Gabes Guardian Angel

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

Lindy perched on the foot of Gabe’s bed her legs crossed. The only picture they possessed of their mother rested in her lap. A hint of tears in her eyes revealed her hunger. Not hunger in the sense of food, but in the need to talk about the mother she never knew, to learn more, the whole story.

What can I say? he thought. Our mother died the day Lindy took her first breath. Our dad went away and never came back. Grandpa became our mother and father.

She wanted to hear a different story, however, so he leaned back against the headboard to tell her his version of their mother, again. When he spoke, the words came out right, unlike when he tried to read from a book where some of the letters looked backwards or all jumbled up, confusing him.

He closed his eyes, remembering only one thing about his mother. “She kissed me,” he said. “On the cheek. Then she went to Heaven, Grandpa told me. I was one year old and did not understand what he meant or why she left us.”

He opened his eyes and smiled at his sister. “Mama had cinnamon-red hair, like yours and mine.”

She leaned forward. “Like ours. Yes.”

“Her eyes, as green as tree leaves, sparkled when she laughed, the way yours do.”

She sighed. “Oh, I wish I could remember her.”

“You were a baby, newborn.”

“Yeah, right.” She wrinkled her nose and gave him such a look that teardrops formed in his eyes. “I want to know everything, Gabe. Did she hold me and kiss me, the way you said she held you?”

He had no idea. He only knew what Grandpa told him, and he’d never mentioned their mother holding Lindy. In Gabe’s mind, however, she held the baby and kissed her, so he always told her his version.

He crawled over to his sister and held out his arms. She curled into them and rested her head on his shoulder. He looked deep into her eyes. “Mama held you close, Lindy, kissed you on your perky little nose, your cheek, and your lips and said, ‘I love you, my baby girl.’”

“She kissed my nose and said she loved me.” Lindy sniffled. “I wish—”

“I do, too. I do, too.” With a corner of the bedspread, he wiped away a tear rolling down her cheek. “You know what else?”

She shook her head.

“Grandpa said she gave you her name.”

“Yeah. I’m Lindy, like my mom.” Her lips curled in a lopsided grin. “Aren’t you thankful she didn’t give her name to you? Imagine the teachers calling you ‘Lindy.’”

He shuddered and rolled his eyes the way his sister did when he teased her. “You bet I’m thankful.”

He yawned. His body ached from the scratches and bruises of his so-called accident. Time to call it a day. Lindy looked tired, also, and she did not protest when he said, “Hey, I’ve got a couple more mowing jobs for tomorrow. I need my sleep. C’mon. I’ll walk you to your room.”

She giggled. “Like it’s how many steps from here to there and I might get lost?”

He grinned. “I can’t count.”

They knocked knuckles. Seconds later, he left her at her room.