Heaven's Light

Prologue-2

During Aunt Betty’s wake Christian’s father told him how proud he was of him. “You’re a special boy,” he had said. “You’re my son. I love you. Stay strong. Don’t let anyone bully you.”

Christian didn’t understand what he was saying, and by the time he reached the small room where Aunt Betty was laid out in a shiny brown casket, Christian clung to his mother’s loose-fitting skirt, his hands clutching the hem so hard his hands were hurting.

Henry walked off to meet other family members who had flown in from California, Arizona, and San Francisco for the wake and funeral. Lori bent down and asked Christian if he was feeling well. Christian nodded, inhaling her sweet-scented perfume. She smelled like roses and honeysuckle and mint leaves from the flowerbeds in her garden.

“Do you want to see Aunt Betty?” she asked him, her calm, blue-eyed stare reassuring him that everything would be fine. “I’ll go with you.”

He looked around the crowded room. It occupied the same space as their downstairs den or the size of their in-ground swimming pool in the backyard. There was a lot of noise from people talking, their voices carrying through the room. Christian shook his head, feeling his eyes tear up.

His mother walked him to a private sofa in the far corner, for the two of them, away from everybody else. His mother slipped her thin arm around Christian’s back and hugged him to her bosom. Christian laid his head across her chest and listened to her beating heart and wondered if she would leave him one day and go to heaven like Aunt Betty.

He’d heard stories from other kids at school that some mothers abandoned their children, moved away, and left their kids to fend for themselves, never to return to their child’s life. Christian hoped his mom would never do that to him.

He lifted his head and looked up at his mother’s face. “Would you ever leave me?” he asked her.

She looked down at him surprised. “No. Goodness, never, Chrissy.”

Christian didn’t like the nickname his family had given him, but he half smiled, his mouth a thin line of doubt. “Everybody dies, right?” he asked.

He felt his mother’s hands tighten around his waist, squeezing her body into his, showing him how much she loved him. She nodded. “One day, yes.”

Christian turned to where Aunt Betty lay still, asleep. He watched people come and go from the side of the coffin. They kneeled in prayer, their fingers knotted together, eyes closed, their heads bowed in front of them. Some hobbled away, dabbing their eyes with tissues, crying. Some were louder than others.

From between a small gap of bodies standing a few yards in front of him, Christian could see Aunt Betty propped up far enough in her coffin, wearing a white dress with flowers on it, her hands folded across her stomach. Her eyes were closed, mouth shut. It must be annoying for Aunt Betty, Christian thought, since his aunt loved to talk and tell jokes and funny stories. Now, she wasn’t saying anything, and nobody was laughing.

“Do you want to go up now?” his mother asked him, noticing him staring in the direction of his aunt.

He shook his head.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said.

“I know.”

“Whenever you’re ready, let me know. I’ll go with you.”

Christian looked out into the busy room of people.

He listened to the loud sound of voices, and the quiet whispers of other family members talking and meeting each other for the first time. Christian smoothed his sweaty hands across his corduroys. Someone walked past his mother and him, and a strange trail of perfumes and colognes tickled his nostrils. He coughed.

His mother patted him on the back, asking him if he was all right. He said he was, but that he needed a drink.

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She unwrapped her arms from around him and stood. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said, kissing the top of his head and brushing her soft-gloved hand across his cheek. He liked the way the silky glove felt on his face.

He watched his mother walk across the room, looking back once to flash him a quick smile. Something in her face told him everything would be all right. As she reached the doorway, he saw her bend over, crying, and a woman with white hair touched her on the back, saying something he couldn’t hear. He wanted to run after his mother and ask her what was wrong, but she disappeared around the corner before he could pull himself off the chair and follow her through the maze of people in the room.