Entertaining Angels

Knock. Knock. Marla’s eyes jerked open. She sat up in bed and nudged the shoulder of her husband, Vince. “Vince, do you hear that?”

Vince groaned and moved his face a couple inches up from his pillow. He said something that sounded like, “Callumay.” He sighed and put his head back down. Marla prodded his shoulder, harder. “Vince? I think someone’s knocking at the door?” Her voice came out squeaky.

Vince rolled onto his back. “Eh? Knocking?” He listened. Knock, again. Vince squinted at the alarm clock on the end table beside him. Three-fifteen. He rubbed his eyes, then moved heavily to the edge of the bed and sat, his stomach lumping out under his white t-shirt. “Just give me a second,” he grunted. “Who’s got the nerve to be knocking at this hour?”

Marla turned on the lamp resting on her end table, casting a buttery glow across the room. “Sure, I don’t know,” she muttered. “Maybe they’ll just go away if we don’t answer.”

“Well, that light just told ‘em we’re here and awake,” said Vince. “They’ll never stop now. That’s how it goes.” He grunted and stood up, then walked to the bedroom door and took down his robe from a hook on the back of the door. He put it on, then stuck his hand in the pocket and pulled out a pair of brass knuckles.

Marla’s eyes were wide. “Vincey, do you always keep those in there?” Vince slowly inched the brass knuckles onto his right hand. His fleshy knuckles swallowed the rings whole. He flexed his fingers, winked at her, then said. “Now let’s see who’s at the door.” He tied his bathrobe tight around his ample belly and walked out of the room, Marla following a couple paces behind. Vince tried to tiptoe but his steps were creaky and plodding. He stopped behind the front door and motioned Marla to crouch behind the loveseat. Slowly, he extended his left hand and grasped the doorknob, then curled his right hand into a fist. He took a deep breath. Then, he cried out, “If you’re not the Lord Jesus returning, you better answer for why you come here!” and wrenched open the door.

“Thank you for opening up,” a man’s voice said. “I know it’s late.” Marla peeped up from behind the loveseat, then edged around it and slipped behind her husband. Now she could see the man was a police officer. He was holding his hat and was twisting it between his hands, she could make out his light brown crew-cut and strong jawline. Vince put his hands behind his back; she could see him pulling on the brass knuckles with his left hand. His pillowy knuckles turned white but the brass knuckles didn’t budge. “What’s this about, officer?” he asked. “We’re just trying to sleep here.”

The officer gave him a look. Marla couldn’t place the expression. “Maybe we better sit down,” he said. “It’s about your daughter.”

Vince brought his right hand to his mouth instinctively. “Grace?” he whispered. He seemed to shrink somehow, a bag of meal with a slow leak. The police officer took in the brass knuckles, then looked at Marla. “Yes, it’s about Grace. Let’s take a load off.” He gestured to the loveseat. Marla moved like a grocery cart with a bad wheel. She looked down at the faded brown leather. “What?” she said stupidly. Vince took her arm. “We gotta sit,” he said and tried to smile at her. He had suddenly become an old jack-o-lantern three days after Halloween, cracked and hollow. The police officer waited until they had a seat, then squatted down on the ground across from them. Nobody said anything for a minute until Marla squeaked out, “What happened?”

The police officer ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. He looked up at them from his squat. “Would y’all say you and your daughter are close?”

Marla gulped. “Close? Now that’s a personal question.” She looked at the police officer. “Why would you ask a thing like that? I take issue to that question.” Her eyes flashed.

Vince sighed and patted his wife on the back. Marla winced as the rings of the brass knuckles tapped into her spine. Vince cleared his throat. “Ah, what my wife is trying to say is that Grace and us have grown apart in the past couple of years. But we’re trying, officer.” His voice changed, became almost pleading. “Marla, weren’t we trying?” He turned his great head to gaze at her. “Last week, the day I scorched the bratwursts? Didn’t I say we needed to reach out, write her a letter? Christ, one letter, would that have been enough?” He put his face in his hands, rested his elbows on his knees.

Marla stared at her husband. She could hear sobs escaping from between his large, gnarled hands. “Vince, be honest,” she began. She stopped. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “I didn’t mean it like that. But we never said that. I would have remembered. And besides, we don’t even have her mailing address. The last place I knew she was staying was above the pizza place in Cedarville, but that had to have been 18 months ago. You know how she moves. We wouldn’t have even known.”

Vince had taken his head out of his hands. His eyes were shimmery. “I remember saying it.” His voice was firm. “At least in my head. I said, Marla, she’s going through something foul. Father’s intuition.” He pointed a finger at his wife. “When she was young, you remember how she tried to come to work with me every Friday. Even stowed away in the trunk once. Couldn’t keep us apart, you always said.”

Marla stood up quickly. She could feel a flush rising in her face. “Yeah, and so what? You want to rub it in my face how she hated being around me? How I bored her? Even as an eight-year-old? Well, listen here. If I was boring, it’s because you made me boring! I was a stewardess, don’t you forget it! Pantyhose, tight black skirt. Men looked at my legs as I passed. I had dalliances.” She picked at her pajama pants. “And then I met you. And now look what I’ve become.” She cast a withering look at her husband.

Vince was quiet for a moment. When he did speak, his voice had a forced calm. “Don’t prod me, you nagging old bag,” he murmured. “Don’t rouse me.” Ever so slightly his fist clenched around the brass knuckles.

“Or what?” Marla half-screamed the words. “You’ll stomp off to the car, slink back three days later with your hat in your hand? You always think things can go back to normal, don’t you?” She stomped her foot. “Well, this time our daughter’s dead!” She burst into hysterical tears, wringing her hands.

Seeing his wife scream and cry, Vince felt the anger drain out of him. He watched his wife for a few seconds. He turned to the police officer still squatting across from him. “I guess you boys get all kinds of reactions to your death calls, huh?” He attempted to chuckle. It came out more like a gasp.

The police officer nodded slowly. “Yes, we do,” he agreed. “But this isn’t one of them.” He stood up. “Your daughter’s not dead.” He gestured vaguely. "And you two, you’re grandparents.” When neither Vince or Marla responded, he repeated, “Did you hear me? Your daughter had a baby boy. You’re grandparents.”

Marla gave a great gulp. “What did you say?” She moved closer to her husband. “She’s alive? Where is she?”

“She’s here,” said the officer. “Well, here in town. At the hospital. She staggered in around seven, water already broke. Apparently they barely got her to a room before the baby started coming. Quick labor, that’s good, I hear. And the baby’s a bouncer, big blue eyes. She told me to find her parents, tell them the news. She wants you to come meet the kid. That’s it. She told me, tell my parents I want them here.” He stifled a yawn. “Sorry. Been on shift for the past 12 hours. Am I making sense here? Give me a sign.”

Marla gave a small thumbs-up. Vince nodded. “Hear you loud and clear, officer. Uh, thank you. Thank you so much. Really, you don’t know how much this means to us.” He put his arm around Marla. Marla reached up and gave his hand a squeeze. “Yes, officer, you’ve just about saved us,” she said.

The officer put on his hat. “Well, I’ll save you some time and show myself the door.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Need my sleep. The missus and I are going to Ypsilanti here soon. Belated honeymoon. Ever been to Ypsilanti?” He paused. “No? Couldn’t hurt to ask, I guess. Couldn’t pass up the chance. Well, all the best to you.” He tipped his hat and shut the door behind him.

Marla and Vince were still holding each other when the door closed. Marla slowly shook her head like a woman coming out of a dream. “Vincey, we gotta pack!” she said. “Gracie, she might be hungry, I’ll make her a snack. And you, take off those darned brass knuckles.” She giggled. “They’ll probably make you wait outside the door!” She darted from the room in the direction of the kitchen.

Vince was at the bathroom sink. He didn’t remember walking there. He rubbed his eyes with his left hand. Stared at himself in the mirror. Sprouts of gray hair, crow’s-feet around the eyes. “You aren’t getting any younger, Vince” he said to himself. “But you’ll make a fine puttering granddad.” A slow grin crept across his face. “Granddad,” he whispered again. He turned on the hot water, squirted soap onto his right hand where the brass knuckles were. He lathered his hand up good and well. He tugged. “Damn it, you,” he muttered. The brass knuckles were fused to his hand. He yanked again, harder. Pain shot through his hand. The brass knuckles stayed put. Vince shrugged his shoulders and turned to leave the bathroom. “Guess I’ll just keep my hand in my pocket.” He walked towards the kitchen to help his wife with the snack.