Heaven Is A Place For Angels
30 minutes to go.
The doorbell rang, and the little boy, who had been sleeping so peacefully, let out a noise that stated that he did not like it when people bothered him like this. It didn't take so many minutes for him to get the attention he wanted, because his mother was there, picking him up, as soon as she had heard him.
“Shh, don’t cry, baby mine,” she said lovingly to calm him down, and it worked. He was quiet as a mouse thereafter. He found himself busy with exploring the necklace around mummy’s neck.
Iona was suddenly shocked when a small Spanish woman came walking rapidly into the room, looking for her daughter-in-law and grandchild.
“Oh, Rosana,” Iona said and let out a deep breath. Rosana apologized and said hello to the little boy, who was pleased to see his youthful abuela.
Iona gave her son to the woman and told her she would go and look for her younger sister. She found her out on the terrace, when she had stood for about ten minutes already.
“So, how do you feel about tonight?” she asked Angela, who had been staring into nothing.
“Oh, y’know, scared to tell you the truth.” Iona put her hand on her sister’s shoulder.
“You know you don’t have to come with us, don’t you? Or else we can just stay home.”
“No, no, no, it feels like I’ve spent far too little time with you guys. I probably should follow, right?” Angela said, getting stressed from the thought of the evening.
“Chill, sis,” Iona said calmly, not using the type of English she usually used. "There's no pressure."
"You have no idea how great that feels to hear."
"Talk to me when you know, m'kay?"
Angela nodded her head, agreeing considering going out with the family this night too. Her sister left her standing alone with the scarf around her shoulders. It was getting quite late by now, and Angela could tell. She heard more motorcycles driving around in the small city. The teenagers would take over everything that was silent for a couple of hours. She felt the tension inside her grow, and the fear come back.
"Get a fucking grip of yourself, goddamnit," she mumbled and shook her head. "We'll follow tonight. End of story."
_
Stephen was finally up, and Andrew followed him to the kitchen, ready to get something to eat, though he knew that it would probably be as boring as it had been the night before. But so what? He was hungry. And he missed his computer. It was a pity. If he was lucky he could get a hold of Theo's while they were here. He patted his father's shoulder, receiving a look of sleepiness from the older man.
"Angela's decided to follow tonight, so we'll be going in 15 minutes, okay?" Iona said from where she sat with Emanuel by the table. Andrew nodded his head, and headed toward his room to change clothes. Stephen looked at his oldest and beautiful child.
"How's she holding up?" he asked, knowing she knew who he was talking about.
"She's kind of realized what happened, and now she's just trying to get over it," Iona analyzed while thinking about Angela's condition.
"So she didn't have a problem with it last night?" he asked.
"She wasn't so scared that it would make her want to isolate herself. She was just on guard. Last night she didn't think that it could happen again. This night she really hesitated. I don’t know if it makes sense, but it was really different this time."
"Sure, I follow."
"No, you don't."
Stephen mumbled silent words, taking the dig easily.
"Besides, she has some business with a dude. Things to hear about, she said," Iona reeled off. Stephen looked like a question mark, not really knowing what his oldest daughter was talking about. He shrugged it of off his shoulders and decided to put on his shoes instead. So he did, and waited patiently for the others of the family to join him. Andrew approached from his room, not looking like the tourist he had been looking like the night before. He actually wore sandals without socks this time, and just simple shorts and a shirt, looking a little bit more Spanish.
“Iona told me to wear this,” he said and grinned toward his father, who was still looking like a tourist.
“Traitor, I thought we were the socks-team,” Stephen said and looked hurt.
“No, we were the sucks-team,” Andrew said, laughing at his own joke. Angela had joined them, just in time to hear her brother’s joke, and giggled, agreeing.
“Ya look pretty, sis,” Andrew offered as a comment to Angela, who took it as a surprise.
“Thanks, Andy, you don’t look that bad yourself,” Angela said, looking her brother’s new style up and down.
“What about me?” Stephen said.
“Sorry, I’m out of comments for tonight,” Andrew said immediately, raising his hands, getting ready to walk out the door. Stephen turned to Angela who looked as innocent as she could.
“Well, you look--, like--, my dad,” she said and sighed. She got away pretty easy on that one, because Stephen wasn’t going to push something more out of her again. He nodded, looking a little disappointed. Angela felt bad, just a little. “And you look just like I want my dear father to look, and I think Fatima thinks so as well.”
Fatima was the woman Stephen had met around four years ago, one year after he had divorced Angela and Andrew’s mother. She was from Europe, and had moved to the States when the war was going on (not World War II). She had even lived in Sweden for a while. Anyway, Stephen had met her at a club, but it took a while for them to connect. Stephen had never been good with women, but this one was patient, and now they were as happy as they could be. She hadn’t had the possibility to come with her fiancé to Spain, because of her work as a nurse.
“You think so?” Stephen asked his daughter.
“I really know so. You are perfect for each other;” Angela said and smiled, brushing off some dirt from Stephen’s shirt.
“I’m proud of you, you should know that.”
“Thank you,” Angela said and nodded her head, accepting her father’s words she heard far too seldom. She looked at her mobile-phone for the time.
“But now, we really should go. Iona! Theo! Little E!” she called out to her sister’s family.
“Here we are,” Iona replied, walking into the hall. “And we’re ready to go. You can start walking, and we’ll be right behind.”
“Okay. Come here, dad,” Angela said and pulled her father out the door and started to walk down the street, having Andrew joining them as well.
_
The BMW turned into the parking lot, beside the hotel that was built in Don Quijote’s honour, and was parked not to far from the entrance. The man who had been driving stepped out of the car and the woman in the other seat did so as well. No one would really recognise the couple, because of the way Spanish people in this village were; if an artist hadn’t released an album in Spanish then no one would really listen to them. So, Billie Joe had really nothing to worry about this vacation. Well, he had some things to worry about, but that wasn’t the point.
“It’s getting late,” his wife said, looking at the watch on her wrist.
“Well, yes,” Billie Joe said, looking at his cell-phone. “We should get ready for a ‘dinner’ out.”
“Oh?” Adrienne said, yawning after that.
“Yeah, promised Angela we’d meet so she could hear about the day. I kind of owe her that.”
“Well, fair enough, come on then,” Adrienne said and clutched her arm to his, walking him into the hotel. They talked for a while with the man behind the desk who was the owner of the hotel. After that they walked up to the second floor where their room was. Billie Joe opened the door with the key and threw himself on the bed on his back, breathing heavily in and out. Adrienne laughed and sat down beside him, stroking his arm.
“We’ve got at least 30 minutes ‘til we have to go,” he whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” Adrienne asked.
“Oh, because--, so that--, no Spanish guy will hear what we’re saying and wants to join,” Billie said to save himself from a discussion.
“You’re an idiot,” Adrienne said, lying down beside him, letting her head rest on his chest. “They wouldn’t want to understand what you said even if you yelled.”
“Oh,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “an American idiot at least.”
“That joke really sucked,” Adrienne said truthfully.
“Excuse me then, I’ll just go and have a shower, if that’s he way you want it,” Billie Joe said, sounding hurt in his voice. He pushed her off of him, but not in the brutal way, took a towel from the table beside the bed and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door after him.
“Oh, dear, you asked for it,” Adrienne giggled, took a towel herself, opened the door to the bathroom as quiet as she could, and closed it the same way.
“Shh, don’t cry, baby mine,” she said lovingly to calm him down, and it worked. He was quiet as a mouse thereafter. He found himself busy with exploring the necklace around mummy’s neck.
Iona was suddenly shocked when a small Spanish woman came walking rapidly into the room, looking for her daughter-in-law and grandchild.
“Oh, Rosana,” Iona said and let out a deep breath. Rosana apologized and said hello to the little boy, who was pleased to see his youthful abuela.
Iona gave her son to the woman and told her she would go and look for her younger sister. She found her out on the terrace, when she had stood for about ten minutes already.
“So, how do you feel about tonight?” she asked Angela, who had been staring into nothing.
“Oh, y’know, scared to tell you the truth.” Iona put her hand on her sister’s shoulder.
“You know you don’t have to come with us, don’t you? Or else we can just stay home.”
“No, no, no, it feels like I’ve spent far too little time with you guys. I probably should follow, right?” Angela said, getting stressed from the thought of the evening.
“Chill, sis,” Iona said calmly, not using the type of English she usually used. "There's no pressure."
"You have no idea how great that feels to hear."
"Talk to me when you know, m'kay?"
Angela nodded her head, agreeing considering going out with the family this night too. Her sister left her standing alone with the scarf around her shoulders. It was getting quite late by now, and Angela could tell. She heard more motorcycles driving around in the small city. The teenagers would take over everything that was silent for a couple of hours. She felt the tension inside her grow, and the fear come back.
"Get a fucking grip of yourself, goddamnit," she mumbled and shook her head. "We'll follow tonight. End of story."
_
Stephen was finally up, and Andrew followed him to the kitchen, ready to get something to eat, though he knew that it would probably be as boring as it had been the night before. But so what? He was hungry. And he missed his computer. It was a pity. If he was lucky he could get a hold of Theo's while they were here. He patted his father's shoulder, receiving a look of sleepiness from the older man.
"Angela's decided to follow tonight, so we'll be going in 15 minutes, okay?" Iona said from where she sat with Emanuel by the table. Andrew nodded his head, and headed toward his room to change clothes. Stephen looked at his oldest and beautiful child.
"How's she holding up?" he asked, knowing she knew who he was talking about.
"She's kind of realized what happened, and now she's just trying to get over it," Iona analyzed while thinking about Angela's condition.
"So she didn't have a problem with it last night?" he asked.
"She wasn't so scared that it would make her want to isolate herself. She was just on guard. Last night she didn't think that it could happen again. This night she really hesitated. I don’t know if it makes sense, but it was really different this time."
"Sure, I follow."
"No, you don't."
Stephen mumbled silent words, taking the dig easily.
"Besides, she has some business with a dude. Things to hear about, she said," Iona reeled off. Stephen looked like a question mark, not really knowing what his oldest daughter was talking about. He shrugged it of off his shoulders and decided to put on his shoes instead. So he did, and waited patiently for the others of the family to join him. Andrew approached from his room, not looking like the tourist he had been looking like the night before. He actually wore sandals without socks this time, and just simple shorts and a shirt, looking a little bit more Spanish.
“Iona told me to wear this,” he said and grinned toward his father, who was still looking like a tourist.
“Traitor, I thought we were the socks-team,” Stephen said and looked hurt.
“No, we were the sucks-team,” Andrew said, laughing at his own joke. Angela had joined them, just in time to hear her brother’s joke, and giggled, agreeing.
“Ya look pretty, sis,” Andrew offered as a comment to Angela, who took it as a surprise.
“Thanks, Andy, you don’t look that bad yourself,” Angela said, looking her brother’s new style up and down.
“What about me?” Stephen said.
“Sorry, I’m out of comments for tonight,” Andrew said immediately, raising his hands, getting ready to walk out the door. Stephen turned to Angela who looked as innocent as she could.
“Well, you look--, like--, my dad,” she said and sighed. She got away pretty easy on that one, because Stephen wasn’t going to push something more out of her again. He nodded, looking a little disappointed. Angela felt bad, just a little. “And you look just like I want my dear father to look, and I think Fatima thinks so as well.”
Fatima was the woman Stephen had met around four years ago, one year after he had divorced Angela and Andrew’s mother. She was from Europe, and had moved to the States when the war was going on (not World War II). She had even lived in Sweden for a while. Anyway, Stephen had met her at a club, but it took a while for them to connect. Stephen had never been good with women, but this one was patient, and now they were as happy as they could be. She hadn’t had the possibility to come with her fiancé to Spain, because of her work as a nurse.
“You think so?” Stephen asked his daughter.
“I really know so. You are perfect for each other;” Angela said and smiled, brushing off some dirt from Stephen’s shirt.
“I’m proud of you, you should know that.”
“Thank you,” Angela said and nodded her head, accepting her father’s words she heard far too seldom. She looked at her mobile-phone for the time.
“But now, we really should go. Iona! Theo! Little E!” she called out to her sister’s family.
“Here we are,” Iona replied, walking into the hall. “And we’re ready to go. You can start walking, and we’ll be right behind.”
“Okay. Come here, dad,” Angela said and pulled her father out the door and started to walk down the street, having Andrew joining them as well.
_
The BMW turned into the parking lot, beside the hotel that was built in Don Quijote’s honour, and was parked not to far from the entrance. The man who had been driving stepped out of the car and the woman in the other seat did so as well. No one would really recognise the couple, because of the way Spanish people in this village were; if an artist hadn’t released an album in Spanish then no one would really listen to them. So, Billie Joe had really nothing to worry about this vacation. Well, he had some things to worry about, but that wasn’t the point.
“It’s getting late,” his wife said, looking at the watch on her wrist.
“Well, yes,” Billie Joe said, looking at his cell-phone. “We should get ready for a ‘dinner’ out.”
“Oh?” Adrienne said, yawning after that.
“Yeah, promised Angela we’d meet so she could hear about the day. I kind of owe her that.”
“Well, fair enough, come on then,” Adrienne said and clutched her arm to his, walking him into the hotel. They talked for a while with the man behind the desk who was the owner of the hotel. After that they walked up to the second floor where their room was. Billie Joe opened the door with the key and threw himself on the bed on his back, breathing heavily in and out. Adrienne laughed and sat down beside him, stroking his arm.
“We’ve got at least 30 minutes ‘til we have to go,” he whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” Adrienne asked.
“Oh, because--, so that--, no Spanish guy will hear what we’re saying and wants to join,” Billie said to save himself from a discussion.
“You’re an idiot,” Adrienne said, lying down beside him, letting her head rest on his chest. “They wouldn’t want to understand what you said even if you yelled.”
“Oh,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “an American idiot at least.”
“That joke really sucked,” Adrienne said truthfully.
“Excuse me then, I’ll just go and have a shower, if that’s he way you want it,” Billie Joe said, sounding hurt in his voice. He pushed her off of him, but not in the brutal way, took a towel from the table beside the bed and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door after him.
“Oh, dear, you asked for it,” Adrienne giggled, took a towel herself, opened the door to the bathroom as quiet as she could, and closed it the same way.