A Little Ray Of Sunshine Read online

  And then... go.

  I glanced up at the television to see Cary Grant scaling Mount Rushmore with Eva Marie Saint, gunmen on their heels.

  Maybe I’ll check out Mount Rushmore on the way, I thought as I picked up the remote and clicked off the television. Nobody at Mount Rushmore thinks twice about a girl living in a trailer.

  “So, how exactly does this angel thing work?” I asked when Jess opened her motel room door. I was glad to see she didn’t wear frou-frou floral cotton nightgowns to bed; she was respectably clad in a University of Arizona Wildcats sweatshirt and a pair of black yoga pants with her hair pulled back into an off-kilter ponytail. I was dressed in my best pair of dark jeans and a shirt I’d had to iron, and I’d actually washed, dried and curled my hair. And put on mascara.

  It was sad. So very, very sad.

  “I brought coffee.” I lifted up the cardboard drink carrier in my hands, trying to look as if I hadn’t been up all night obsessing over what exactly the crazy angel lady thought was wrong with me.

  Jess took a moment before stepping away from the door to let me enter. “You didn’t have to bring me coffee, but thank you. It’s very thoughtful.”

  There it was, an open zone for me to pitch my big, fat lies into. I went for it.

  “Well, it’s the least I can do, considering that I’m waking you up at the crack of dawn. But, see, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me and it occurred to me, you know, before I fell asleep last night, that you might be an interesting person to talk to.” I took the coffees out and set the cardboard tray on the motel dresser. “You know. For my book.”

  Her eyebrows raised as she sat on the edge of one double-bed, motioning for me to sit on the other. “Wow. You’re writing a book?”

  “Yes,” I said over-brightly, putting one of the coffees in her hand. “I’m writing a memoir of my travels. Young woman on the road, occupational... adventures. Kind of. The people I meet, that sort of thing. And it occurred to me that I may have dismissed you a little... abruptly last night. You know, because even though I’m just fine and don’t need your help, I thought that maybe you might be an interesting person to talk to. You know. For the book.”

  I took a sip of my coffee; it was too hot, and I tried to mask my cringe as it scorched its way down my gullet. Liar, liar, esophagus on fire, the smug voice of reason inside me cooed.

  “Wow,” Jess said. “You’re writing a book? Really? I’m honored you would think of me for it.”

  “Oh, of course.” I added a small, “pffft,” as though it were an obvious choice and absolutely no big deal. Which it wouldn’t be. If there was a book. I pulled out a notebook from my bag and flipped it open.

  “So, tell me about yourself,” I said. “Where are you from? What brought you to New Jersey? Are you from the area originally, or do you travel?”

  She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “I’d rather learn more about you. You know, I had a feeling about you the moment we met. And... this may sound crazy, but...” She paused and I wondered what she was going to say that could possibly top, “I’m an angel,” in the crazy department. “... I feel like I know you already. You just seem so familiar.”

  I thought briefly about dodging, but Jess seemed the junkyard dog type; once she got into something, my guess was that she didn’t let go easily. So, I shot straight. “I look a lot like my mother. She used to be kind of famous.”

  “Really? That’s so fascinating. Who’s your mother?”

  I tried to hide my internal cringe as I dropped my mother’s name. “Lilly Lorraine. She used to play--“

  Jess squealed, her available hand flailing in the air by her face, making her look like a teenager who walked outside and found a brand new car with a big bow on it. I sat up straighter and pulled back a bit.

  “Twinkie!” she screeched. “Oh my God, you’re Twinkie’s baby!”

  I’m pretty sure my face registered stark horror at this description, but Jess didn’t seem to notice. She giggled some more and reached forward to gave my knee a playful slap of excitement. “Oh, my God, I love your mother. They play Baby of the Family all the time on Nick at Nite, and I’ve seen every episode at least twice. Your mom was so adorable. I loved the way she did the--“

  Jess rolled her eyes skyward, donned an angelic expression of innocence, and shrugged with hands up. The gesture had been my mother’s “Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?” and if I had a drop of water for every time someone had performed it for me, I’d have been drowned before the age of two.

  Jess released the pose and grinned. “Wow. Lilly Lorraine. How is she doing?”

  “I have no idea.” I lifted my pen. “So, tell me, how long have you been an angel? Are you born that way, or was it something you were, um...” I cleared my throat, searching for words that would make me sound like I had the slightest idea how to interview someone. “... called... to?”

  She crossed her legs in front of her yoga-style and gave me an appraising look. “You really don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

  “Well, you know how we...” What was the word? Journalists? Memoirists? Sad, sad fakers? “... writers are.”

  She smiled. “Yes.” She watched me for a moment, and then sat up straighter. “Okay. We can start with me. My name is Jess Szyzynski...”

  “Szyzynski?” I said, jotting in my notebook dutifully. “Can you spell that?”

  She smiled and obliged. “I was born in Gulfport, Mississippi, I think.”

  “You think?” I asked.

  She gave a small smile. “I moved around a lot as a kid. It’s probably how I got the bug for my kind of work.”

  “Yes.” I pointed my pen at her. “Speaking of which, how exactly did you end up in this line of work? I mean, it’s not like there’s a big angel corporation or anything. Unless...” My eyes widened and I glanced around at the motel room. “Do you work for some kind of Candid Camera show?”

  She laughed. “Oh, no. No. And the angel thing... well, it’s not so much work as, like you said, a calling.”

  “Oh. Okay. So, what’s your day job?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “But where do you get money? You don’t charge for your... angeling, do you?” Jess didn’t seem like the scamming con-artist type, but I guessed the best scamming con-artists were the ones who didn’t look like scamming con-artists.

  “Oh, no, I don’t charge. I don’t need money. I mean, I need it, everyone needs it, but I have money from...” She stopped, her face registering a quick flash of something that was gone before I could read it. “I mean, I have enough. I don’t need much. Kind of like you, I guess.”

  “Okay. So, how does one get called to your kind of work?”

  “Well...” Her thin fingers rubbed absently at the cover on her to-go cup. “I don’t know. You just wake up one day, and you know. You know?”

  “No.”

  She leaned forward. “Well, how did you end up traveling around alone?”

  I felt a prickle of annoyance. “We were talking about you.”

  “We still are. I’m just trying to show you that you and I… maybe we’re not that different.”

  Of course we’re different, I thought. You are certifiable, whereas I am merely quirky and interesting.

  I flipped my notebook shut. “Well, thank you for your time. I really need to get going. Like I said... busy day.”

  Jess smiled. “Yes. It’s almost seven. Where has the time gone?”

  I stood up and headed for the door, crazy angel lady on my heels.

  “Thank you so much for coming by, and thank you for the coffee,” she said. “Although we’ve hardly even scratched the surface. Maybe we can talk again? Later today, if you have time?”

  I pulled the door open, then turned to face her. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, you know. Busy day.”

  “Surely you can find a half hour to slot me in. For the book. Books like that can’t possibly have enough colorful characters, and I am nothing
if not colorful. How about twelve thirty? I can make my pancakes for you.’

  “I don’t know…”

  “Then one o’clock. I’ll bring all the ingredients. Do you have a skillet and a spatula, or do I need to bring those as well?”

  I glanced at my watch. “I really have a lot of stuff to do...”

  “Six o’clock. I’ll come by and make them for dinner. You haven’t lived until you’ve had my pancakes for dinner, I’m telling you. Yogurt and blueberries and just a touch of vanilla. Oh, they melt in your mouth.”

  I stared at her. She sure was pushy for an angel.

  “Well, I won’t take no for an answer, so it’s settled.” She held up her finger and ran to the desk, pulling a pen and notepad out of the drawer. “How do I find you?”

  With great reluctance, I told her. There was only one trailer park in town, and only one big silver hot dog in it, and I had a feeling that this woman would track me down if it came to that. And hell, I could maintain the charade through some pancakes. Maybe my willingness to endure her company would be sign enough that I didn’t need any help from an angel. I was just fine as I was.

  “We’re all set, then.” To my complete surprise, she pulled me into a hug, not seeming to mind that my arms hung unmoving at my sides.

  “Thanks so much for the coffee, EJ,” she said after releasing me. “I’m so glad you came by. I’ll see you tonight.”

  She shut the door. I stared at it for a full minute before realizing that I had been completely and totally played. By an angel.

  “Hmph,” I said as I turned on one heel. It would serve her right if I wasn’t there when she showed up at six.

  But I knew I would be. She hadn’t admitted outright yet that she’d made a mistake, that I didn’t need her help, that her car had broken down because of Springfield, or because it was old and there’s no meaning in the universe and maybe she’d be better off temping. I wanted to hear her say it, at least the part where she was wrong about me, because she was, and if it meant having blueberry pancakes for my last dinner in town, then that was fine by me.

  Simon flew into a rage when I told him I’d scheduled an abortion. No matter how rationally I explained it to him, he couldn’t get it through his head that yes, I had agreed to get pregnant, but no, I’d never thought it would actually happen. Somewhere deep inside, I truly believed I couldn’t get pregnant, for the simple reason that I wasn’t fit for it. For example, God allows horses and donkeys to make mules, right? But mules can’t get pregnant, because they’re not fit for it. I thought that God, of all people, would know that I was a mule. I could agree to try for Simon’s sake, but what kind of God would ever allow someone like me to have children?

  Well, He did, and I discovered His betrayal not two days before an audition for my first starring role since Twinkie. I mean, an abortion was the only thing that made sense, right? As a director who would die a bloody death before casting a pregnant woman for his hit show, I thought Simon would understand. He didn’t. He badgered and cajoled me until I agreed to go through with the pregnancy. The argument that finally convinced me, ironically, was that the life experience of having children would better my chances of getting the more mature roles I’d been craving my whole life.

  What a steaming pile of manure that was.

  --from Twinkie and Me: The Real Life Confessions of Lilly Lorraine

  Two

  For the cost of a twelve-pack of beer, I got Burly and Unemployed from lot 1B to help me hook the Airstream to the hitch ball on my truck. It was a damn bargain. I’d spent the day running errands (quit my job at the Quik ‘n Go, printed out a route to Colorado Springs from the library computer, bought a twelve-pack of beer to lure unsuspecting Burly man in to help me) and was just too wiped to do it myself. As I watched Burly and Unemployed retreat back to 1B with the box of Coors tucked under one tremendous arm, I considered walking to the store on the corner and getting another twelve-pack.

  After all, someone was going to have to unhook my water and electric tomorrow.

  I crawled inside the Airstream, threw myself down on the foldout and checked the clock. It was five-forty, which gave me about twenty minutes before the angel would be knocking down my door with pancake fixin’s. I closed my eyes, wondering what the hell I’d been thinking when I’d told her where I lived. Maybe I could call in the twelve-pack payoff and get Burly and Unemployed to unhook everything now, and just drive off. Unfortunately, as I was pondering this idea, there was a knock at the door. I glanced at the clock again.

  The angel was fifteen minutes early.

  “Who is it?” I yelled, expecting to hear Jess’s bubbly tones rattling happily about how the early bird gets the worm, or something similarly upbeat. Instead, a male voice tentatively called out, “EJ?”

  I shot up, my heart exploding in my chest in response to the sudden rush of adrenalin, causing everything to hurt.

  It couldn’t be. It was impossible. But the voice jarred me to my core, and my body hummed with a deadly cocktail of dread, panic and hope.

  “Luke?” I whispered the name, trying to prepare myself for the possibility that it was his fist banging on my door, his presence causing my flimsy blinds to quiver. I tucked two fingers between the slats and peered out. His back was to me, but the hair was blonde, short, and jagged, and there was a small hole in the shoulder of his worn black t-shirt. I released a breath.

  Digs.

  My heart shrunk back down to its regular size, but my insides throbbed with residual ache on every beat. I walked slowly to the door and pulled it open.

  Digs was tall and lanky like Luke, but he’d gotten a bigger share of their mother’s Scandinavian genes. His bright blue eyes locked on me, and I wasn’t sure if he was going to kick my ass or yank me into a big hug so I just braced my hands against the tiny doorway and awaited the verdict.

  Finally, one edge of his lips curled up slightly, and I knew I was safe. For the moment, anyway.

  “Hey, there, kid.” He took one last drag on his cigarette, tossed it to the ground and stamped it out with the heel of his workboot. “What, aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “I think I will be, when I get over the shock.” I shook my head, trying to get a grip on the moment. Of all the times I’d imagined someone from my past hunting me down, I’d somehow never thought it would be Digs. “It’s been a while, huh?”

  “Since you skipped town in the middle of the night?” he said, his eyes darkening a bit. “Yeah. Six Christmases. No card.”

  “Are you mad?” I asked quickly, biting the inside of my cheek in response to my sudden awareness of how much I had riding on his answer.

  “Hell, yeah, I’m mad.” He held one hand out to me, palm up. “Now come down out of there and let me beat the crap out of you.”

  I kept my eyes on my feet as I took his hand and stepped down to the ground in front of him. He looked at me for a while, as if inspecting me for damage, then pulled me into his arms, hugging me tight. I had to work hard to not break down into a blubbery mess all over him. His left arm went around my waist and his right hand cupped the back of my head, and he squeezed me the way an older brother would, as though curling invisible blankets of protection over me until it felt like only my eyes and nose were showing through. After a long moment, he gave me a gentle smack to the back of my head and released me. I stepped back, tucking my hands into my back jean pockets so he couldn’t see them shaking.

  “So. Wow.” I bit the inside edge of my bottom lip as hard as I could without drawing blood. The shaking muted a bit, and I was able to smile. “So, um, how’s”—Don’t say Luke. Not Luke. Don’t talk about Luke—“your dad?”

  “Funny you should ask.” Digs pulled a pack of smokes out of his back pocket and tapped one out. “He’s the reason I’m here.”

  My face must have gone white, because Digs paused with the smokes and gave my shoulder a reassuring pat.

  “Relax, he’s fine. Actually, he’s great. But, damn...” He chuckled and sho
ok his head. “I’ve got a hell of a story for you.” He held the pack out to me. “You still quit?”

  I nodded. “Seven years. So, what’s up with Danny?”

  Digs lit his smoke and took a drag before meeting my eye to answer. “He’s getting married.”

  A joyful huff escaped me. Luke and Digs’s mother had died when they were very young, and for the last twenty-five years, Danny Greene had lived the quiet life of a widowed father. In all the summers I’d spent with Danny and his boys while growing up, I’d never seen him so much as date. His whole world revolved around his boys, and me whenever I was around. Who in the world could have broken through—?

  And that’s when my train of thought came to a screeching halt. My eyes went wide and I shook my head. “No.”

  The edge of Digs’s mouth twitched, and his eyes lit with an even mix of irony and amusement. “Oh. Yes.”

  My mind reeled, looking for something solid to grab onto. “What about Glenn?”

  “Hell, EJ. They split up years ago, a few months after you disappeared off the face. You didn’t think she’d actually make it to a wooden anniversary, did you?” Digs chuckled on a smoky exhale. “Bright side: they say the eighth time’s a charm.”

  My stomach turned. This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. As bizarre as it would have been to have seen Luke pounding on the door of my Airstream, this news was a thousand times crazier. I blinked and leaned against the cold metal of the motor home. Digs held up his pack again.

  “You sure you don’t want one?” he said gamely.

  “Ugh!” I held my hand out, irritation running through me because I really did want one. “Seven years, Digs. Back off. Jesus!”