Mulberry Park. Judy Duarte
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blew out a weary sigh, hoping to shake the memory that had caused him to admit what no one else had ever been able to. That he ought to quit drinking for a while.
One day led to a second, then a third.
And, thanks to Carl Witherspoon, a do-gooder who’d come to Paddy’s passing out AA fliers after Meredith’s arrest, Walter had kicked it.
So far.
Still, a good laugh and someone to share it with was what he missed the most. More than the booze.
Walter cleared his throat as he shuffled toward the woman’s car. “As luck would have it, I have a coat hanger in my truck. Let’s see if I’ve still got the touch.”
“I appreciate your help,” she said as they reached the parking lot. “It seems as if I’d forget my head these days if it wasn’t connected to my neck.”
“No problem.” Walter went to the toolbox in the back of his pickup, then dug around until he found the bent wire hanger he kept on hand. Every once in a while one of the patrons at the pub had gotten locked out of a vehicle—maybe a good thing, he now realized. So years ago he’d tucked a coat hanger into the toolbox in the back of his truck. It had come in handy a time or two, which seemed to be all he was good for these days.
Hard to imagine that was his sole purpose for being on earth.
Walter Klinefelter, Parking Lot Superhero, who helped people out of a jam, then watched as they sped away in a cloud of dust, leaving him standing by his lonesome.
As he strode toward the Prelude, he wasn’t so sure he could help. These newfangled models had antitheft systems that made it tough to get in. They might have to call the Automobile Club, if she had their service. Or a locksmith, if she didn’t.
“By the way,” he said, reaching out to the seventy-something woman. “My name is Walter Klinefelter.”
“Hilda Richards,” she said, taking his hand in hers.
Human contact was a funny thing. Just an occasional touch could make a man feel alive again.
He nodded toward the blond pixie and asked, “You babysitting?”
“I’m a nanny,” she said, as if there was a big difference.
As she leaned against the side of the car, she winced, and he looked up from his work.
“My arthritis is acting up like old fury today. I hadn’t wanted to come to the park, but Analisa was insistent, and I hate to tell the sweet little thing no. She’s been through enough already.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the child who was now standing near Carl’s memorial bench that rested at the base of the mulberry tree. “Are you new in town? I’ve been coming to the park for a long time and have just recently noticed you.”
“No, I’ve been living here for years. And so has my employer. His brother and sister-in-law died about six weeks ago, and he’s now the guardian of his niece. He’s a busy man, an attorney with a big law firm.” She pointed to the red-brick professional building that sat adjacent to the park. “That’s his office there. On the sixth floor, with a view of the city. Anyway, he needed someone to watch over the girl, and I came out of retirement to do so.”
Walter glanced again at the orphaned child, poor little thing. He didn’t normally dig for information, but death seemed to be an ever-present reality these days, and he couldn’t help his curiosity. “What happened to her parents?”
“They were missionaries in a remote village in Guatemala, where the nearest medical clinic was far away and sorely lacking. Her mother died of blood poisoning, something that could have been easily treated in the States.”
“And her father?” he asked.
“He was going to bring little Analisa back to California, but while giving a tour of the neighboring villages to his replacement, he and the other man made a wrong turn on a narrow mountain road, and the Jeep rolled down a ravine. Her father was killed.”
Walter shook his head. “That’s terrible. Poor little tyke.”
“She’s pretty strong,” Hilda said. “As far as kids go.”
Walter returned to his work, wiggling the hanger between the window and the door.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Hilda said. “Would you look at this? I had the keys in my pocket all along.”
Walter carefully pulled the hanger free, then looked at the key chain that dangled from her hand.
“I’m so sorry for troubling you,” she said.
“No problem.” Heck, he didn’t have anything better to do. If he did, he’d be doing it.
As he left Hilda to open the car and retrieve her hat, he headed back to his table, back to his game.
But not before scanning the park for the orphaned child—poor kid—and spotting her looking up at the mulberry, her mouth open wide.
Analisa couldn’t believe what she saw. Her bright pink envelope now rested on the lowest branch, one that reached down to earth.
Had God read her letter? Had He answered?
Her heart skipped a beat, and she placed her dolly on the bench. Then she dashed off to the playground to get Trevor’s help. Even though the envelope wasn’t nearly as high as they’d put it, she still couldn’t reach it all by herself.
As she drew to a stop near the slide, where Trevor sat in its shadow, he looked up. He didn’t smile or speak, but he didn’t seem to be annoyed, either.
“I need you to climb the tree again.”
“You writing another letter to God?” he asked.
“No. Not until I get His answer.”
“That’s dumb. You’re going to be waiting forever.”
She kicked her shoe at a gum wrapper in the sand, then glanced at Trevor. “Don’t you believe God talks to people?”
“Why should I? He doesn’t talk to me.”
Still, the boy stood and brushed the sand from his pants. Then, with Analisa happily tagging along, he walked toward the tree.
“See?” She pointed. “It’s much lower now because God wrote me back and put it where I could reach better.”
Trevor climbed on the bench, then stuck the scuffed toe of his sneaker into a little hole in the trunk. He reached for a branch, pulled himself up, and plucked the envelope from the spot where it rested.
The flap was open, like it had been read.
Trevor dropped it to her, but she missed, and it landed on the lawn. So she picked it up and pulled out the folded pink paper.
She gasped when she saw the writing below her own. God had answered. But there was a big problem.
Trevor jumped to the ground. “What’s the matter?”
“God wrote in cursive, so I can’t read it.”
The boy took the letter from her hand and looked at the handwriting on the bottom of the page and also on the back.
“What did he say?” Analisa hopped and clapped her hands. “Tell me.”
Trevor scratched at his head, then read God’s words to her.
Dear Analisa,
I’m sorry that your mother and father couldn’t stay long enough on earth to see you grow up, but I needed their help in Heaven. They miss you very much and send their love. We all hope that your uncle is giving you lots of hugs and finding time to take you to the park.
Your mom and dad have met an angel here. His name is Erik, and he looks a lot like you. They told him how they miss you and want