Proof of Angels (20 page)

“I can't imagine what I put you through. I am so sorry.”

“You keep saying that. Stop saying that, goddammit. Stop making me feel sorry for you.”

“I'm sor—” Sean stopped himself. “You're right. You have every right to be upset with me. Go on. Let me have it.”

“You treated me like a stranger, Sean. Like someone you met on the train and swapped stories with about your hometown and talked with about the weather, and then at your next stop you went on your merry way.”

“You're right,” Sean said, shaking his head.

“Before I found out you left the country, I thought you were dead, Sean. I thought that could have been the only thing to keep you from me. Death. But no, you just up and left me. Like a half-sipped cappuccino left on a table. Up and gone. You'd had your fill.”

“No. No. No. It wasn't like that.”

“Then what? What, Sean? It's been eleven years. What did you expect? Did you want me to jump into your arms and hug you? Say, hey, ol' pal, where ya been hidin'?” Chiara said with a mock American accent.

“No, I don't know.” Sean trembled and started to sweat.

“I can't understand this, Sean. I can't.”

“I was so weak, Chiara. I was weak then and I am getting stronger. It took me years to see that. I spent the past decade
in a haze. You deserve an explanation. You deserve so much.” Sean reached across the table and with his burned hand tried to touch Chiara's.

Chiara looked down at his thick scars and recoiled a bit, then looked up at him.

“This is too much, Sean, it's too much. I can't,” she said, standing up suddenly and turning, and then dashed toward the door to leave.

A
SUDDEN SURGE WENT THROUGH
S
EAN
'
S BODY
. Now that he had Chiara so close, he felt the distance all the more acutely as she stood to leave. He felt a tear at his heart. As if their two hearts were connected by a web of chains, holding and reinforcing him, and when she stood to leave she pulled and broke it, and with that break he felt his entire structure, including the tiniest shard of light that came through it, about to collapse and envelop him in darkness. It unraveled him with every step she took toward the door. Sean hopped up quickly and shouted across the café, “Wait! Wait! Don't go! Chiara! Stop! Don't leave! Please, give me another chance!”

Every patron in the café turned and looked at Sean and then at Chiara. Chiara's face reddened. No doubt everyone in the café was thinking that she was leaving an invalid.

Sean tried to walk, but when he moved his leg forward he kicked his cane and it fell to the ground. Unable to bend and get it, he stood, motionless, staring at Chiara, knowing there was no way for him to catch her, to keep up with her.

Chiara turned and saw Sean struggle to move forward and
put up her hand to tell him to stop. “Don't move, Sean, I've got it,” she said, walking over and bending to pick up the cane. “Here,” she said, putting the cane in his hand with hers and their hands touched.

Sean took her hand and held it. “I'm sorry, Chiara. I am so sorry. I wish I could do it all over. I wish I could take it all away—all the pain and sadness I caused,” he whispered.

“It is okay, Sean, we all suffer,” Chiara said earnestly. “Some more than others, yes. But we all suffer,” she said, squeezing his hand a little tighter and guiding him back into the chair before sitting down herself. “I am sorry I was so harsh. I've been holding it all in for a long time and I guess I didn't realize how much it still hurt.”

“Leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever done. I didn't want to. But I thought you would be better off without me. I thought I would just bring you down with me,” Sean said quietly.

“It's dangerous to think you know what is best for someone else. To make a decision for two people without the other's consent. To decide another's life for them.” Chiara did not look away from Sean.

Sean nodded. “A good friend told me a similar thing not so long ago.”

“He is a good friend. It is good advice,” Chiara said.

“So you never married?” Sean asked, pretending to not know.

“No.”

“Ever come close?”

“Not really,” Chiara said. “It's not so easy when you have kids to care for.”

Sean nodded. “I understand.”

“Oh? You have children?”

“No, I don't. My sister was a single mom for a long time and I helped her. Her boy was like a son to me.”

“
Was?
So she is married now?”

“Yes.”

“So no more son?” Chiara clarified.

Sean shook his head. “No.”

“That must be difficult. To love someone so much and then have to let someone else do the loving.”

Sean nodded and said nothing. The story was too hard to tell.
He was so sick. So very sick. His body. His heart. None of it worked. You have no idea how hard it was
. But he couldn't form the words. Every emotion within him brimmed. He had lost so much, he could not bear, at this moment, to lose her. Not now. Not after everything he had done to get here.

“So no one special in your life, I presume. Otherwise you'd have a lot of explaining to do when you get home. Or did you take off on her, too?”

Sean winced. “Ouch.”

“People stick to their routines. They do what they know,” Chiara said, with every bit of nonchalance Sean had had a few days ago in his apartment talking to Tom.

Sean wanted to say,
Hey, I said that, too! See how much we still have in common!
But instead, he resisted and said, “People can change, Chiara. They can learn new ways to cope. New behaviors. Discover new ways to do things. Like how Brunelleschi discovered a new way to build a dome.”

Chiara's eyes lit up. “You remembered that?”

“Of course, I went there this morning.”

“It is still one of my favorite
Sean
places,” Chiara said absently.

“Sean places?” Sean asked.

Chiara surprised herself and blushed. “Yes, well, there are not many places here that I don't go to and see you. See the memories we shared. It is difficult sometimes. I used to be jealous of you. That you could just walk away and forget us. But I had to walk into every church, café, bookstore, museum, park, my own living room and see you there, your memory alive and screaming at me to hold on and remember.”

“I drank to forget, but never could,” Sean said. “I may not have had the places to remind me of you. But you were everywhere. You still are. And you always will be.”

Chiara took Sean's hand across the table and felt the scars. “How did this happen?”

“I was a firefighter. I was trapped in a building.”

Chiara traced the edges of the skin grafts and flesh with her fingers. “And you survived,” she said.

“I survived.”

“And now you have a second chance,” Chiara said, holding his hand and staring at him.

“A second chance,” Sean said and nodded.

“We're both different now, Sean. We're different people. And the time is different, too.”

“That could be a good thing. In fact, it's the best thing. I am better. I understand things better. I will be better,” Sean urged.

“Life isn't so easy,” Chiara said. “We can't just pick up after eleven years and start where we left off.”

“What if we could? What if . . . all of this . . . all of our life
was for this reason? This purpose? We each had to go on a different journey to do what we needed to do to be the people we are today, to be together?”

“Sean, most people who are together stay together on that journey,” Chiara answered.

“But we're not like most people,” Sean said, smiling hopefully.

“Sean, Sean, Sean, that old charming smile won't work on me anymore,” she said, shaking her head and smiling at him.

“All right, all right. You're right,” Sean said, holding his hands up.

“Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” Chiara asked him.

“Yes, here,” Sean said, pulling out the piece of paper with Lucia's bubbly handwriting and a pen from his jacket pocket.

Chiara wrote down another address, reached across the table, and slipped it into Sean's pocket just as her sister had done not an hour before.

“I have to get back to work, Sean. But we can finish talking later. If you want to, meet me at that address. If you change your mind between now and then and you don't arrive and leave me stranded again, then I'll know you haven't really changed and I won't ever make the mistake again.”

“Agreed,” Sean said.

“I'll see you at six o'clock,” Chiara said, standing up again and turning to walk away.

“I'll see you tonight.” Sean's chest expanded in relief and with possibility.

S
OMETHING AKIN TO A DRUNKEN BUZZ WASHED
through Sean as he entered his room. He hadn't stopped smiling since he left the café. Despite the ever-worsening cramp in his calf, Sean walked as fast as he could to the hotel where he was due to check in. Not only did he have to shower and clean up before his evening with Chiara, he had been anxious for another reason. “I have to call home,” he said aloud to himself as soon as Chiara disappeared out the door. It was primal. It was urgent. It couldn't wait. Something Chiara had said to him stung though
. It's dangerous to think you know what is best for someone else. To make a decision for two people without the other's consent. To decide another's life for them
. Yes, Gaspar had basically said the same thing six months ago, but the way Chiara said it made more sense. It struck him like a right hook. It came from out of nowhere, and he was out for the count.

He pulled the pink receipt out of his wallet and the pen out of his pocket and scribbled over all the names, including Chiara's. He scribbled over all but one:

Colm
.

Three years
. He swallowed hard and felt the guilt rising up.
Three years
.

Sorry is not shitty. Making things right is not bad. It is why you do it that is shitty. You think this will heal you
. . .
It is about you. Once again
. . .
You
. . .
This is about what you want. What will make you feel better
. . .
It has nothing to do with the other person
.

How could he be such an ass? For so long? How?
He fumbled with the list in his wallet. He wanted to go back in time and make it all up. He wanted to explain, however feebly, how wrong he had been to make a decision that affected all of them—not just him, but his sister and Gaspar. He had left them. Left them all, because it was good for him. And they loved him enough to let him go.

Sean's heart raced with anxiety. He couldn't believe he had come this far. A wave of panic seized him. What if he screwed up again? What if he ran? What if he couldn't do it after all? He suddenly craved a drink. His hands shook. He was overwhelmed by his own failures. Again, and again, and again. Chiara had sliced right through all of it. Within minutes of seeing him and being with him, she could see what he had been so blind to.

Like the night of the fire, Sean spoke out loud in the darkness of his hotel room: “Help me. Please. Help me. Help me understand. Help me be a better man. Help me follow
through with this. Help me be the man Chiara deserves. The man that Colm, Gaspar, and Cathleen would want me to be. Please don't let me screw this up.”

Eventually, Sean's prayers gave way to sleep. Though he dreamed of the boy often, he always dreamed of him as a toddler or a preschooler, back when the boy could run and walk and talk incessantly. Sean pictured his long auburn hair, hanging out of a Yankees hat, his tiny, rail-thin body running toward him whenever Sean burst through the door. But this time when he dreamed of Colm he was older, perhaps a ten-year-old boy. His hair had darkened to brown and was cut short. He was still skinny and small for his age, but his green eyes looked as bright as ever, though older and wiser with age. Sean marveled at him for a moment. He couldn't believe how fast the boy had grown. He couldn't believe he was with him in his hotel room, sitting right next to him on his bed.

“Colm? Is that you, buddy?”

“Yes, Uncle Sean. It's me.”

“How are you, big guy?”

“Good. Mom said Gaspar saw you. Said you would come home soon. Why haven't you come home, Uncle Sean? Why are you here?” Colm asked softly, as if whispering.

“Because I owe someone an apology and an explanation,” Sean said. “I need to explain why I was such a jerk.”

“You're not a jerk.”

“I was a jerk to you and your mom, and I was a jerk to Chiara.”

“Mom says you helped save my life over and over. I remember. Mom says no one else on the planet besides her and
Gaspar loves me like you do. She says you left because it was hard for you to see me suffer.”

“Oh, bud.”

“I understand. It's okay, Uncle Sean. I know why you left.”

“No, it's not. It's not okay. I was weak, Colm. Weak. When I saw you die up on that hill, I thought I would, too. But when you opened your eyes, I swear to God I almost lost my mind. The world doesn't make any sense. Why you have to suffer—it doesn't make any sense.”

“Is that why you fainted?”

“Sort of,” Sean said sheepishly, not wanting to explain the apparition to the boy who for so long, so clearly and emphatically believed there was no heaven, no angels. “That day fundamentally changed me, in so many ways, and I thought I was doing you a favor. I thought that your mom deserved a life where she could just focus on you. And you had Gaspar. You two formed such a special bond over the years and your mom fell in love with him. You all belonged together in a family. I didn't belong there. I didn't. You deserved a dad, a real dad. A good dad. I'll never forget how you looked when you saw that your biological dad wasn't coming for you, wasn't there. I saw how heartbroken you were and I was so angry at myself for not doing enough to protect you. I should have done more . . . and maybe you wouldn't have collapsed . . . maybe you wouldn't have gotten so sick . . . maybe you'd be . . .”

“Uncle Sean, you did enough. You were enough. I don't blame you. I don't blame anyone.” Colm came over and patted Sean's hand.

“But I couldn't give you what Gaspar could. I couldn't be
a dad. I could never be your dad. I would always just be an uncle. And your mom, she deserved to be happy. I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't hurt her again, that I wouldn't drink again. And she didn't need anything else to worry about. She needed to start her life. Hers. The one she was meant to have. The one you were meant to have.”

“I thought you left me because you were angry with me. I thought it was something I did.”

Sean shook his head back and forth, realizing he had put the boy he loved so much and tried to protect for so long through the very same pain the boy's own father had by leaving him before he was born. He remembered the boy's tears mixing with his own as he held him and assuaged his hurt.
Why doesn't he love me? Does he know? Does he know how much I love him—want to know him, Uncle Sean?

“Colm, you didn't do anything wrong. You're the bravest person I know. With the biggest heart in the world. I am so proud of you,” Sean said. “I was being selfish. I see that now. I made a decision that affected both of us, and I didn't even think to ask you how you felt about it. I thought I knew what was best. It wouldn't be the first time,” Sean said.

“It's okay, Uncle Sean. We just worry about you,” Colm said, sounding every bit like his mother.

“I know. It's not your job to worry. You're just a kid.”

“Everyone says that to us kids, but we have no control over anything. Adults have all the control. And all we have is the worry. You adults at least can do things. We can't. We sit and worry,” Colm added.

“Don't worry about me though. I've got a lot of people looking out for me.”

“Like angels,” Colm said, apropos of nothing.

“Yes, Colm. Like angels. And since when did you start believing in angels?”

“Remember after I woke up that last time in Los Angeles? Remember how I told you I saw beautiful things, Uncle Sean? I saw this light; it was so bright. Like an angel pointing me back home.”

Sean nodded, remembering the light, too.

“I think that sometimes . . . maybe . . . maybe it was a dream. Like Gaspar said the brain makes when people are dying. And maybe it was real, like Mom says. But all I know is that it was different. It was different from any other time. Every other time I just saw darkness. It was always just black. But that day I saw the most beautiful light. And I'm here now. Right here. For a reason, I think. And between you and me, I think it's to take care of Mom,” Colm whispered. “She still needs lots of help with the babies and whatnot. And you know what else? I think the reason was a second chance for me, too. I didn't realize how much I loved her, how much I needed her until that day. I get it all now.”

“Colm, I saw the light, too. I understand. I don't know if it's a dream. Or if it's real. I don't know what any of it means. I wish I knew. But I know what you saw, because I think I saw it, too. And it scares me.”

“So you're like me?”

“Yes.”

“You were in the dark and then you could see?”

“Yes.”

“You were lost and then you got found?”

“Yes.”

“You got a second chance to be better? To love Mom, Gaspar, me, and Chiara?”

“Yes.”

“Uncle Sean, does this mean you finally believe in angels? In heaven?”

“I was sort of hoping that this trip would give me proof, but I guess I don't need it. I have all the proof I need. I guess all I ever had to do was just, I don't know, get over myself.”

“So? Did you see Chiara yet?”

“Yes, today. She's older now. Not so much a girl anymore. But yes, I saw her. And she is as kind and smart and beautiful as ever. She and I have a date tonight.”

“Wow! So you really found her? It really worked out!” Colm said excitedly.

“Yes, took eleven years, but I made my way back.”

“How long?”

“Eleven years. I moved back home a year before you were born.”

“Hmmm.”

“What?”

“It's just that—remember when you, me, and Gaspar were at the Museum of Natural History a few years ago and we learned about the sun's magnetic field?”

“Yeah? What's that have to do with anything?”

“Did you know that this is the year the sun's magnetic poles are switching positions? It would be sort of like earth's north would become south and south will be north. It happens every eleven years. The magnetic poles actually pass each other through the light of the sun. It takes eleven years for the sun to change. And it took you just as long to change, too.”

“What's it mean though? What's it mean for the earth?”

“You mean what does it mean for
the universe
? The magnetic shield that spreads out from the sun reaches beyond our galaxy. A change like this affects everything. The coolest thing is that the magnetic shield is so thin it's infinitesimal, basically invisible, but its reach is beyond us, beyond the outer regions of our galaxy, so we can never really measure it. No one will ever know what it touches. How this change will affect so much.”

“Jesus.”

“You and I are like those magnetic poles, Uncle Sean. We both changed positions. We both crossed to the other side of the light, and we'll never ever know what effect we have on the world, on the universe.”

“Colm, kid, you're an angel,” Sean said.

“We all are, Uncle Sean. That's the point. We all are.”

Sean sat up and tried to hug the boy, but when he wrapped his arms around Colm, he woke and realized the boy was gone. Alone in the darkness, Sean stood up slowly and then walked over and picked up the pink receipt with all the names of the people he thought he owed amends to. He took his pen and scratched off Colm's name and then ripped it in half, and then in quarters, and then in eighths, and then sixteenths until there was nothing left but small pink bits covering the floor like cherry blossom petals that have fallen on paths in late spring. And then he took the address Chiara had given him and flipped the paper over. Remembering the past few hours, the past few days, the past few months, the past year, the past three, the past eleven, Sean began writing a new list:

Proof of Angels

         
1.
  
Cathleen, who helped me notice the little things

         
2.
  
Gaspar, who gave me his friendship and wisdom

         
3.
  
James, who showed me the moment

         
4.
  
Tom, who gave me back my strength

         
5.
  
Libby, who showed me gentleness

         
6.
  
Chief, who guarded and guided me

         
7.
  
The flight attendant, who had mercy on me

         
8.
  
The driver, who taught me how to listen

         
9.
  
Lucia, who showed me the way

       
10.
  
Chiara, who pointed me to the light

       
11.
  
Colm, who gave me proof

Sean then folded the paper in half, and then in quarters, and stuffed it in the pocket by his heart. He patted the pocket, touching it as if touching all the people who had touched him, who sent him messages and helped him cross over to the light, and who would never know what effect they each had on him, on the world, on the universe.