“Jackie. Thank God.” It was the old man, suddenly standing over him and holding his hand. Another two faces appeared, a woman and a man, both crying. His parents. Just the three of them; no one else was there. “Nurse! Get the nurse...”
But all Jack could focus on was the woman on the TV with the shining halo. She’d called to him, found him in the darkness, and led him back to the light.
“Angel…” Jack whispered.
1
SOMEBODY FOR SOMEONE
PENNY
Five years later
As the old saying went, if it wasn’t for bad luck, Penny Mayfield wouldn’t have any luck at all. It didn’t help that she was also a master of the fine art of procrastination. Add to that a penchant for making impulsive decisions, and those traits usually ended up spellingdisaster.
The deadline for her article was looming within the hour and as usual, Penny had waited until this morning to finish it. She’d barely typed out the last words “…and that’s what makes Carter Stillwell one of the most exciting bluegrass artists to pop up on the scene in the last ten years…”when her laptop blinked, winked, and crashed. Before she could hit save, of course.
“No, motherfucker, no!”she cried to the dark screen.
With her heart pounding, Penny restarted the machine and found the document. There it was, everything but the last paragraph. Thank goodness. While the closing was still fresh in her mind, she retyped it and managed to add some touches thatwere probably better than the original. This time, she hit save four times then uploaded it to her cloud storage.
After she ran the article through the spellchecker, she listened to it play aloud in that stilted, amusingly serious computer voice. It was ready for one more read-through from a trusted source. She attached the article to an email and took a last critical look at the photos she’d taken of Carter Stillwell the night before at his show. He looked like a modern-day Elvis, except he was wearing a stupid fedora with a turkey feather in it. He did play a mean banjo, but he was also an insufferable asshole.
Penny was leaving that last part out. Only the good stuff went into her freelance entertainment pieces. One snarky or disparaging article, and she’d be cut off from access to other musicians in the future. And since she was writing a whole damned book about them, that wouldn’t be the best course of action.
“Goodbye, asshole,” Penny said in her best Arnold Schwarzenegger accent and emailed the article to her editor, Marla, whom she’d worked with over the last several years. More than just her word-polisher, Marla was a friend, one of the few people she missed back home in New York.
Notification of an incoming email popped up within fifteen minutes. “Great article, as always. See my comments. But you left out the asshole part. XoXo, Marla.” Apparently, Carter’s reputation proceeded him without any help from her.
Laughing and shaking her head, Penny wrote back, “Gotta be nice! Smooches.” Just a few minor tweaks, and the article and photos were on their way through cyberspace to the magazine.
With a sigh of relief that it was off her plate, she picked up her favorite crochet creature, the first she’d ever made and arguably the ugly-cutest. It was a little Doberman pincher baring fangs that she’d lovingly named Toto.
Penny would’ve loved to finally have a dog of her own, but a life on the road wasn’t a good fit for a pet. She’d lived in hotels, hostels, and temporary house stays for the past ten years. A living creature would probably be better off with anyone but her, seeing as she could barely keep a cactus alive. These yarn critters were the next best thing.
She crossed the small living room from the tiny desk to the window and looked outside with satisfaction at the scene below, along with Toto and the other tiny animals arrayed on the windowsill.
“We’re definitely not in New York no mo’, Toto,” she murmured to him.
With its ancient architecture interspersed with pubs, cafes, and cute shops, Dublin was one of the prettiest cities she’d ever lived in. She loved this particular neighborhood away from the city center full of little families on the North side of the Liffey River. Maybe it wasn’t the trendiest like the neighborhood around the corner, but it was somewhat more affordable, for her budget anyway, and the people were cool and down to earth.
It wasn’t her first time in Ireland. There had even been a loose plan to live in Dublin someday, but…that plan had ended abruptly.
She sat in the wide window seat and contemplated the usual sights. The older lady who always waved to her was pottering around in her tiny front garden across the street with a cardigan over her house dress. The twenty-something girl with the messy bun and permanently smudged eyeliner was sitting on the steps of her rowhouse, arguing on the phone as she smoked her cigarette. And then came Penny’s new obsession, the huge muscle-bound guy with the dog.
Big Man, as she thought of him, always wore a hoodie pulled low over his face so she couldn’t see what he looked like. As of the last two weeks, he’d been taking his runs with a small,excitable brown cockapoo. It always made her smile to see huge men with little dogs. They looked odd together, but it still struck her as sweet.
After Big Man and Little Dog disappeared down the street, she roused herself. Time for her afternoon writing session at her favorite café. Penny put on a thick sweater from one of the Aran Islands, her new prized possession, along with a scruffy pair of corduroy pants and some short boots.
She checked herself in the mirror, leaning in to examine her hairline. So far, at forty-two, there was a lone silver strand making its appearance among the dark brown of her textured fro. She didn’t mind the “persistent little gray bastard,” as her mother’s hairdresser would say. Unlike the other women in her family, she was determined not to have a meltdown every time she saw a sign of maturing. Determined…but she still checked the progression, nonetheless.
Outside, the air was cool and crisp, with sunlight peeking through the cloudy skies. The streets buzzed with activity as kids were being released from school, the loners quietly trudging along with their eyes glued to their phones and the others laughing in groups. Everywhere she looked, there were hallmarks of autumn, which reminded her of home. Orange and red falling leaves, that scent of woodsmoke, but here, there was the added smell of toasted malt from the Guinness factory. Best of all were the pretty black, orange, and purple Halloween decorations, or “Samhain” décor, as she’d been corrected.
Penny entered the café, said hello to about five people, including the owner and the baristas, and sat down near the window with a steaming mug and a scone. She adored this little place, with its worn, sturdy tables and chairs and subdued mint green walls. There were even cozy armchairs near a fireplace where two old gentlemen sat playing chess and arguing inaccents so thick she couldn’t pretend to understand them. She still loved listening to them talk.
Comfortably in her spot, she wrapped her chilled fingers around the mug and settled in to people-watch and daydream before she cracked open the laptop. It was one of her favorite ways to pass the time. After a while, she spotted them, one of the…okay,thereason she always chose this table near the window right at this time of day. It had become a creepy little habit, she had to admit, but she wasn’t harming anyone, so she indulged.
The object of her afternoon coffee watch was a family. A cute family made up of a Black woman with a colorful headwrap and a fuzzy brown coat, with her light-haired Irish husband. She pushed the stroller with their toddler, the little cutie’s hair done up in several adorable brown braids that stuck out everywhere. The husband (maybe a boyfriend?) wore the infant wrapped up snug and warm against his chest. Sometimes, they were silent, just walking side by side with contentment. Today was one of their chattier days. They laughed as they talked animatedly. The husband reached over to adjust his wife’s collar to cover her exposed throat from the cold, and she kissed him for his kindness.
