Angels Walking

  For the first time since Harrison stumbled upon this most unbelievable scene, Tyler Ames looked nervous. “Uh . . . this afternoon?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes. “My friends are coming over so . . .” She was asleep.

  Tyler carefully released her hand and stood. As he did he spotted Harrison and he froze. Fear screamed from his eyes. He held his finger to his lips and quietly retrieved the mop and bucket. He joined Harrison in the hallway and shut the door behind him without making a sound.

  Harrison had never seen the kid look guilty until now. “I’ll explain. Can we talk in your office?” Tyler whispered. He clearly did not want to wake Virginia.

  Not until then did Harrison notice his own tears. He blinked them back and nodded. “Follow me.”

  They reached the office and Harrison closed the door. “What in the world was happening back there?” He didn’t mean to sound angry, but he needed answers. As tender as the scene was, it was a charade. He needed to get to the bottom of the situation.

  Tyler slumped in his chair. He looked tired, almost dizzy. Too much so for this early in the morning. “I’m sorry. I . . . didn’t mean for it to get out of hand.”

  Harrison exhaled. He felt his frustration ease a bit as he leaned on his desk and squinted. “Start from the beginning. Please.” His voice still sounded clipped.

  Tyler gripped the arm of the chair with his good hand. “When I first started, I could never get into her room. She’d been out of control, I guess. Medicated. She was always asleep.” He massaged his left temple. “I finally was able to clean her floor.” He looked around as if he were grabbing at explanations. “I don’t know why, but she called me Ben. She . . . she thought I was her son.”

  “I got that.” Harrison was still hesitant, still looking for the motive.

  “She asked me to sit down, so I did. Wasn’t sure what else to do.” Tyler sighed. “She . . . started talking to me about how it was 1970 and how my dad was almost home from work.” Tyler seemed to gather a little confidence. “She was so happy, Mr. Myers. Like sitting there with her, letting her talk, was the kindest thing anyone had ever done.”

  “I see.” Harrison felt his heart soften. He willed his tone to lighten a little. “How often have you talked to her?”

  Tyler didn’t blink. “Every day since then. Each time she’s happier and alert. I finish my work and make her room my last stop. Sometimes I bring her flowers.” He shrugged. “I guess Ben used to do that. Anyway, every afternoon she’s waiting for me.”

  “So, she thinks you’re Ben, and that you’re a teenager?” Harrison’s suspicions and concerns began to fall away.

  “Sometimes.” Tyler looked as baffled as Harrison felt. “Other times she knows I’m older. She’ll talk about a car accident her son must’ve had. The guy wasn’t hurt, but the car was damaged. She keeps saying she forgives me.”

  A lump formed in Harrison’s throat. He had worked at Merrill Place for a long time, but he’d never seen anything like this. “First . . .”—he waited until his voice cooperated—“you should know I’m not angry. Surprised, but not angry. You did nothing to violate policy. It’s just . . . nothing like this has ever happened before.”

  “Well, sir”—Tyler looked at his watch—“if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep stopping in. I look forward to talking with her.” His eyes betrayed a hurt he had never talked about. “She sort of, I don’t know—I guess she feels like family now.”

  “I understand.” Harrison thought for a few seconds. “I guess . . . I don’t see any harm in it.” He studied Tyler, wanting to be sure. “I’ve never met Ben. Cheryl doesn’t talk about her brother.” He paused again. “You really care about Virginia, is that it?”

  “Yes, sir.” A sad smile tugged at Tyler’s lips. “Very much.”

  So Cheryl was right. God was using Tyler Ames to bring about the miracle in Virginia’s life. The truth was more than Harrison could take in. He returned the young man’s smile. “Thanks for explaining. You can get back to work.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tyler stood, his damaged arm hanging awkwardly against his body. He hesitated. “There is one more thing.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I saw an old guitar in the storage room when I was cleaning.” He looked nervous again, the way he had when Virginia brought up singing. “Could I . . . Would you mind if I used it to sing for Virginia and the residents this afternoon? After lunch?”

  Harrison raised his brow, amused and touched at the same time. “You sing?”

  “No.” Tyler didn’t hesitate.

  “You play guitar?”

  “Not really.” Tyler looked a little dazed. “In middle school. That’s the last time.”

  Again Harrison was moved. The public had never seen this side of Tyler Ames. That much was certain. He glanced at Tyler’s arm. “How are you going to play with one—”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. I never dreamed I’d sing again.” He chuckled, and his fondness for Virginia was as obvious as his damaged shoulder. “It matters to her. What else can I do?” He shook his head. “I have to hope they’re a forgiving audience.”

  Harrison looked at Tyler for a long time. “You can use the guitar.” He smiled. “Is the sing-along in the living room?”

  “I guess so.” He laughed again—one of the first times Harrison had heard him sound happy. “It better not wind up on YouTube.”

  “You’re safe here.” They both laughed and Tyler left the office.

  Harrison watched him go. If he hadn’t come in today he might’ve missed this. The truth stayed with him. Tyler Ames, former baseball star, had befriended Virginia Hutcheson, a ninety-year-old woman with Alzheimer’s. And in the process Virginia was finding her way to being whole again. Harrison shook his head. He wouldn’t believe it if he hadn’t seen it himself.

  He checked his watch. Eleven in the morning. Cheryl stopped by every Sunday after church—probably around one. Right about when Tyler planned to sing for Virginia and her friends. Harrison could hardly wait to tell the woman what he’d found out. Cheryl’s mother thought Tyler was her son. Which meant Virginia had her miracle.

  Now Harrison could only hope that Tyler Ames would get his.

  20

  THE PAIN PILLS WERE wearing off, but Tyler didn’t care. He certainly wasn’t going to play the guitar and sing for Virginia and her friends high on Oxycodone. The singing mattered to Virginia, and so it mattered to Tyler. He was actually looking forward to it. How long had it been since he’d made someone else happy?

  He drank extra water so the shaking wouldn’t be as bad. Maybe he’d get lucky and he wouldn’t feel the tremors and sweating until after he sang. He would do his best—he had to for Virginia—but his performance was bound to be a mess. Tyler knew the basic chords from band at school and at least a handful of hymns from his days at church. Before baseball became more important. Still he was pretty sure that after today Virginia would politely refrain from asking him to sing again.

  Tyler finished cleaning the hallways and bedrooms at the west wing of Merrill Place and slipped back to his apartment for lunch. More water, he told himself. Something to stop the incessant shaking.

  On his way to the fridge, he glanced at the computer. He hadn’t checked Facebook since yesterday. It didn’t matter. Sami wasn’t going to write back. Her Facebook page was active, up to date. Surely she’d read his message by now. No response meant Tyler never should have reached out in the first place.

  He hesitated near the table. Of course, maybe she’d been away from her computer. That was possible, right? She might’ve just seen his message today. He flipped open the laptop, tapped a few keys with his left hand, and pulled up Facebook. A small number “1” shouted at him from the top of the screen.

  One private message.

  He lowered himself slowly to the seat. The message had to be from her. He hadn’t talked to anyone else since his accident. The sweat on his brow grew worse. What if she was angry t
hat he’d written to her? She went by Samantha, after all. She had probably changed. Again, she hadn’t even answered his last call. Or maybe the message wasn’t even from her. Her boyfriend might’ve written back, telling him to stay away. Ernie something, right?

  This is crazy. He pulled a water bottle from the case on the table, ripped off the lid, and drank half of it. The pain in his shoulder grew with every passing minute. He was sick of the way his body shook, sick of feeling this way. But he couldn’t take the pills. Not until after he played for Virginia. He checked the time on his computer—12:20. The next forty minutes would feel like a year at this rate.

  Just read the message, he told himself. Get your mind off the pain. Whatever words lay on the other side of that number, he had to read them. He clicked the notification and the hard edges of his heart melted a little. The message was from Sami. Samantha Dawson, it read.

  He began to read.

  Tyler, I can’t believe it’s you! What’s it been, three years since we talked? Four maybe? First I have to tell you how happy I am that you’re sober. I think a lot of your struggles early on came because you were drinking. So now . . . well, now you can do anything! I always believed that.

  Tyler closed his eyes and held onto just that much. Sami had always believed in him, had always known he could do anything. What she said was true. Their senior year of high school she had breathed confidence into him every time they talked. His dad would harp on him for not being focused. The man constantly pulled him aside to give him pointers. How to throw faster, cleaner, more accurately.

  Not Sami.

  He pictured warming up before his last home game at Jackson High. As soon as Sami parked her car she ran toward him, practically bursting with excitement. The game had been about to start, but he waved at her. From a proper distance she smiled at him, her eyes shining. “You’re the best pitcher ever, Tyler Ames,” she spoke loud enough so he could hear her over the sound of the infield chatter. “Go win it!”

  That’s exactly what he had done. He’d gone out and dominated a team that had the same win-loss record as Jackson. Later, his coach would say that game was a turning point, the reason Tyler was awarded Mr. Baseball. The reason Jackson went on to be state champ.

  All because Sami Dawson believed in him.

  He remembered all of it. And now, no matter what the rest of the message said, he had what he needed. Confirmation. His letter to her had been the right decision. He opened his eyes and kept reading.

  I heard about your injury. I guess you must be on the mend now, working toward the Big Leagues again, like you said. You’ll get there. Anyway, I had to write back. Life is good and I’m happy. Most of the time—haha. I think of you every so often, too. Usually I picture you where I’ll always picture you: sitting under the stars on a roof with your arm around me. Feels like a million years ago, right?

  Well . . . take care. Good hearing from you. Sami.

  He read the letter again, and a third time. Out of every wonderful thing she said, one line made his heart break. Most of the time? She was happy most of the time? So it was just like he’d feared. Her grandparents had convinced her to fall in line: Sensible job. Sensible boyfriend. But what did Sami think about when Tyler’s name came up? He read her words one more time, let them soothe the emptiness inside him.

  She thought about sitting on the rooftop next to him.

  The news wasn’t bad actually. His first love was still there in the lines of her message. She’d been honest at least—about being happy most of the time. And about her memory of him. He stared at her profile picture, the eyes that had once been so familiar. Yes, she went by Samantha now, and yes, she seemed to have settled into the life her grandparents wanted for her. But the girl he knew was definitely still in there. He was sure for one reason.

  She had signed her name Sami.

  THE RESIDENTS WERE finishing lunch when Tyler reported back to the gathering room. He had only twenty minutes, and he still needed to figure out how to play with one hand. What if he didn’t remember even the easiest chords?

  A small, empty room sat just off the lobby. He took the guitar there, shut the door behind him, and sat on the first chair he came to. His knees and arms shook, and he felt sick to his stomach. He never should’ve promised Virginia anything. What would she think if he bombed? If he couldn’t carry a tune or remember how to play? Especially with one hand?

  Calm down. He closed his eyes for a long moment and willed the shaking to let up. Gradually he felt the slightest peace ease his anxiety. This wasn’t about him. It was about Virginia. God, if You’re there, I need some help. Please.

  His right hand still worked—but his shoulder hurt if he used it too much or too suddenly. All right, Tyler, let’s do this. He sat the guitar on his right knee and held the neck with his left hand. He strummed a few times and adjusted his hold, trying to find a natural position. One that didn’t kill his shoulder.

  The C chord. That would be a good place to start. He found the finger positions with his left hand and once he had that he strummed the strings with his right. Pain burned from his shoulder to his neck and torso. He clenched his jaw and breathed in through locked teeth. Who was he kidding about giving up the Oxycodone? He needed it more than air.

  The position hurt too much to play like this. He shifted, leaning further over the guitar. That way his shoulder didn’t have to support the weight of his hand. This time when he strummed there were no worsening sharp pains. But even still his body trembled and sweat dripped down the side of his face.

  “Why are you doing this, Ames?” he whispered. “You can’t play. Virginia will know you’re a fraud.” He pictured the sweet old woman, her pleading face. Enough doubts. This wasn’t about him. Whatever happened, he would make good on his promise to his friend.

  He worked five minutes to tune the strings, and then he ran through the chords, through “Jingle Bells” and “Happy Birthday”—two songs he still remembered.

  He could only hope Virginia and her friends were hard of hearing.

  TYLER TOOK HIS spot on a metal stool at the front of the living room at Merrill Place. An open hymnal sat on the table in front of him and around the room only a few residents filled the chairs—two of them were sleeping. No telling whether Virginia had ever made it to the lunchroom or if she’d simply forgotten about Tyler’s concert.

  Still he wanted to be ready in case she remembered. He had found a few hymns he could sing, songs with simpler melodies and chords he could struggle through. Now if only he could survive the pain. He clutched his right elbow to his ribs. His body was demanding relief, desperate for the pills. Everything ached, and the slightest wrong movement sent knives through his shoulder and neck. Everything in him screamed for more Oxycodone.

  This is for Virginia, he thought. I can do it for her.

  At exactly one o’clock, Virginia shuffled into the living room pushing a walker and clearly looking for him. This was the first time Tyler had seen her out of her bed.

  She spotted him right away. “Ben! You’re here!” She stopped and motioned back over her shoulder. Then she grinned at him. “Ethel and Roger are coming.” With slow shuffling steps she came closer, a smile stretched across her face. “I’ve been looking forward to this for days! Ever since the last time you played for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tyler could feel sweat beading up on his forehead, dripping down his back. He ignored it. For her, his smile came easily.

  Virginia put her hand on his good shoulder. “Sing for Jesus, Ben. God loves when we sing for Him.”

  God again. Tyler looked down and nodded—for her benefit only. So much of his troubled life was his own fault. What would God want with him now? He lifted his eyes to hers. “You have a favorite song?”

  “Ben, you make me smile.” She shook her pretty white head. “We have the same favorite—you know that!” Peace filled her face as she lifted her eyes to the windows at the back of the room. “Always ‘Amazing Grace.’ ”

&nbs
p; “That’s right.” Tyler set the guitar down and stood. “Come on, let’s get you a front row seat.” He moved to her right side and with his left hand he kept her steady as they walked to the closest chair, just a few feet from where Tyler would sing. “How about this?”

  Virginia leaned into him as they walked and when they reached the chair she smiled up at him. “You are the most thoughtful boy. Your father and I are so proud.”

  Tyler helped her into the seat and took his place on the metal stool again. He wondered if Virginia could see how badly he was shaking. He hadn’t hurt this bad in a long time. But even as he tried to find the least painful position, even as the other residents made their way in from the lunchroom, Tyler couldn’t get over what Virginia had said. Whoever Ben was and wherever he lived today, his parents were proud of him simply because he was thoughtful? Maybe he was a doctor curing diseases overseas, or a teacher or a businessman. Whatever his talents and dreams, it didn’t really matter. His parents were proud of him for just being himself.

  Tyler had never imagined such a thing.

  He felt a little angry at Ben. Whatever took up the man’s time, he needed to be here. At least once in a while. With a mother like Virginia, he was missing out. Tyler smiled at the dear woman. Ben’s loss, he told himself. My gain.

  Tyler positioned his guitar on his lap and leaned over. If Virginia wanted him to sing this afternoon, God would have to give him a break on the pain. For thirty minutes, anyway.

  “Your father is on his way.” She looked over her shoulder. “He should be here any time. Your sister, too.”

  If only that were true. Tyler grinned at her. “I’m not much of a singer. You know that.”

  “Not true! Everyone loves to hear you sing, Ben!”

  A few stragglers had taken their seats. All eyes were on Tyler. He cleared his throat and looked down at the songbook. What in the world was he doing? Was this some crazy dream? He caught a few drops of sweat with his good shoulder. No. It wasn’t a dream. He was about to make a fool of himself if he didn’t pass out from the pain.