Johnny Angel

“I don't think Dad thinks anyone should wear it but you. It's in your closet. Everything is still there.” She hadn't moved or changed or given away anything. With all his trophies and pennants and photographs and awards, the room was a shrine to him. She seldom went in anymore, although she had in the first few weeks, she just liked knowing it was there, like a part of him.

“Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning, Mom.” It was just the way it had been only a few months before, when he used to come and say good night to her, leave to call Becky, and then go to his room.

“Good night, sweetheart.” She sat there quietly, thinking of him, and a few minutes later Charlotte strolled in. Her hair was wet, she had just put gel in it, and she looked at her mother with a quizzical air.

“Who were you talking to a minute ago? Was Dad up here?” They both knew Bobby was sound asleep. She had heard her mom saying something as she walked down the hall to her room, and she couldn't imagine who she was talking to.

“I was on the phone,” Alice said without batting an eye. “Dad's still downstairs. He probably fell asleep.”

“What else is new?” Charlie said with a disapproving air. “Peggy Dougal's dad used to be the same way … and he went to AA.”

“Peggy Dougal's dad wound up in jail for drunk driving,” Alice said defensively, “and he lost his job. He had to go to AA, the court sent him there. That's not the same thing.” She had suggested it to Jim several times since the accident years before, and he always brushed her off or barked at her. He saw no need to go to AA, and always said he just liked to enjoy a few beers. And Alice knew she couldn't push him into it unless he was ready to go. It was up to him. And nothing she could say to him would make him see what everyone else did.

“Maybe not the same as Peggy's dad, but have you ever tried talking to Dad at night, Mom? He can't even understand what you say.” And more often than not, he slurred his words.

“I know, baby.” Alice didn't know what to say to her. It was the first time Charlotte had implied that her father was a drunk. And Alice didn't have the heart to tell her she was wrong. She had always been honest with her, even now. And whether or not he needed AA, he needed to forgive himself for the accident first, and accept the fact that he had lost his son. But that didn't seem to be happening. He seemed to be drifting further and further away from all of them. The only child he had ever related to was gone, and the other two didn't seem to exist for him. Sometimes Alice wondered if he even knew they were there. He never talked to them, or acknowledged them. And yet, he had loved talking to Johnny for hours, about sports and games and scores. He had no one to talk to now, not even her. “It's late, sweetheart, you should get to bed. I'll go wake Dad in a while and bring him upstairs.”

“Doesn't it make you mad, Mom?” she asked with a sorrowful air, as her mother shook her head.

“No. Just sad sometimes.” Charlotte nodded, and walked slowly out of the room, and then stopped just as Johnny had, with her hand on the door.

“Are you okay, Mom? Are you feeling better now?”

“Much.” The transfusions had worked wonders for her, and the medication had quieted the pain. But better than that, she was smiling again. In the oddest of ways, and for no reason she could understand, Johnny had come home, and she had hope again.

Chapter 5

Alice kept busy around the house for the next few days. She had plenty to do, and she had promised her doctor she would rest, which she did. Jim was dropping the kids off at school for her, and one of the other mothers was driving Bobby home. Charlotte knew her mom wasn't going to her basketball games that week, and said she understood. And Alice had all the time in the world to be at home, and talk to Johnny when he was there.

As he had said he would, he came and went, he wanted to see his friends, check out his old school. He had sat in on some of Charlotte's classes with her. He told their mother she was doing well, but was more interested in sports than her work, and he told his mother she really needed help in math. Other than that, he thought she seemed to be doing okay.

But Bobby was the one who worried him. He had visited him too, and he said he kept to himself, didn't seem to bond with anyone, and never joined in any of the games. Even in his special school, he was unusually withdrawn. He had been worse than ever, ever since Johnny died, and he had only gone back to school finally, just before Alice got sick.

“What are you going to do with him, Mom? I thought he'd be talking again by now.” It didn't look like there was much chance of it, particularly after five years. And it was obvious that Johnny's death had driven the boy even further into himself.

“He still could talk one day,” Alice said hopefully. “Maybe he'll want to say something to us enough to try.” For the moment, he seemed to be comfortable as he was.

“What does the doctor say?”