Hallowed

Maybe I’m finally cracking under the pressure.

The doorbell rings.

I drop a pair of Jeffrey’s underwear on the laundry room floor and run downstairs for the door. I get up on tiptoes to peer out the small window at the top of the door. My breath catches.

There’s an angel standing on my doorstep. I can feel him. An angel. A White Wing, to be exact. A tall golden-haired man with such love pouring off him that it brings a whole different kind of tears to my eyes.

I fling open the door.

“Dad?”

He turns to me and smiles, a goofy lopsided grin that I had totally forgotten about until right this minute. I stare at him wordlessly, take in the way the sun glints off his hair with this definite unearthly kind of light. I examine his face, which hasn’t aged a day, not since I saw him four years ago, not ever, in all my memory of him. He hasn’t changed. Why did I never notice that before?

He’s an angel.

“Don’t I get a hug?” he asks.

I move zombielike into his arms.

Here’s what I would expect to feel in this moment: Um, surprised. Amazed. Astounded.

Knocked over flat by the sheer impossibility of the idea. But all I feel right now is his joy. Like pink curtains, Dad’s hands on my waist, holding me up high. That kind of joy. He hugs me tight, lifts me off my feet, laughs, then sets me down.

“I’ve missed you,” he says.

He’s stunningly handsome. Just like Samjeeza, like he was molded from the perfect male form, sculpted as a statue, but where Samjeeza has this dark beauty to him, Dad’s all golden.

Golden hair. Golden skin. Silver eyes that seem cool and warm at the same time, something ancient about them, so much knowledge in their depths. And like Samjeeza, he’s ageless, like he could pass for twenty, thirty, or forty, depending on how closely you look at him.

How is this guy the awkward, absent father of all those tortured phone calls over the years?

“Dad. .,” I say. “How?”

“There will be time for explanations. But right now, can you please take me to see your mother?”

“Sure.” I step back into the entryway, watch as this glowy, broad-shouldered man comes into our house, his movements fluid and graceful, so clearly not human. There’s something else about him, too, something that makes me see him in two layers, like that human suit Samjeeza wears, a blurring around him when he moves. With Dad both layers seem more solid, shifting over him. I can’t tell which is the real him and which is the suit.

He smiles again. “I know this must come as quite the surprise now that you’re able to perceive these kinds of things.”

Understatement of the year. My mouth feels dry, like it’s been hanging open for a while.

“Your mother?” he prompts.

Right. Here I was just staring at him. I start down the hall.

“Can I get you anything? Like a glass of water or juice or coffee or whatever?” I babble as we pass the kitchen. I realize that I don’t know him at all. I don’t know my father well enough to know what kind of beverage he prefers.

“No, thank you,” he says politely. “Just your mother.”

We reach Mom’s door. I knock. Carolyn answers it. Her eyes go straight to my dad, and her face instantly goes slack with astonishment, eyes so wide it almost looks cartoonish.

“He — uh — he wanted to see Mom.”

She recovers quickly, nods, then steps out of the way so we can pass into the room.

Mom is sleeping, propped up on pillows, her long auburn hair spread out around her face, her face pale but peaceful. Dad sits in the chair next to her bed and touches a strand of hair, that one at the front that’s gone silver. He reaches down and gently takes her hand in both of his.

She stirs, sighs.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, / And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me,” Dad whispers.

Her eyes open. “Michael.”

“Hello, beautiful.” He lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses it, places it against his cheek.

I don’t know what I expected if my parents ever happened to bump into each other again.

Not this. It’s like there was never any leaving us standing in the driveway while he drove away.

Never any divorce. Never any separation at all.

“How long can you stay?” she asks.

“A while,” he answers. “Long enough.”

She closes her eyes. Smiles this beautiful smile. When she opens her eyes again there are tears in them. Happy tears. My dad is making my mom cry happy tears.

Carolyn, who’s been standing at the back of the room, coughs delicately. “I’m going to be on my way. I don’t think you’ll need me.”