Angelique inched towards the memorial. Waiting patiently for the old woman to step away. Could he really be gone? It didn't seem possible.
It cheered Angelique's heart to see the riot of color that contrasted so sharply against the dark wood antiques of the funeral home parlor. Numerous floral arrangements gathered at the front of the room surrounding a display of pictures filled with memories of Francis McDougal. So many came to say goodbye to an obviously loved man.
Angelique found her basket of white lilies and smiled. They lay strategically placed next to her favorite picture of him. His kind eyes smiled at her as he stood among the poinsettias he used to decorate St. Joseph the Worker Church every Christmas. His pride in a job well done, evident in his stance. You could find the joy of that special season in his smile.
She moved closer. Close enough to touch one of the white trumpets, staining her fingertips with the pollen shaken loose. She put up quite a fight to get these flowers here. Not being in season, the florist had thrown a fit when she told him her choice for the arrangement.
The lilies would have been poinsettias if it was possible, but remembering his love of lilies at Easter, she felt satisfied with her choice. Besides, she liked what they symbolized. Such a symbol of life seemed more appropriate for this solemn occasion.
The older woman dabbed away her tears with a handkerchief and moved on. Angelique hesitated. Nestled among all that riot of color would be his ashes tucked safely in an urn. It seemed so cold and unreal. She now stood in front of the silver engraved vessel. The reality could no longer be ignored. Francis McDougal is never coming home. Tears stung her eyes as she read, "Here are the ashes of Francis McDougal. Devoted Husband, Loving Father, and Loyal Friend. We will miss you."
"Your ashes are here, but you are not, are you?" Angelique took a deep breath, desperate to fight the wave of emotion threatening to pull her under. "Your spirit lives on. I know it does, in your sons and in all those who love you. I miss you," Angelique said, placing her fingertips to her lips and then to his picture. Bowing her head, she prayed.
John McDougal knew the instant Angelique entered the room, feeling her presence before finding her in the crowd of mourners who came to pay their respects. His love for her felt almost painful at times. She was his father's favorite, even though she held no relation to him. How his father had loved her. The last years of his father's life became filled with agony and grief. Only the occasional visit from Angelique would shake him out of his sullen existence. She never failed to make him smile.
They were left destitute when the steel mill closed, and his father never recovered. John only had one more year of high school left but sacrificed his education, knowing the difficulty his father would have trying to pay for two tuitions. Michael only ten at the time had a long way to go before he finished school.
Michael is now seventeen. He begins his Senior Year this fall. He worked so hard last year. He earned top grades and ranked in the top five of his class. Two days ago he received notice of a partial scholarship he had won. Dad would have been so proud.
John hardened his heart against such thoughts. His father's depression consumed him and now John would never get to tell him how much he meant to him. He would carry on his father's wish and make sure Michael made it through college. He'd do whatever it took. He finished his education, passed his GED, and put himself through law school full-time at night.
He got noticed by one of the top firms in the city. The opportunity would give him the chance at the life he always wanted and he could provide for his brother's education, but one obstacle stood in his way.
That obstacle now stood before his father's ashes. Dressed in a pale pink blouse and lemon yellow prairie skirt, she breathed life back into the sea of black, brown, and navy. His breath paused with her own as he watched her gain control of her emotions. Her brilliant blue eyes clouded over with moisture, but she refused to shed a tear.
John absently shook the hand of someone who claimed to have worked with his father.
"No, one worked harder," the man told him. John shook his head in acknowledgment, his mind and eyes still wandering over to the woman who came to say goodbye.
Angelique sent the lilies. John knew she had. She never was one for convention. In fact, he believed she prided herself on not being like everyone else. He admired her for it, too.
Found alone in the woods behind St. Joseph's Church at sixteen, she had become a subject of great mystery. That day changed his life. If he only knew what the future held for them, but now the bright, clear future had been dimmed. He hoped she would not dispute his choice, for if she did, he may be forced to choose a life without her.
Angelique turned to face John. She must have sensed him staring at her. Her waist-length ash-blond hair, confined into a French braid, trailed down her back. It amazed him how her five-foot-three-inch frame could fill a room.
Angelique possessed an amazing gift of empathy towards others. She could listen to the saddest of stories with the patience of a Saint and then retell them, adding her own positive spin. No matter how absurd it sounded, her genuine belief in her tale and her enthusiasm for making you feel better would leave you believing in silver linings.
She despised seeing the pain lurking in his eyes. From the moment they touched, Angelique knew in her heart she belonged to him. She fought the anxious feelings inside her that something terrible lurked on the horizon. Over the years Angelique learned to trust in those feelings because they never have failed her. This knowledge, however, only made her fear grow stronger.
She smiled encouraging at him, or at least she hoped she looked encouraging as she moved to make her way to him. Since his father's death, John changed. He shut her out, and she didn't know how to open the doors again. She prayed like she never had before that her feelings remained unfounded, but they nagged her, warning her.
John saw her smile and his heart melted. For the first time since his father's death, he felt compelled to cry. He wouldn't however, but God how he needed her. His impatience grew as he waited for her to make her way through the line of family members and relatives offering her condolences.
Every time she shook someone's hand, he noticed the pained expression that crossed her delicate features. She hurt for them, even though most of them she never met until this moment.
She now stood within arm's reach. She looked like her heart would break as she took in the limp figure of the boy, almost man, standing next to him. Since discovering his father dead in their apartment above the Rectory's garage, Michael refused to speak. Often, though, John could hear him crying alone in his room.
Angelique bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath in preparation. She refused to look at John, afraid he may be her undoing, and Michael needed her, now. Gently, she took her hand and raised Michael's chin so he'd be forced to look at her. He was a mess, his hair disheveled, his suit rumpled, he looked very much like a discarded rag doll someone left on the shelf to collect dust.
Michael raised his eyes to meet hers. "Angelgirl?" he said in a whisper, his voice hoarse from days of crying. Angelique felt intense pain grip her chest, surrounding her heart.
"I'm here," she told him and then gathered him to her like one would a small child. However, he was no child. He towered over her and she could feel his tears in her hair.
"I... I miss him so much," Michael choked out between sobs.
"I know you do. So do I," Angelique said, holding him tighter still for fear if she let go he may fall apart at her feet. "Have faith, Michael. Your father isn't gone, really. He'll always be with you, watching over you."
John sighed and shook his head in response to her words. He wished he too could take comfort in them, but he didn't believe in such nonsense as a hereafter or beings that watched over you. His life has proven to him time and time again that such things didn't exist or he wouldn't have to face days like today and many other days he experienced throughout his life. If God existed, John believed he preferred to play the part of an absentee landlord, allowing his tenants to fend for themselves.
Angelique glared at him. She must have heard him sigh. Angelique's faith could not be shaken. For her, death couldn't stop life; it could only transform it into something much more rewarding. Even stronger than her belief in God would be her belief in angels. She stood firm in her beliefs, only one more thing on a long list to admire her for. Perhaps he should let her go, just so that she'd be free of his antagonism. He knew that not all things in life are good and worthy of believing in.
Such a look of utter defiance, she practically dared him to prove her wrong. He could and with ease, but he refused on moral grounds. To stamp out such optimism would be a crime worse than murder. Suddenly he felt compelled to laugh but held himself together.
Angelique, his angel, looked at him as if she'd cut him down where he stood, while she comforted his little brother. Once again, he prayed she would understand his decision. He didn't know if he'd survive to lose the only positive influence in his life.
Angelique set aside John's reaction. His life had not been easy, and he had his reasons. She only wished she knew what some of them were. In the five years they've been a couple, she knew she still had much to learn about him.
She kissed Michael's cheek and in a motherly gesture, straightened his tie and his suit jacket. Wiping his tears away with the pads of her thumbs, she said, "You'll be okay. I promise." To John's amazement, Michael smiled, an action John doubted he'd ever see his little brother do again. She then turned her full attention to him.
Angelique did not believe two brothers could be more opposite than John and Michael. Michael's dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes mirrored his father's. His clothes always seemed rumpled and hung loosely on his tall, lean frame.
John had broad shoulders. He stood six feet in height but was shorter than Michael by an inch or two. He had a quiet, reserved sort of strength. In fact, Angelique didn't believe he had any weaknesses. Even his clothes dared not defy him, standing all day in his suit and not a wrinkle to be found, his collar starched to the perfect angle, and every sandy blond hair on his head in perfect order.
His eyes, jade in color, had to be his most striking feature. No matter how orderly John made his life, she could always see the true chaos that he dealt with in his eyes. He stared at her intently. Searching for something. The uneasiness crept back into her heart as she looked at him. " How are you, John?"
The question seemed simple but held so much more meaning. He wished he could take comfort in her arms as his brother did moments ago. Surrender to her care, which awaits him if only he'd ask, but he couldn't. Something changed in him since his father's death. Something he couldn't quite put into words, yet. "As well as to be expected, under the circumstances."
Angelique could sense the struggle for control in John. She wanted to hold him, touch him, but she knew that touch would be unwelcome. He had pulled away from her almost completely over the past week. She'd give her own life if it meant taking away the pain that lurked in the depth of his jade eyes.
Clasping her hands together to keep from reaching out to him, she smiled. "Well, if you need me?" She left the invitation to linger between them.