The Gift of Angels by Rachel Ann Nunes

Author:Rachel Ann Nunes [Nunes, Rachel Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Religious Fiction, Motivational & Inspirational
ISBN: 978-1-939203-02-1
Publisher: White Star Press
Published: 2012-05-06T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

I’d expected Marie to fall into my arms and cry with me, much the way my friend Shirley had when I’d told her. Instead, she pulled her hand from mine and jumped to her feet, her face flushing red and her eyes accusing.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us! What, were you just going to wait until you dropped dead?” Marie burst into tears.

“Honey, no. I wanted to wait until I knew more. I wanted to have better news. I wanted to protect you.”

“Stop!” She held up her hand. “I can’t—I just can’t—” She turned and fled.

I started to follow her, but a bout of nausea made me first pause at the door and then run to my bathroom, where I threw up repeatedly until I was too weak to do anything but slump by the toilet and let tears leak from my eyes.

Moments ticked by, and all I heard was silence. Where was Marie? Should I search for her? I wasn’t sure I could make it past my bedroom door, the intense emotions having further depleted my physical energy.

“Mom?” Brody called after what seemed like ages, his voice hoarse and anxious. I knew Marie had told him.

I wiped my mouth with a bit of tissue from the roll. “I’m in here. Just a minute.” I flushed the toilet and came into my room where my son was waiting. He looked taller and more gangly than ever—a child, really, not a man. His eyes were frightened, and he looked ready to cry.

“Marie came downstairs. She said . . . is it true?”

I nodded and started for the bed. He rushed to my side and supported me. His touch was light as though he feared at any moment he would bruise or hurt me.

“Mom,” he said as we sat. It was a plea for me to take it away, a plea to look behind us. But we couldn’t do that anymore.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

He hugged me. Gone was the light touch as he searched for comfort like a little boy, holding me so tightly his grip crushed my ribs. His body convulsed with a sob.

“Shush,” I said. “It’s going to be okay.”

I longed to hold my daughter as well, but she hadn’t returned. I wondered if she was with Brody’s friend Brent downstairs.

“We were looking on the Internet.” Tears rolled down Brody’s cheeks unchecked. “And it doesn’t look like it’s going to be okay.”

“I’m taking treatments. We’ll make the best of it.”

“I don’t want you to . . .” His words trailed off, filled in by sobs.

“I know. But we’ll get through this.”

I could see he didn’t believe me, this child born of the information age. He’d gone to the Internet to educate himself. Yes, he knew about facts and figures, but he didn’t know a thing about tents and angels. I had the responsibility to teach him—and the privilege.

“Look,” I said, lying back on my pillows and pulling his head to my shoulder as I’d done when he was a little boy.

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