Twenty Nine
Sarah hung a wreath on the front door of the bookshop, and one on her office door, and hung Christmas stockings along the shelf on the back wall. There was one for Jason and one for Cate, and a tiny catnip one for Sophie, although Sophie was now staying at Sarah's house more often than not. Sarah thought maybe it was time for Sophie to retire from the shop. She'd been a "working cat" for a long time, and now she almost never came out into the shop, but spent her days sleeping in the chair in Sarah's office. She and Dinah were getting along fine, even to the point of sleeping together in a heap on Sarah's bed at night. She didn't much like being put into the carrier for the ride to the shop, and there didn't seem to be much point in it if she didn't enjoy being there.
Maybe in the spring I'll get a kitten for the shop, Sarah thought. That would certainly liven things up.
She came in one morning and found a new stocking, one marked "Sarah" in silver glitter, hanging on the shelf. Both Cate and Jason denied any knowledge of it. She could tell by their grins that one (or both) of them had brought it in--neither of them were very good at fibbing--but neither of them would admit it.
Sarah planned to put their Christmas bonuses in their stockings on Christmas Eve; she wondered if she would find anything in hers.
* * *
Christmas week went by in a blur. They kept the shop open until 6:00 on Christmas Eve for last minute shoppers--and they had more of them than Sarah expected--but once the last customer was out the door bearing his gift-wrapped books, Sarah locked the door and turned over the sign, and they had their brief Christmas party.
Not a party at all, really, but Sarah had brought in spiced wine and she poured each of them a glass, then they exchanged gifts. Sarah had put a $50 bill inside a Christmas card for Jason--he was predictably pleased--and a pair of silver earrings with amethyst beads were in a tiny white box in Cate's.
Sarah had actually forgotten all about the black and white pot at Sarah's, so it wasn't any trouble to act surprised when she opened the box. She thought she'd leave the pot at the office, on her desk, maybe with her pens in it, so she would see it every day. It was so special to have someone make something especially for you, to make something with their hands. It had been a long time since Sarah had actually made anything. Maybe she'd do that, too, in the spring. Along with a kitten. Yeah, right. Probably neither of those things would happen, but you never knew. A kitten might come along out of the blue, and Sarah might discover a new interest in, oh, ceramics or needlepoint or something.
Cate gave Jason a record store gift certificate, and he gave her a certificate to the art supply store, and he gave Sarah a Christmas mug with snowmen on it to replace the elephant one he'd broken months before. She'd forgotten about that, too, and had been using one of the mugs she'd bought as a set when she started offering coffee at the store. They were heavy, plain white mugs that were hard to break, because she knew the'd get dropped a lot--just fine for customers' coffee in the store, but she was glad to have a mug of her own again. Snowmen, though--well, okay, snowmen it was. They would probably make her smile in August just as much as they did now.
Cate and Jason gathered up their things and took off in a hurry, Cate to meet her parents at the airport--they were flying down to a spend a few days with her--and Jason to pick up his girlfriend and go to a party at someone's house. Sarah took her time cleaning up. She didn't have any place in particular to go.
She cleaned the coffee pot and washed the mugs, and straightened up the little kitchen, even polishing the sink fixtures. Both her parents and James' parents had asked her to come north for Christmas, but with the store, it was really impossible. Even if she had wanted to go, which she didn't. Not this year. Not yet. She'd call them tomorrow and wish them a Merry Christmas, and then she'd take herself out to lunch at one of the restaurants that were open, and maybe go to a movie or something. A solitary Christmas wouldn't be so bad.
After she'd cleaned the kitchen, she straightened up her office, putting books back on the shelves and tidying up the piles of paper. She took the pens out of the pencil holder they were in and arranged them in the new pot that Cate had made, and then she went back into the kitchen and washed her new mug. When she could think of nothing more to do to prolong the evening, she picked up her bag and turned the light out in the office, then started toward the front door.
Something made her stop and look at the stockings hung across the shelf in the back and, feeling silly, the felt the toe of the one marked "Sarah." To her surprise, there was something in it! She set her bag on the floor and stood on her tiptoes to look inside the cheap felt stocking. She could't get high enough to look, so she reached up and slipped it off its nail. She peered down inside, but still couldn't see, so she reached inside and, way down at the bottom, felt something smooth and hard.
She pulled it out and held--a feather. A beautiful, perfect feather carved from a piece of pinkish quartz. She held it up to the light and it glowed like a living thing. She smiled, slowly, and cradled the crystal feather in her palm, then looked up toward the ceiling. "Hey," she said. "Thank you."
* * *
She walked out the front door, her step lighter, finding it hard to keep the smile from her lips. She nearly ran into the Grahams, who were just coming down the stairs from their apartment. "Where are you two heading?" she asked. "Oh, we're going to church," Elizabeth said. "Holiday tradition, you know," Donald added. "Want to join us?"
Sarah hesitated. "Oh, no, really I--"
"Oh, come on! It's Christmas Eve!"
* **
The church was beautiful, an older one made of stone. Sarah had never been inside, although she'd been past it many times. She sat in a pew next to the Grahams and looked up at the stained glass angels that ringed the sanctuary, and smelled the same kind of smoky, waxy smell she remembered from her dreams. Which vision of angels was real, the stern, regal, stained glass ones, or quiet Zachriel, dressed all in black, reaching out to take her hand? Or Yurkemi--where did he fit in? Were there bad angels as well as good, just like human beings?
She bent her head and prayed for Zach, prayed that he was all right, wherever he was, and thanked him for being in her life, even for short a time. Everyone's always leaving me, she thought. I can't even keep an angel around. A tear slipped down her cheek and she swiped at it with her hand, hoping that the Grahams hadn't noticed. But Elizabeth reached over and took her hand, squeezing it, and Sarah squeezed back. She leaned her head back and looked up at the angels in the windows, so beautiful, and so far away, and she tried to think of nothing at all.
* * *
She thought he might come at Christmas.
She woke up early, and it took her a few minutes to remember. It's Christmas, she thought. Merry Christmas to me. She got up and, on her way into the kitchen to put the water on for tea, plugged in the Christmas tree lights. She heard a rustling, and saw Sophie curled up on the tree skirt, her blond fur lit up by the white lights. "Merry Christmas, Sophie," she said, and "Merry Christmas, Dinah," as the black cat stretched and yawned and came to wind around her feet as she stood at the stove.
There were gifts under the tree that her parents had sent, and after she had made tea and cut herself a piece of poundcake that she'd bought for the occasion, she brought them over and piled them next to her on the couch. She unwrapped them slowly, making the ceremony last. A beautiful white sweater, a string of artificial pearls, and a book of Rilke poems, one she didn't own. How did they know? She assumed her father had picked it out; they shared a love of poetry and had often discussed the German poet.
She opened the book to a familiar poem, one of her favorites.
You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment.
She closed the book and sighed. Ah, well.
She put the book down on the coffee table, and carried her cup and plate into the kitchen to wash. "What are we going to do today, kiddos?" she asked the cats. Sophie was still under the Christmas tree, and Dinah was sitting in the window watching a squirrel run across the lawn. Just another day. Might as well go to the beach.
Well, why not?
She packed a tote bag with sunscreen, a towel, and a paperback book; she almost took the new book, then decided she didn't want to risk getting it wet. She didn't normally spend much time at the beach; her fair skin didn't tan, and she tended to get sunburned. But going to the beach on Christmas Day appealed to her. It was certainly better than staying in the house, brooding.
She stuck a bottle of water in the bag, and grabbed an orange from the bowl on the table. She might go in to town and have a meal later. Right now she didn't feel like talking to anyone.
She walked across the street spread her towel out on the beach, and opened her book, but the sun was so warm, and the air so soft, that she grew sleepy, and almost immediately put the book down and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was because the light had changed--something was blocking the sun. She shaded her eyes, and looked up to see Zach, standing on the beach in his usual all-black attire. Her heart lurched, but she kept her voice calm.
"You know," she said, "You could try blending in a little better."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, look around. Do you see anyone else on the beach wearing an overcoat and boots?"
He grinned at her. "No. But then, they don't see me, either."
"Oh yes," she said. "I'd forgotten that." She felt exposed and suddenly chilly in her skimpy swimsuit, and pulled her t-shirt over her head as she sat up and crossed her legs. She patted the towel next to her. "Sit down." He sat.
"So . . . how are you?" she asked. "I was afraid for you, afraid something had happened to you."
"Nothing permanent," he said, with a sad smile. "Sarah, I can't stay. I just came to-- to say I'm sorry for the way things turned out. I--"
Sarah stopped him. "Zach, it's okay. I'm glad you let me know you were all right. I was worried, but I never really thought you'd be around forever."
"I wish I could be."
"Me, too. I wish . . . I don't know." She laughed. "I feel like I'd like to call you up on the phone sometime, just to talk."
"It doesn't work that way."
"I know. I just . . . I don't want to let you go."
"Well, I'll be around." He smiled. "You can count on that. Just look for the feathers."
They both leaned toward each other at the same time. She smelled the slightly dusty smell of feathers as she hugged him, and she closed her eyes and let herself be enfolded in his wings.
THE END
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- Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell: "You Who Never Arrived."
© 2002 Willa G. Cline