By H.A. Handy
Copyright © 2005 by H.A. Handy
The fire crackled and popped and Angelica drifted off into a deep semi-sleep. She was quite aware of where she was, of Caleb’s form, of the sounds from the kitchen, but her body was fast asleep, relaxed and warm. Somewhere in the far distance she could hear her name being called. It sounded like Uncle Greg. His voice richly country and thick with accent.
“Angelica, come on, hon, we need to be on our way!” he was calling. She came running out of Grandmother’s house and leapt easily into the passenger’s side of the old rusty red pick-up Uncle Greg had. His hair was jet black, so black it looked greasy, and it was long, hanging way down his back. At his temples was just a bit of gray. He was smiling that easy smile Angelica had learned to love.
“So, how was your school year?” That was always his first question to her every time school went out. Which, of course, brought on torrents of explanations of grades and friends and how she couldn’t hardly wait for the end of the school year so she could be with him and away from Grandmother.
“How old are you now?”
“Sixteen,” she heard herself say.
“Sixteen? It won’t be long until you won’t want to be hanging out with your ol’ Uncle Greg at the cabin any more.”
“Never,” she declared, and it was true. Being at the cabin in the summer was like being home, not like at Grandmother’s where it felt like a prison and she always had to keep the perfect grades and be on the right squads and sports teams in order to be accepted by the rest of the world, and Grandmother. At the cabin with Uncle Greg she had peace of mind, a place just to be herself, no matter what form it might take from tom-boyish to dressing up for dinner, to being angry and shouting until she was hoarse in the woods. Or crying as if her heart was broken.
Uncle Greg turned and looked at her. His eyes were serious, but kind. He seemed to be measuring her for something he wanted to say.
“Be good, Angelica, always be good and nothing that old crone can do will change who you are.”
Angelica was seventeen, it was the middle of the school year when word of the wreck came in. Uncle Greg had died instantly. There was no pain for him.
“Good riddance, I say,” said Grandmother Rita. Angelica cried herself to sleep from then on. Summers passed slowly until she went to college and had a summer job wherever she could get one. Grandmother was proud of her for “turning her life around” since “the bad influence” was gone. All Angelica was doing was staying away, being free of the big, dark house that once surely must have held tons of laughter.
Angelica couldn’t see her mother growing up in such a house – a house not filled with laughter and music and dark curtains hiding the contents from the sun. From what Angelica could remember of her mother, Fay, she had been filled with life and the love of life. Her dad had been much like Uncle Greg – boisterous, ready to play a joke, filled with music and so much more! Grandmother Rita was perfectly quaffed every day of her life and always wore make-up and expected “the best” from her granddaughter. But, there wasn’t any good night hugs and bed-time stories. There were no cookies when she came home from school. There was no music playing, only the ever-present, incessant CNN and MSNBC on the big television in the downstairs living-room.
Angelica turned in her dream, for surely it must be a dream, and she had graduated from college and taken a position as a social services clerk in Louisville, Kentucky. There she filled her time with work, with cases, with children who so needed to laugh. Grandmother came to visit often at first, and then the visits began to dwindle until they had finally stopped all together. A letter had arrived saying she was very ill and needed to see her “only granddaughter” as soon as possible. So, Angelica had taken off work and was heading home when a drunken Caleb had appeared in her life.
“You were destined for great things, Angelica.” Angelica was once more in the old rusty red pick-up beside Uncle Greg, but it wasn’t Uncle Greg, it was Johnny, and he was smiling that handsomely seductive smile. “Great things. Your uncle knew it. So, I had to take care of him, but you didn’t follow in his footsteps did you, Angelica dear. You tried to make your own path, make your own choices, forgetting so much, but it’s a part of you isn’t it. A big part of you. Now here you are, freezing to death in the snow.”
“No, I’m not! I’m at Edna’s.” Aren’t I?
“Are you?” A big arm slipped around her slender shoulders and squeezed her tight. “Go to sleep. I’ve got you. You aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone any more.” He was so warm, so handsome. But, she was at Edna's and this was a dream.
"You can choose to be at Edna's," Johnny rumbled. "Or, you can be with me." Suddenly they weren't in the old pick-up any more, but on a wide, white sandy beach. The water was a rich blue in the distance and a bright turquoise close at hand.
Angelica felt suddenly tired of talk about choices, of always trying to please someone else. She was warm. If this was death she would take it just so she wouldn't have to make any more choices. Angelica touched her stomach. She wasn't hungry. Her feet weren't hurting, in fact, they were wiggling deep into the warm sand.
Angelica lay her head on Johnny's broad chest.
Above her Johnny smiled. It always boiled down to choices.
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