Twelfth Angel by Og Mandino

Author:Og Mandino [Mandino, Og]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-78478-0
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-02-01T23:00:00+00:00

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Wednesday seemed to last for a week. After breakfast I tried all the time-passers I had been using lately. I jogged for perhaps an hour, worked on my pitching wedge in the backyard until I had hit at least two hundred golf balls back and forth, and tried reading, but my mind just kept wandering. I was constantly hearing voices in the other rooms. Sally? Rick? I even turned on the television set, late in the afternoon, but ten minutes with Oprah and then Phil had me diving for the “off” button. I didn’t need any more pain.

I went to bed early, soon after the sun had set, and of course awoke before dawn on Thursday. With my eyes still closed and my head buried in my pillow, I reached across to touch Sally as I had done for so many years. Not feeling her soft body, I moved my hand gently and slowly across the width of the smooth, cool pillow before I sat upright in bed and pounded my forehead with the palm of my hand. What are you doing, dummy? Sally isn’t lying next to you. Sally is dead. Dead. And so is your baby. So is Rick. Dead. Gone! Never to return!

I finally rose and showered. Didn’t feel much like shaving, but then I remembered our game that evening. Couldn’t let the parents of our Angels think their kids were being guided by a sloppy bum.

After an omelet, orange juice and coffee, I went into the studio, sat at my desk and stared at the page in our Little League scorebook that Bill had used to record our first game. We had only made three hits off Gerston, singles by Zullo and Nurnberg and a double by Murphy, so there didn’t seem to be much I could do to improve the batting order based on game performance. Everyone had fielded amazingly well, except for Timothy’s costly error, considering it was our first game. Unless Bill West had any suggestions otherwise, we would go with the same lineup and batting order this evening against the Cubs, except that Paul Taylor would pitch, Justin would move to third base and Todd would play first.

I closed the scorebook, again thinking about that terrible moment in bed when I had tried to touch my lady and there was no one to touch. I tugged at the bottom desk drawer, and it slid open easily. The ugly revolver was still resting on the glossy yellow cover of a NYNEX phone book that contained the listings for Concord residents and several neighboring towns including Boland. I reached inside the drawer but immediately withdrew my hand before making contact with the dark-blue metal.

“Good morning, Mr. Harding.”

I nudged the drawer closed with my right shin, acting like any kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Some cookie jar!

“Rose. Good morning. I didn’t hear you come in, and I guess I forgot it was your day to clean.”

The old gal’s smile immediately faded.

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