Chapter 12
I bet Mom will love my haircut.
Hot tears formed suddenly in Cora's eyes. She dashed them away, hoping the young hairstylist wouldn't notice, but too late.
"Is something wrong?" the girl asked, taking a step back and removing the comb and scissors from Cora's hair in alarm. "Did I hurt you?"
Her eyes shiny, Cora shook her head. "No," she said. "I just was looking forward to showing my haircut to my mother." Her voice shook and she cleared her throat and swallowed a few times. "We liked to show new things to each other. My mother died two years ago," she went on. "I forget it sometimes, like she's still here. Just give me a minute." Cora reached to the shelf below the mirror, took a tissue, and blotted her eyes as the girl watched, unsure what to do or say.
"It's okay," Cora said. "I'm okay. You can finish."
Cora paid for the haircut, and back in the car her tears started again. This time she let them flow as she drove toward Saint Brennan's Church. She'd better pull over to compose herself, or Father would think he was dealing with an emotional cripple.
Two years, and I miss her like it happened yesterday.
She pulled into the public library parking lot and walked into the rest room, thankful she didn't run across anyone she knew. She entered a stall and sat.
Most of the time she was able to put her feelings about her mother out of her mind by promising herself she would think about it later, a later she consciously put off again and again. She buried it and went on with her life, not allowing herself to think of how much she missed her, and she was even able to forget. Times, like this morning, she would just break down for no apparent reason.
She knew, like all daughters know, she would lose her mother one day; but knowing that, knowing all women expect to have that experience, knowing it wasn't the only time she would cope with grief, didn't help her when it occurred. A brutal realization, she thought, that we don't value sufficiently what we have until we don't have it, let alone how painful it will be when it's no longer there. Mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers, daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters-those are bonds we experience firsthand, going forward as well as back through the years, threads into the past and the future, loss and longing linked across the generations.
If only I can stop remembering!
She finally controlled her tears and left the stall. Looking in the mirror, she saw what she expected-signs she had been crying. She took a paper towel, wet it with cold water and held it against her eyes until the burning stopped.
Why did she take time for that haircut? When life got intense, Cora functioned best if she arranged distractions, forcing problems out of her mind until she felt better able to confront them. Such respites prepared her to reason more effectively. She thought getting a haircut before her visit with Father McGrath would provide just such a break. Well, that sure backfired.
She took a few deep breaths, walked back to her car, and got behind the wheel. She didn't want to be late. She just hoped she didn't look like a basket case when she got there.
---
She didn't get her wish. Father Dennis McGrath, pronounced "McGraw", was watching for her when she arrived. "From the look on your face I'm glad I decided to see you right away," he said in greeting, with his gentle smile.
Father McGrath was a short, slight, balding priest with a round reddish face that suggested kindness, intelligence, and good humor, and wire-rimmed glasses that often slid down his nose. He dressed casually in black jeans, a black polo shirt, and black sneakers. He led her to a large parlor with four comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs facing in a circle in the middle of the room, and closed the door. Bookcases lined the room, full but neat. Cora recognized a classical work playing softly.
"It seems strange to be seeing you here instead of at our dinner table," Cora said, as her gaze roamed the room, wondering where he wanted her to sit. "This is nice. I love Mozart's Requiem. Remember when we went to the Chicago Symphony performance, and Cisco fell asleep?"
His eyes twinkled and he nodded, then gestured to one of the chairs, inviting her to sit. He turned the music off and took a chair across from her.
"I'm sorry, Father," Cora said. "This is going to sound pretty immature for an old lady like me, but I've just been crying because I miss my mommy!" she admitted, with a wry smile and a chuckle.
"Sometimes the pain comes back, even a year or two later; that's quite normal, as long as it doesn't dominate your life. How bad is it?" He focused his eyes on her face, but she avoided eye contact, sitting rigidly with her purse on her lap.
"It's okay. I bury it, and don't let myself think or talk about her. Avoidance, isn't that what it's called?"
He nodded. "It works sometimes."
"I miss having someone to go to who will care about little things. Who can I tell when I'm miserable with a cold? It's no big deal to anyone else, but it would be to Mom," Cora said.
"Yes, moms are good about that. But you said when you called that it wasn't grief that's troubling you. You wanted to talk about something else that's going on?" Father leaned back and crossed his legs, slumped comfortably in his chair, and watched her closely.
Cora and Cisco met Father McGrath shortly after moving to Lemont, when they worked together on a community project. She represented the library, and Father the local churches, in a project to enhance communication and share resources. It was a great idea that failed despite the enthusiasm of the committee, primarily because each organization refused to give up independent control. Cora, Cisco and Father hit it off and stayed friends. Cora took pleasure in their intelligent and lively discussions, and Father appreciated Cisco's open and unpretentious views on life. When Cora's mother moved in, they saw less of each other, although they emailed frequently.
The room was pleasant, with a huge mahogany desk that would dwarf the diminutive priest. Sheer curtains covered a long row of windows along one wall, looking onto a porch at the front of the rectory, which had been converted from an old home. Late afternoon sun pierced the curtains, warming and brightening the room, flickering with moving shadows of nearby bare tree branches. Cora watched the shadows for a moment before answering the priest's question.
"Yes, uh...some really strange things. I hoped you could help me put them in perspective, figure out what's going on and what I should do." She held one hand tightly with the other.
He raised an eyebrow. "Things...like?"
Cora was uneasy. It was hard to admit she entertained the possibility of a supernatural visitor. She felt silly, uncertain how to approach the subject. "Like angels, like spirits, like what is real and what is not. Like how to relate to an angel?" she said in a small, embarrassed voice, trying to ignore the lump in her throat.
He appeared unfazed. "Lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my! And things that go bump in the night? Your fears?" he teased kindly, tapping a forefinger on his gently smiling lips, lightening her tension and making it easier for her to go on.
"Yeah," she smiled, "especially the bump in the night part. But no. More than that, I think."
Never having consulted her friend professionally, Cora wondered if she was supposed to imitate his relaxed posture. She realized she was hugging her purse unconsciously, so she put it on the floor and settled back into her chair. She crossed her ankles and laid her arms on the armrests. She still felt awkward.
"You aren't comfortable here today, are you? That's not like you," Father said.
She shook her head. "No, I'm not. I feel-sort of like I would if I were seeing my neighbor for my annual physical instead of my doctor."
Father burst into a hearty laugh and Cora joined him, breaking the tension.
"Father, you know the Church's teachings about angels and spirits, and I thought you'd take me seriously," she said, leaning forward slightly. "I don't want to think I have a supernatural visitor, but I don't know what else to think."
He raised an eyebrow again, but smiled gently. "Okay. What's going on, my dear?"
The story tumbled out, slowly at first, and then she talked nonstop for twenty minutes. She told him everything-held nothing back, even her deductions and fears. Now and then he interrupted with a question. Nothing in his face or body language indicated surprise or disapproval and he seemed interested and concerned. She was relieved. She had been worried he would question her sanity. At last, she felt she had covered it all and stopped.
Father rested his chin on his interwoven fingers and closed his eyes in concentration. Cora waited nervously. Did he think she was blowing this out of proportion? Or imagining it?
At length he dropped his hands and looked directly at Cora. "Awful as it is, much of what you say could be coincidental." He held up a finger. "It could be real, with no apparent explanation." He held up a second finger. "It could be imagination, or exaggeration." He added a third finger. "Or we can consider a supernatural cause. What is concerning to me is the appearance of the pop-ups. Are you absolutely positive about those?"
Cora nodded emphatically. "As much as I can be. I know I didn't dream them. How could I be mistaken about something like that?"
"That's right, of course. Can you think of any natural explanation for the messages?"
"No, I can't. They don't even make sense from a paranormal perspective. What kind of angel communicates by computer?"
"That would seem to be a first," he admitted, with a lopsided grin.
"Most of what I know about angels is from movies, TV, and Bible stories. What does the Church say about the appearance of angels on earth? Do we believe that happens today? And why would it happen to me? I mean, what's happening doesn't seem to be a religious matter."
Father uncrossed his legs, switched his weight to one hip, placed an elbow on an armrest, and rested his chin in his hand, watching her. "What makes you think these happenings are the actions of an angel?"
"Well...because it's protecting me-it seems like it's protecting me," she repeated. "It's been there a long time, maybe all my life. If this is really happening, then what is it, if not an angel? Isn't that what angels do, protect people? What else could it be?" Cora squirmed in her chair, found a more comfortable position, then crossed her arms over her chest.
"Well, in my opinion, I hardly think an angel would tear out someone's eyes. I'm not going to try to give you an opinion about those people you say may have been punished, whether that's coincidence or due to some other behavior. You seem to be suggesting something like an avenging angel, and that doesn't fit either." He tapped one foot rhythmically.
Cora's eyebrows went up in surprise. "It doesn't? Why not?"
"An avenging angel, or fallen angel, or devil, or your 'Angel,' call it what you will, would be seeking retaliation or punishment. Did Valerie do something so awful it deserved that brutal retaliation? What did any of those people you mentioned do to single them out for such extreme punishment? People do a lot worse things, and an angel doesn't come down to earth to deal with them. Do you see?" He dropped his chin and looked over the top of his glasses, inviting her response.
She went on stubbornly, "My friend Frannie said that too, that it was out of proportion. But, well, couldn't an angel be angry because of something that was done to me?"
"Unlikely, but let's think about something besides angels. Perhaps we should consider a spirit." He folded his arms across his chest.
Cora drew her eyebrows together. "What's the difference?"
"An angel is a being that never lived on earth as a human. An angel can visit earth in various ways, usually to deliver a message. A spirit, on the other hand, once lived on earth, then died, and for some reason is unable to cut ties to its earthly existence and accept its spiritual existence. It's not usually concerned with giving a message or otherwise assisting someone on earth. Instead, it's seeking whatever resolution it needs to accept its own death. In a word, it's selfish. It wants something." His glasses slipped down his nose as he spoke, and he pushed them back into place.
Cora's gaze moved around the room as she considered what he said. "Neither of those descriptions seems like what's going on. So what then? Is this a bizarre coincidence? Or am I jumping to conclusions, taking something ordinary and making it something it's not, like Cisco thinks?"
He searched her eyes. "You say Cisco thinks you're making it something it's not? Could he be right? He knows you pretty well, wouldn't you say?"
"He's tired of hearing me talk about this, I think." She shifted her eyes away from his. "I suppose I sometimes put things together that don't go together, and nothing comes of it, and okay, I have a tendency to exaggerate."
"Does that make your description of these events unreliable?"
"I don't think so-I've asked myself a lot of questions and I've tried to consider other possibilities." She cleared her throat. "So do you have an opinion? Is something paranormal going on? Am I nuts? Do you think I'm in any...danger? Do I need an exorcism or something?" She forced a little laugh, not joking, but seeking reassurance.
He let out a long slow breath. "I don't think the pop-ups on your laptop could be mistaken for something else, do you?" Thoughtfully, he took off his glasses, rubbed the sides of his nose, put them back on, and leaned on the armrest, bracing his body with an elbow. "But you asked if this is really happening, so let's explore that. It appears at least some part of what is going on is factual. Your conclusions may or may not be correct. Let me ask-do you feel frightened?"
She looked at him, blinking rapidly. "I didn't...now-especially when I think my friends could be attacked...it puts a new light on things."
"When exactly did Angel start appearing?"
"Well, as I said, I've been noticing bizarre things most of my adult life. It started after I got married and moved out of the house, when I was expecting my first baby. But there have been long periods when Angel, can I just call her Angel-for conversation purposes?"
Father nodded.
"There were long periods Angel wasn't around. Lately her actions are more obvious and more frequent."
"Why didn't you take her seriously before now? Seems some extraordinary things have been happening, and yet you didn't make a big deal out of them. Why not?"
"Like, one morning, I couldn't get my shampoo to lather from a near-empty bottle. Strange, that never happened before. Did water get in it? No, it was still thick. Did Cisco alter it some way? No, he didn't. Well, a fluke. Next bottle of shampoo, different brand, same thing happened. Why? Who knows? It takes a long time to go through a bottle of shampoo-see, it's a little thing, but it's weird. Did I remember right? Just when does it get so strange I want to do something about it? And if I did, what exactly would I do? Things like this happen to everyone, we just can't explain them, right?" She watched Father hopefully.
With a long direct look over the top of his glasses, Father slowly shook his head.
"Oh." Cora's face fell, then she went on in a rush of words. "Well they seemed commonplace, at least to me. I'd talk about them now and then, but it was for shock value, more like a joke.
"Cisco, well, they happened to me, not to him, and mostly when he wasn't around. He couldn't explain them either and I'm sure he just wanted them to go away, so it's no wonder he tuned out."
She tucked her hands under her thighs and leaned forward in the chair. "I felt a sort of bond, like a friendly presence was communicating with me, getting my attention, when these things happened. But it's different now, more often and more weird, and I'm not feeling comforted anymore either."
"Do you fear physical harm? Do you think Angel will hurt you?" he asked, watching her closely through narrowed eyes.
"No! I'm afraid something bad will happen because of me, to people I love."
Father considered Cora's reply. "When did the...uh...visits start to recur?"
"I guess it was after I moved to Lemont, about ten years ago, maybe six years before I retired. At first doors drifted shut, things showed up in places I know I didn't put them, stuff like that. Similar to what used to happen years earlier." Her eyes drifted away to watch the flickering shadows again.
"Was the move to Lemont a major change in your life?"
"It was, really. We found what our family and friends call our dream house. It was the culmination of what we worked for all our lives." Cora smiled, returning her gaze to Father. "It's not all that great, but it's more than we thought we'd have."
"Why did you pick this house, this place to live?"
"It's a nice house, on a large lot, in a quiet neighborhood. We could afford it," she said, still smiling. "We just drove out there one day on a whim, and as soon as we saw it something clicked. It was like it was meant to be, right off the bat, and we didn't even look anywhere else. The town is quaint, with lots of places to walk-we like to walk. Our home is next to a farm and some small forested areas, and we see deer and other wildlife."
"Like wolves?" He looked over the top of his glasses.
"No! Not wolves. I saw them in other places, not by my house. And the house had two extra rooms for my mother."
"Why didn't she move in with you right away?"
"She wanted to stay independent as long as she could." Cora felt her mouth getting dry. She picked up her purse, rummaged in it, took out a mint and put it in her mouth.
"I remember your mother as a quiet lady who was always smiling."
"She was a good mom." Cora turned her head away and stared at a wall trying to keep the tears from forming. "I can't remember if I told her that," she said in a shaky voice.
"She knew Cora. You were there when she needed you. How did you feel about taking care of her? Was it difficult?" He poked at his glasses again.
"I actually took care of both my parents for many years. They lived in their own home, but they needed supervision. When my father died, my mother was frail by then. His final illness took a lot out of her. She didn't want to be a burden, but she needed us. It got hard running back and forth and taking care of two homes and it made more sense for her to move in with us. We weren't getting any younger either!" Cora crossed her arms over her chest and pushed her chin forward.
"I thought if she lived with us it would make all our lives easier. It didn't turn out that way. I thought we'd enjoy doing things together, but by the time she moved in, she had little interest in anything. I felt bad-it was hard to watch her struggle." The tears had returned and Cora wiped them away with her hand.
"But she was easy to live with?" He watched her closely.
"For the most part, I liked having her around. We had to prepare special meals, help her get around, give her a bath, be sure she didn't fall, shop for her. It was work, but not a lot of work. But sometimes she got crabby, and one of us, either Cisco or I, had to be home most of every day. We couldn't take trips or vacations together, had to refuse social events, and I admit I resented it. It wasn't that it was hard, but there was no let-up. I was tired and I felt guilty when I spent time on myself, like I should be doing more for her." She clenched her hands tightly in her lap.
"No siblings, no other family?"
"No. My sons don't live close and have their own families and jobs. They would have helped if they were closer, but they weren't. There's no one else, really. Cisco, of course-you know how he is-was wonderful to her, more patient than I was most of the time. But sometimes she just wanted me."
"How long did you care for them?"
Cora thought for a moment, adding it up in her head. "I'd say around twenty years, I guess."
"Twenty years. You and Cisco were tied down for twenty years, with no significant break. Trapped." Father noticed Cora opening her mouth to object and held up his hand, then directed a meaningful look at her. "And then she died," he said softly. "And you thought your burdens would be gone, but instead you miss her, and that's why you were upset when you arrived today. You're experiencing sorrow."
He paused, watching it sink in. "We keep waiting for life to get easier, but it doesn't, does it?"
"Exactly. I wanted to make it better for her, and I couldn't," Cora agreed, nodding.
"So then Angel started, shall we say, watching more closely over you, after your mother got sick and died?"
Cora considered. "I guess that's true. I hadn't put those things together. I must have more stuff in my head than I realized." She bit on her lower lip.
"Do you think the two circumstances are related?"
"How do you mean?" Cora tilted her head and rubbed behind one ear.
"Ten years ago you moved to your dream home. Six years later, you retired from a job you were at for a long time, then your mother moved in with you, and then she died. Sounds like a lot of big changes. Then Angel started getting more...uh...obvious, shall we say-when?"
"About two years ago, but the incidents have really stepped up the past couple of months."
"In what way? Explain."
She shrugged her shoulders and waved an arm aimlessly. "More frequent, I guess, more obvious. Instead of catching movements out of the corner of my eye, I see them directly, like drawers opening, things jumping off furniture. I'd be looking right at something and it would move all on its own. Bigger things moving."
"What about sounds? Voices? Did anything accompany the acts?"
"No...no voices. When things moved they made thuds, screeches, crashes, like what you would expect." She smiled. "And of course, those same 'things that go bump in the night' we mentioned. I didn't check them out, only waited for them to repeat, and they never did. Maybe it was house-settling sounds, but there was a regular beating, very soft, like a machine pumping away in the corner of my bedroom, most nights. Never did find out what it was, and Cisco said he couldn't hear it. Stuff like that."
Father pressed his upper lip with a forefinger and gazed at the ceiling, thinking. "Two years since your mother died-Angel steps things up. Looking for patterns here...."
"It may have been about then. I suppose it was."
Father took off his glasses, and tapped his upper teeth with an earpiece. "You said life was clicking along pretty well, you felt sad about your mother, but that was normal and you were dealing with it. Then all of a sudden a previously non-threatening but unidentified presence comes into your life in a new way and something awful happens. You think that presence may have caused the awful thing. Then it occurs to you that some bad things happened earlier in your life, people met with tragic events after making trouble for you, and that could be related too. You think a priest's opinion may help, because you think an angel is causing your problems-in fact, you even name your problem Angel. Are you asking me if God or His angel is trying to tell you something, or if you should look for some other cause for your experiences?"
"Yes! And I want to figure out if something is actually going on, or am I delusional? That's the word, delusional. Wish I'd thought of it earlier. It fits better than imaginary." Cora searched his eyes, babbling nervously.
He uncrossed his legs and put both feet on the floor, sat a little forward in his chair, and pointed the stem of his glasses as he talked. "All right, let's sum up. You first noticed a protective presence many years ago after you married and moved from your home, away from your mother. This presence became more apparent when you became a mother. I bet the presence, or Angel, came back when your children moved away from you, their mother. Then Angel came back when your responsibilities for your mother increased, and really started to kick into gear after your mother died. Does that seem about right?"
As Cora considered his words, her face relaxed and she nodded. "I don't know if I'm more relieved you believe me or more concerned you think a spirit is possible."
Father McGrath asked gently, "You wanted to protect your mother. Is it possible you need protection in turn? Are you looking for that subconsciously, or is a supernatural presence picking it up? You said Angel called herself Máime in her message to you. Do you know what that means?"
"No, I was puzzled by that." She shook her head.
"It's Gaelic, Cora. Máime is Gaelic, pronounced like Mammy, or Mommy, what Irish children call their mothers. Mother is máthair, but when children address their máthair they call her Máime. If we assume this Angel is real, for whatever reason and by whatever means, might one conclude she is Irish, and might be calling herself your mother?"
Cora clapped a hand to her mouth and looked at the ceiling, then said, "My God, Father, you're a genius! Of course! That's the reason she visits and protects me. But why does she think she's my mother? I had a mother! And my mother wasn't Irish, she was Polish."
"Whoa!" he said, waving a hand in the air. "We haven't proved anything. I didn't say she's real, just postulated a theory if that were true."
Cora stood up, moved behind her chair, clenching the back of it tightly, gazing over Father's head and saying nothing.
"I'm putting this back in your court before we talk further, my dear," Father McGrath concluded, standing up and moving toward his bookshelves. "You have more thinking to do, but I have some books here somewhere that might help. They talk about angels and spirits-not in the same book of course!" He laughed, scanned the shelves for a few moments, and then shrugged his shoulders, giving her a sheepish smile. "I'll dig them out for you and drop them off at your house. Meanwhile, you sort out your feelings and see if what we proposed throws any light on the situation."
Cora bounced her fists softly on the back of the chair, trying to concentrate on his words.
How can Angel think she's my mother? She should know I had a mother.