Wonders Never Cease (20 page)

Natalie turned to face him. “Come on, Matt, this little meeting is no accident. You went out of your way to come by here today. Why are you here? What do you want?”

Matt paused. “I wanted to see you, Natalie—outside of school, since our last couple of meetings there haven't ended very well. Leah told me you two come to this park every Sunday afternoon, so I thought I might find you here.”

“You asked my daughter where to find me?”

“I didn't have to ask,” Matt said. “Leah volunteers a lot of information. You'd be surprised what I know about you.”

Terrific
, Natalie thought. “It's this ‘angel' business—that's what you want to talk about, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is. I think the whole thing's getting blown out of proportion, and I wanted the chance to tell you that. I think we're losing sight of the fact that Leah is an outstanding little girl.”

“So do I.”

“She's very intelligent. Have you ever thought about moving her forward a grade?”

“She's already smaller than most kids her age,” Natalie said. “Look at her—she can't even reach the monkey bars. I want her to fit in, Matt. That's what bothers me most about this whole thing—it makes her seem so different.”

“She is different. She has her own gifts.”

“Yeah—like the ability to see angels.”

He didn't reply.

“Can I ask you something, Matt?”

“Sure.”

“Do you believe in angels?”

“Wow—that's not an easy question.”

“Why is it so difficult? Do I believe in dinosaurs? Yes. Do I believe in leprechauns? No. It's a simple yes or no question, Matt. Do you believe in angels or not?”

“I'm not really sure. Maybe they're more like dinosaurs than leprechauns.”

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe they used to exist, but not anymore.”

“What happened to them? Did they become extinct? Are we finding their bones in old tar pits?”

“I just mean—”

“I know what you mean—you mean maybe we've become too sophisticated to believe in them anymore. That's a little snooty, don't you think? Maybe we're not sophisticated at all. Maybe we've lost something along the way—the ability to see them the way people used to.”

“What about you? Do you believe in angels?”

She paused. “I'm willing to believe.”

“
Willing
to believe?”

“Mr. Armantrout—that self-important twit of a counselor—he keeps looking down his nose at what he calls ‘religious mythology.' He's absolutely convinced that angels could never exist, so they never will—not for him. Do you see what I'm saying, Matt? You can't believe in something unless you're at least willing to believe it's possible—otherwise you'll never take a second look.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Have you ever considered the possibility that Leah has actually seen an angel?”

“Whoa. Natalie.”

“Why is that so unthinkable? This universe looks pretty strange to me, and from what I read it keeps getting stranger all the time.”

“An angel would definitely qualify as ‘strange,'” Matt said.

“But not unthinkable.”

“Maybe not. But let's be realistic, Natalie—Leah seeing real angels? We'd have to consider every other explanation before that one; we'd have to consider all other possibilities first.”

“Not Armantrout—he'll consider all other possibilities
period
.”

“So is that what you think? You think Leah is actually seeing angels?”

“I don't know,” Natalie said. “I just want to give her the benefit of the doubt, that's all.”

“So do I,” Matt said. “Why do you think I'm here? Believe it or not, single men don't usually spend their Sunday afternoons cruising the neighborhood parks.”

“No?”

“Not much action here. I have more luck crashing into women's shopping carts over at Costco.”

They watched as Leah perched on one end of an old wooden seesaw and bounced a few inches into the air before crashing back to earth again.

“What do you know about me?” Natalie asked.

“What?”

“You said, ‘You'd be surprised what I know about you.' What has Leah told you?”

“I know that you're seeing someone. I know that he lives with you, but you're not married. I know that Leah doesn't like him very much.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes, she did. And based on the fact that I've never seen him at a school function or a parent-teacher meeting, I'd say he's either very busy or not very interested.”

She frowned. “You have no right to say that.”

“No, I don't,” Matt said. “I just hate to see a girl like Leah struggling—and I hate to see a woman like you taken for granted.”

Natalie looked at him. “Matt, I'm—I'm involved with someone.”

Matt nodded. “I know—that's why I've held off saying anything as long as I have. Believe me, Natalie, if you were married I wouldn't get within a mile of you. But you're not married, and I never see this guy, so I have no way of knowing how ‘involved' you are.”

She said nothing.

“I know this is not the best timing,” he said. “It sure would be nice if life would cooperate a little more—if every man who might be interested in you would just line up end to end so you could sort through them one at a time. ‘No thanks, no way, next please, keep the line moving'—but it doesn't work like that, does it? You can go a long time without anyone on the horizon and then suddenly, guess what? You've got two men interested in you at the same time.”

Natalie realized that her mouth was open a little and closed it. “I—I don't know what to say.”

“I know, and that's okay. It's probably better that you don't say anything—especially something really humiliating, like ‘I'm so flattered,' or ‘You're such a good friend.' I know this isn't what you were expecting to hear today, and to tell you the truth, I wasn't really planning to say it.”

“Then—why did you?”

“I guess it's like you said: You can't consider something until you think it might be possible. I just wanted you to know it's possible—at least from my end.”

“Matt—”

“Just think it over. Give it time. I don't need any decision from you. I just wanted you to know you have options.”

They heard a sound and looked up. Leah was standing right in front of the bench, staring at Matt in disbelief. Neither one of them had heard her approach.

“Mr. Callahan!”

Matt smiled at her. “I know how you feel, Leah—I used to think the same way about my teachers. I thought they just locked themselves in the classroom all weekend and waited for us to come back on Monday. It's not true. They let us out from time to time, and when they do we always head straight for the park.”

“We were just talking about you,” Natalie said.

“That's right. I was just telling your mom how smart you are, and how good you are at reading and telling stories—”

“I saw another angel,” Leah said, “at the hospital.”

There was a stunned silence. “I know,” Matt said. “You told me about it in class.”

“No, I saw another one—just last night.”

Natalie let out a weary sigh. “Oh, honey.”

“Tell me about it,” Matt said cheerfully. “Was it a boy angel or a girl angel this time?”

“It wasn't either,” Leah said. “I was out in the hall 'cause I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. Mom said not to look in the windows anymore 'cause people need their privacy, so I didn't—but the last room didn't have a window, and there was this light coming out from under the door. It was really bright, like maybe there was a fire in there, so I opened the door just a little and looked inside.”

“What did you see, Leah?”

“The whole room was filled with light—the brightest light I ever saw, only it didn't hurt my eyes. I saw a man standing in the middle of the light, and he was glowing like he was on fire only he didn't burn. He was talking to a woman in the bed. She was looking right at him—the light didn't hurt her eyes either. I watched for a minute and then I closed the door.”

Matt just looked at her.

Leah turned to her mother. “Do we have to go home now?”

“No,” Natalie said, wiping her eyes. “We've still got a few minutes. You go and play.”

“Bye, Mr. Callahan.”

“So long, Leah. See you tomorrow.”

Matt and Natalie watched as Leah turned and ran for the merry-go-round. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes.

“I know what you're thinking,” Natalie finally said. “Go ahead and say it.”

“Say what?”

“‘Your daughter's a nutcase.' First it was a man, then a woman, and now a blinding light. What's next—flaming chariots in the sky?”

“That's not what I was thinking,” Matt said, “and I told you before—I don't think Leah is a ‘nutcase.'”

“Then what's happening to her, Matt? Please—I need to know.”

“There could be a simple explanation,” Matt said. “Leah's a clever storyteller; maybe she's just embellishing the story as she goes along. A man, a woman—now a blinding light.”

“But she believes it. You can see it in her eyes.”

“Yes, I think she does.” He looked at her. “There's something I need to say to you, Natalie, and I don't think you're going to like it.”

“Go ahead.”

“I think you need to seriously consider that MRI.”

“What? Why?”

“Whatever Leah is seeing, it seems to be progressing. You're a nurse, Natalie—think about it: a brilliant light that doesn't hurt her eyes. Isn't that exactly what you might experience if something was going on in your brain?”

“I thought you said she wasn't a ‘nutcase.'”

“I'm talking about a physical abnormality—something that might be getting worse. I know you don't want to hear this, but Armantrout might be right on this point. Doesn't it make sense to get her checked out, if only to cross the possibility off the list?”

Natalie didn't reply.

Matt reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away.

He got up from the bench and looked down at her, but she refused to make eye contact. “Every time I see you it seems to end badly,” he said. “I hope it's not always like this. Just think about what I said, okay? Please, Natalie—think about
everything
I said.”

25

B
iederman poked his head into the hospital room. “I'm looking for Sleeping Beauty,” he said.

Liv Hayden set down her
Entertainment Weekly
and looked at him from her bed. “Yeah? Who wants her?”

“Who wouldn't?” He stepped into the room and produced a bouquet of flowers from behind his back with a dramatic flourish.

“That's it? Flowers? No handsome prince?”

“Princes you got,” Biederman said. “Flowers don't want alimony.” He laid the roses on the bed and bent over her, making a kissing motion in the air. “Sweetheart, you look terrific.”

“Look at me, Morty—I've got two shiners. I look like I just went three rounds with my second husband—or is it two rounds with my third husband?”

“I see you've still got your sense of humor,” Biederman said. “That's a good sign.”

“When can I get out of here?”

“As soon as the doc signs off on you. How do you feel?”

“Good, all in all. A little stiff—sore in some places. Well rested, that's for sure. How long was I out?”

“Nine days. They wanted to make sure your head didn't swell.”

“Give me an Oscar, my head will swell. They just wanted to say they had a movie star here, that's all.” She lowered her voice. “Nobody got any pictures, did they? I mean, look at me. I don't want to see this face on the cover of the
Enquirer
.”

“No pictures—I made sure of it. This is a private room and you had your very own nurse. No visitors allowed.”

“Thanks, Morty, I owe you—ten percent.”

“You're a hundred percent welcome.”

Liv picked up her magazine again and held it so Biederman could read the cover. The headline said: LIV HAYDEN RETURNING FROM DEATH'S DOOR. “Nice work, Morty. You were right on top of things, as always.”

“I wanted to create a sense of anticipation, you know? As if you were coming home from someplace far away.
Liv Hayden
returns
—what will she be like? How will she be different? What did she bring us?”

“‘What did she bring us?'”

“You know—like kids say when you get back from a business trip: ‘What did you bring us?'”

“Oh, I get it.”

Biederman paused. “So—what did you bring us?”

“Sorry, maybe next trip. There were no gift shops where I was.”

“Are you sure about that?”

She dropped the magazine again. “What are you talking about, Morty?”

“Think about it, sweetheart. Things like this—tragedies, accidents—they're defining moments in a person's life. They make you stop and think; they make you reevaluate your life; they give you insights you maybe didn't have before. I don't think you're the same person you were before.”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem—different somehow.”

“I do?”

“Don't you feel any different?”

“Should I?”

“You were out for nine days. You never slept so long in your whole life.”

“Sure I did—in those studio budget meetings.”

“I'm being serious here. What was it like?”

“It was like being asleep. What did you think?”

“Was it?”

“Was it what?”