Heaven's Light

Prologue-3

She was gone for ten minutes, maybe longer. When she returned with a paper cup filled with water, Christian noticed his mother was happier, her face clear and dry of tears.

“Did you go up to see Aunt Betty?” she asked, handing him the cup.

He sipped at it, his hands trembling. “No, I’m scared,” he said, thanking her and handing the cup back to her.

“Why are you scared, young man?”

“I don’t want to see Aunt Betty dead.”

Lori sat down beside her son and draped an arm over his small shoulders. “Does death scare you?”

He nodded.

“Death shouldn’t be scary to a child.”

“Will I die?” he asked.

“Everybody and everything dies one day.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to, not for a long, long, long time. Just be happy, Chrissy. Enjoy life. Every day.”

“Will you and Dad die?”

There was a long pause as if everyone in the room turned to ice. Lori and Christian were the only two sitting, talking and holding hands.

“Let’s talk about something else,” his mother said.

“Why?”

“Death is never pleasant.”

Lori cleared her throat, and as she shifted into a more relaxed position next her son, she brushed a tear running down her face.

“Are you sad, Mom?” Christian asked.

“A little.”

“Does Aunt Betty’s death make you sad?”

She looked down at her son and nodded, her eyes glassy and glistening.

“I won’t leave you, Mom,” he said. “I promise.”

As they sat quietly, watching the other mourners paying their respects to Aunt Betty—a mother, sister, friend, wife, aunt—Lori reached down and clasped Christian’s hand in hers.

Dad and Uncle Willy stood at the front of the room by the entrance, talking, gesturing with their hands, getting acquainted after all these years. Christian watched as his father slapped Uncle Willy on his broad back, and turned and wove his way through the room to get to them.

“Henry, dear, how are you feeling?” Lori asked.

“Fine. Why?”

“You look pale,” she said. “Drawn.” She released Christian’s hand, and looked up at Henry, frightened. “Maybe we should go home.”

“Lori, dear, I’m fine,” he said. “I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been a long week.”

“Maybe you should sit down,” Lori said, standing and motioning for him to take her seat.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, his voice changing, getting louder. Angrier? “How are you doing, Chrissy?” he asked, looking down at his son.

Christian shrugged. He wanted to say, “I hate my childhood name, Chrissy. It sounds like a girl’s name, and makes me feel weak.”

“Have you been up to see your Aunt Betty yet?” Henry asked him.

His father made him feel guilty as if it was a quick, easy gesture of hello and goodbye, or see you tomorrow.

Christian shook his head, feeling nervous. He tucked his hands under his legs, his palms sweaty and shaky.

“You’re going to miss her if you don’t say goodbye,” he told his son.

“I’m going to miss her anyway,” Christian said.

Lori moved to the side and got lost in a conversation with a tall lady he didn’t know. His mother glanced at him between scraps of conversation with the woman.

Henry plopped down on the seat next to his son on the sofa, his hand smacking Christian’s leg. “If you want to talk about anything, son, anything at all, I’m here.”

Christian nodded.

“You promise?” Henry said, reaching out and teasing him with his lobster claw hands, pinching at the seams of Christian’s loose pants.

Christian tilted his head to the side. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything. I want you to be honest with me. I want you to feel comfortable talking to me.”

“I am. I will.”

“You’re my son, Chrissy. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

Henry looked away from him, to the corner of the room where Uncle Willy swigged drink after drink, then glanced back at Christian. “Remember what I said, Chrissy.”

“I will.”

“Promise?” he said, placing his strong hand on Christian’s.

“Promise.”

Christian noticed his father’s forehead glistening with sweat from the hot ceiling lights and the warm bodies in the room.

“Are you feeling all right, Dad?” he asked. “Mom’s right. Maybe we should go home.”

“Not before you say goodbye to Aunt Betty. It’ll be the last time you see her.”

It was an effort to swallow, but Christian scooted up to the edge of the sofa where his father was sitting, legs turned out as if he was sitting on his couch at home watching TV, and pulled his hands out from beneath his legs. “I’m…scared,” he told his father.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

He didn’t answer. He sat there, staring across the room to where Aunt Betty laid sleeping.

“Do you want your mother to go with you?”

Lori overheard them talking about her and excused herself from her talk with the tall, dark-haired woman. Lori came over to Christian and squatted beside him, mussing his hair, looking tired. “Come on,” she said, holding out her hand. “Let’s go together.”

Christian reached a hand out to his mother. Henry encouraged his son with a pat on the back. Christian heard his father tell his mother that he was going to say goodbye to his friends, and find Uncle Willy, and headed towards the lobby.