When Light Breaks - By Patti Callahan Henry Page 0,90
turtles hatch?”
“What?”
“Do you remember that?”
“No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I took her hand. “I was young; five, maybe six. You came into my room in the middle of the night and held my hand, led me over the lawn, across the footbridge and down to the beach to watch the turtles hatch, then crawl toward the water. We cried together because those babies had to do that alone, all alone. No one ever knew we sneaked out—it was our secret.”
Her chin rose slowly. “Yes, I remember. I knew Mama was sick then, and you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, we hadn’t told you yet. I was eleven and we hadn’t told you.”
“But I knew. I remember how I knew I would have to do the same thing . . . figure it all out without Mama.”
“Oh, Kara.” She dropped her face down. I went to her, wrapped my arms around her and allowed her to cry until the tears subsided, and the sunlight turned dusty pink in her room.
Charlotte and I stood in front of Mrs. Marshall’s Garden and Antique Store, where I’d bought the broken angel weeks before. I hadn’t visited Maeve in the hospital in the past few days—her family had come from Ireland, and they’d promised to call me to report any change in her condition.
I pushed open the doors; I needed to cancel the urns and palm trees I’d ordered for the reception. Charlotte lent her levity and brevity to every task necessary. She kept me laughing when I wanted to cry, and quickly severed conversations I tended to drag out with apologies and explanations.
The aroma of green plants and soil filled the air. I inhaled, then called out for Mrs. Marshall. She stood from where she’d been reaching down behind the counter. “Well, hello, darling.” She walked around the corner holding her cat, Azalea. “It is so weird that you stopped by today—I was set to call you in a little bit.”
“Oh? Well, if it’s about the palm trees . . .”
She shook her head. “No, those are all ordered and arranged.”
I grimaced. “I need to cancel them.”
“Oh, why?” Mrs. Marshall tapped her chest.
Charlotte petted the cat. “We don’t like palm trees anymore. We want large live oaks, real ones at least a hundred years old.”
I laughed, shook my head. “You know better than to listen to Charlotte. There just isn’t going to be a wedding.”
“Oh, dear.” She hugged me. “I do know these are the days you could use your mama. If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”
I nodded. “No, I have to do everything.”
“Ah, just like her. But you don’t need to, dear. There are so many people who love you in this town . . . we’re all here to help.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ve disappointed all of you.” I reached over and rubbed behind Azalea’s ears.
“Disappointed them? No, Kara. We love you.”
I smiled and bit back tears. “Well, why were you about to call me?”
“You know that broken-winged angel you took?”
I nodded. “I love that angel.”
“You are not going to believe this . . . the match came in to me from a junker in Georgia, and this angel has both wings.”
“Oh, wow.”
She nodded. “Isn’t that just amazing? It seems the angels came from a garden in an old home in Savannah. They had markings on the bottom that stated they were a pair, and my junker remembered that he had given me the other one—incredible.”
I wanted to speak, but I couldn’t.
“A complete angel, she’s not broken anywhere,” Mrs. Marshall said.
“Can I see her?” I whispered.
Mrs. Marshall waved her hand. “Follow me.”
We wound our way among the orchids and ferns, around the clay and concrete pots, until we reached the storage room. “Here,” she said, and lifted the small concrete angel.
I took it from her, held it between my hands. “She’s perfect.” I looked up at Mrs. Marshall. “How do you think one of them got broken, and the other stayed whole?”
“It is the same as life. Some things break us and others keep us together.”
“How much is she?”
“I have a feeling you need her more than I need the money.” She touched my arm.
“I don’t know how to thank you. This is the miracle I needed right now.”
“That’s how it works, my dear. That’s what miracles are for—when you need them the most.”
I drove too fast toward the hospital, my nerve endings thrumming like the air before a storm. I ran through the front doors, up