She’s an older woman with a deeply wrinkled brown face. Her head is wrapped in a brightly colored decorative scarf. I watch her eyes focus on Harpy’s bed as she rubs a rosary clutched in her hands.
“It’s hard to see them like this,” I say kindly.
“It is, it is,” she replies. She smiles up at me with tears dotting the corners of her eyes. “He’s always been a troubled boy. I can’t say I’m surprised he’s here, but yes…very hard.”
“Your son?”
“Grandson.”
“My aunt.” I point to a woman in her fifties, hooked up to machines just beyond Harpy’s bed. “Car accident.”
“I’m so sorry.” She places her hand on my arm, her concern genuine. “On your mother or father’s side?”
“Mother’s.” It’s easy enough to make up a story on the spot. “Mom’s been gone a few years. Breast cancer. Aunt Betsy has pretty much looked after me since then.”
I let out a hollow laugh.
“Almost thirty, and I still need someone looking after me.” I shake my head.
“We all do, dear.” She pats my arm. “Would you like to pray with me?”
Well, that would be different.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, “I would.”
She places her hands over mine, and I can feel the beads from the rosary against my knuckles. She closes her eyes, and I do the same. After a moment of silence, she begins to pray.
“Dear Lord, please hear our plea. Our loved ones, Jimmy and Betsy, they need your help. We don’t know what you have planned for them, but we beg you to have mercy. They are loved and needed here in our lives.” She pauses for a moment and grips my hands tighter. “Please show us your grace, your forgiveness, and help these good doctors and nurses bring our loved ones back to us. In Jesus’ name.”
“Amen,” we say together.
She opens her eyes and tilts her head to smile up at me.
“Thank you,” she says as she releases my hands. “You have been a blessing to me today, but I have to return to work.”
“You’re welcome.” I’m sure I’m not truly counted in her list of blessings, but I rather hope she never realizes this.
“I’m going to light a candle in the chapel on the way out. I’ll light one for your Aunt Betsy, too.”
“She would appreciate that.” I touch her arm, and she walks away.
After a few minutes, I follow her out to the parking lot where she heads to the bus stop. I let her sit for a moment, then drive up close by and roll down my window.
“Can I give you a lift somewhere?”
She squints until I stick my head out the window a bit more so she can recognize me. She smiles broadly, nods, and gathers up her purse.
“The good Lord definitely sent you to me today!” she exclaims as I help her down into the low seat. “Those benches at the bus stops are not friendly to my back. What’s your name, young man?”
“Michael.”
“I’m Sonja, Michael dear. I think you truly are an angel!”
I grin and put the Camaro in gear. I ask her where she’s going, and she gives me directions to a seedy 7-Eleven a couple of miles from the hospital. As I drive, she tells me stories of Harpy—Jimmy, to her—as a child. Apparently, he started getting into trouble at a pretty early age.
“All he had done was bump his bicycle into this poor woman’s car. She wasn’t even angry about it, but he still lied through his teeth that he hadn’t done the deed. There was only a little scratch, and I d
on’t even think she wanted money for it. She only wanted him to admit what he had done and apologize, but not Jimmy. He never took responsibility for what he’d done.”