides have changed and the water is different. And I know why they do it. They just do it 'cause it's what they've always done, and they're hoping this is the time things are going to work for them. Trust me, when anything becomes routine—from church to sex, from meals to exercise, from drink to drugs—the thrill dissipates. But even after the thrill is gone, most people can't stand to change it. They can't because it's all they know, even if it is making them miserable. So you have to do something different. It's not complicated. You should know that, Mr. Muscle Confusion, making me ‘switch it up' every day in the gym.”

“You would think, wouldn't ya? But knowing it and applying it are two different ball games.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, you ready to break routine today? Get the hell out of here?”

“Sure. Where to?”

“How 'bout heaven, Sean?”

Without a blink or a question, Sean replied, “Hell, yes.”

T
OM TOOK
S
EAN AND
C
HIEF TO
H
EAVEN
, H
EAVEN
'
S
Rock to be exact, located north of Venice Beach on the Pacific Highway. When they approached the beach, Sean saw a familiar large rock covered in green algae, jutting out of the white sand and taking hits from the crashing waves. Sean had surfed the swells there before. Besides being renowned for its obvious beauty, the beach was better known among surfers for its consistency. The swells ran long and hollow. The soft waves were forgiving and less powerful than at other beaches. It was a nice spot for beginners. The best part though for Sean was that during the fall months, the beach was all but empty except for a few locals and surfers. It was one of the perks of being a firefighter who worked shifts and had weekdays off: He could hit the beach all day while kids were in school and the nine-to-fivers sat in their offices. And as much as he loved firefighting, he had expressed the thought on certain occasions that it wouldn't be too awful if he never had to work and could just surf Heaven's Rock
till the end of time. The cruel irony though was now that that wish had come true—he actually could surf whenever he wanted—he couldn't even climb on a board, let alone carry one to the beach.

“I haven't been here in over a year, Tom. I don't think I'm ready,” Sean said, shaking his head and looking at a few old-school surfers tearing it up.

“No one said you had to hop up on your board. We're just going to paddle a bit. Work on your upper-body strength. Get your toes wet, so to speak. Let Chief here have a go of it in the water,” Tom said, pulling up Sean's wet suit and zipping him into it.

“I don't think Chief's even allowed on this beach,” Sean continued to protest as Tom grabbed Sean's hands to put protective gloves on them.

“I thought service dogs are allowed everywhere,” Tom said, tugging the gloves and shaking Sean's arms.

“Not exactly,” Sean said, pulling back.

“Today they are, Sean. Just lighten up. This is going to be fun.” Tom made sure there was no gap between the gloves and the wet suit. “You're all set. No salt on the wounds today, Sean. I mean it. Come on.”

“Look at the size of the waves today, Tom. How the hell am I going to get out there? I haven't paddled in months,” Sean said, pointing toward the rock, where waves were crashing.

“I told you, I don't hear the word
can't
. You'll be fine, and if not, I can help you. I haven't surfed in a long time either. But I've body-boarded here with the girls and Melissa. It's a lot easier than you think. Just put one arm in front of the
other. Take one wave at a time. Trust me. We'll do this together, Sean. We're both ready.”

“I don't know,” Sean said, shaking his head doubtfully.

“Don't move. Let me bring the boards down to the surf first and then I'll come back for you,” Tom explained, leaving Sean standing by the truck while he walked the boards one by one down to the water's edge.

Sean grabbed Chief's leash and leaned on his cane, watching as Tom carried the long board down to the water. The sun had just popped out from behind a large elephant-shaped cumulus cloud that had taken up half the sky and the breeze quieted; the waves were peaking just to the left of the rock. Perfect.
The Perfect Day
. As Sean was counting the seconds between waves and making mental notes, a surfer in a black wet suit like his but with a turquoise swirl on the leg picked up a swell and swung his long blond hair behind his head, snapping his board over the crest of the wave in one fluid motion before riding it in. Everything inside Sean wanted to run and just dive in and join him.

Sean tried to walk. He moved one foot in front of the other slowly till he reached the end of the parking lot and stood at the edge of the sandy beach. Without looking down, he felt where the long, deep scar on his right thigh was underneath his suit and rubbed it with his thumb, like a worry stone. He took a step back, feeling uneasy.

Tom came running up the sand toward him. “Ready?”

“I can't, Tom.”

“What do ya mean? We're just going to get in, no pressure.”

“I can't do it. I just can't. Let's go home.”

“Sean, come on. We're here. Let's do this. I can help you.”

Sean bristled and shook his head. “No, dammit. I can't do it. I don't want to look like a gimp walking down the sand and then be handled like a baby out there, not in front of all those surfers. I'll look ridiculous. This is stupid. Let's go.”

“No, Sean. I am not letting you off the hook. You wanted to do something different. You love this. Let's do it. Stop resisting. Just stop.”

“But it's different. I can't. I can't do what I used to do. I'm not the same person I used to be.”

“Sean, no one expects you to be. Those guys out there don't give a shit about anyone but themselves and their next wave. How many surfers do you remember wiping out or not catching a wave?”

“Huh?”

“In all of your rides, how many surfers do you remember wiping out? What are all of their names? And how much do you think about what losers you think they are?”

“I don't think they're losers. I don't think about them at all. I couldn't even tell you a thing about any of them.”

“Exactly, Sean. No one cares about you as much as
you care about you
. And the same goes for the rest of the world. Everyone is so fixated on how they
themselves
look and act that they're not paying attention to anyone else. It's sort of freeing when you think about it. When you stop worrying about what others think of you, because you know they are decidedly not thinking about you—you can do anything. You're never really as important as you think you are.”

“I know, but I'll look like a fool.”

“Did you always know how to surf, Sean?”

“No, I was pretty terrible at it at first.”

“Then it's just like that. You're starting all over again.”

“That's the thing though. I know how good I was and how good I can be. What if I won't be good again?”

“Sean, you have to try. You have to take a leap of faith.”

“This coming from Tom Smith, resident cynic? You are asking me to take a leap of faith?”

“Sure. Why not? You said yourself I need to change, switch it up, try new things, right? If I can do it, you can. We'll start over together.”

“Together,” Sean said and nodded.

Tom put his arm around Sean's waist and Sean hooked his arm around Tom's neck and the two walked slowly down to the water. Sean had forgotten how laborious it was to dig one's leg into the sand and push. Every step engaged a new muscle. He felt like he was learning to walk all over again.

“Am I too heavy, Tom?”

“You're not heavy, you're my brother,” Tom said with a wink and a nod. Sean let out a loud laugh.

“You're such a smartass, Tom.”

“Pot, I'd like you to meet Kettle. Kettle, this is Pot,” Tom said, pointing at Sean.

As they reached the sand where the water smoothed and packed it firmly beneath their feet, Sean got his bearings and threw his cane back up on the dry sand.

Tom picked up the board and the three walked out into the surf. Chief hopped a bit at first, running in the surf and then running back out, dancing along the edge of the water, seemingly afraid at first to get wet until he was, and then there was no going back.

Sean went out slowly and felt the wave slap his thighs and then his stomach as he moved deeper into the water. When he was waist high, he let himself fall back.

Submerged under the water, Sean closed his eyes and spun a few times, feeling the freedom of being completely weightless and unburdened by his legs. For a split second he remembered the hotel somewhere in Nevada, where Colm had come out of his room running with abandon for the water, his arms swinging as he jumped into the pool and swam to his mother.
This is what it felt like for him. This is the joy he felt. The possibility he saw then. I see now. I see it now, Colm
.

Sean broke through the surface and popped his head out just as a wave crashed into him and took him with its roll to shore. When the water abated, Sean popped his head up and shouted a child's “Yahoo!” before diving in again and breast-stroking toward Chief.

“Let's get Chief up on the board,” Sean shouted across the crashing surf.

“Think it will scare him?” Tom screamed back.

“Nah, we'll put him on it and you can swim him out to the waves and help him catch it. It'd be fun for the ol' boy. A little R and R for all he's done for me.”

Tom wrapped his arms around Chief, lifted him, and positioned him on the board.

Chief, soaked and panting, looking for all the world like he was smiling, pushed his snout up and shook his wet ears and lay on the board.

Tom positioned his body under the board. Holding on to the back of the board with one arm, using the other he swam toward the approaching waves.

As the water swelled, Tom turned around and positioned the board in the direction of the wave. The board took to the wave and Tom let it go.

Chief's ears flapped back as the board carried him effortlessly across the white foam rim of the swell. Without provocation, and not out of any sense of nervousness, Chief popped up on all four legs. Acting instinctually and knowing the exact moment that was his to take, Chief conquered the wave with the nonchalant confidence of the most advanced maverick rider. Sean's and Tom's mouths dropped in unison as they watched Chief ride the long board all the way to shore.

“That's my dog,” Sean said proudly, puffing out his chest.

Then the wave curled and hid Chief from view.

“Shit!” Sean panicked. “What if it takes him under? Will he know to pop up?” Sean stared at the wave, hoping to see Chief emerge. A surge of worry rose through his chest, warming his center. “I love this damn dog, Tom! If something happens to him, I don't know what I'll . . .” And before Sean could finish his sentence he saw Chief's nose high in the air, catching the breeze as he floated out of the curl.

Tom, shaking his head in disbelief, said, “I don't believe it.”

“Believe it, bud. The dog can surf!” Sean said, laughing in relief.

“Just like that. No effort at all,” Tom said, slapping the water in front of him.”

“It's all instinct. He didn't overthink it. His body just knew what it wanted. Oh my god, I wish James were here to see this,” Sean shouted back toward Tom, slapping the water.

Tom let out a huge laugh. “The dog knows more than we do.”

“That's not sayin' much, Tom.” Sean winked and dove
back into the water and swam vigorously toward the shore where Chief was hopping back and forth and then in tight circles waiting for Sean to come to him.

When Sean pulled his body toward shore, Chief pounced on him and covered him with grateful licks before dashing off toward the board. Then, using his nose, Chief pushed the board over toward Sean.

“My turn?” he said and turned, looking at Chief. “Not me. Not today. I am not ready. My body will know when it's ready. Today's not that day.”

Chief nudged the board again.

“Oh, oh, I see how it is.
You
want another ride? Ah, the surfing bug has bitten. You will never be the same again, ol' sport. Lucky for you, I like it, too. Come on, let's go,” Sean said, patting the board and signaling for Chief to get on.

Tom, Sean, and Chief spent the next two hours taking turns swimming Chief out on the board over the swells and pushing him at the precise right moment. Sean never thought he'd ever find it possible to feel so much joy by simply watching another embrace his own. He'd thought those days were over. But it was possible. Anything was possible. Angels. Second chances. Colm. Chiara's love. And, yes, even surfing dogs. All of it. He could have all of it.