This story is copyrighted to Mariposa. Please do not use or re-print this story without prior permission from the author.

"Just call me Angel!" I couldn't call him that, I thought--couldn't put my throat into the Spanish the way he could. Even if I could have, that pronunciation had always sounded to me as if it had something to do with hell.

 But that was where I felt I had landed on this, the worst day of my life so far, then he appeared and changed everything the way God's messengers always did in the Bible. He came to me as I was slumped, crying, against the low wall surrounding the fountain in front of the Worldwide Insurance building where I work.

 Just before lunch, I had been called to the phone on my supervisor's desk to take a call from my mother. She had been sick for a while in both body and spirit--losing weight, becoming more depressed than usual--but I hadn't been able to convince her to see her doctor until she began hemorrhaging from what I thought could be an ulcer. However, when I picked up the receiver and heard Mom sobbing, I knew I had been too optimistic.

 "The doctor says its cancer."

 I dropped the phone and ran blindly for the elevator, the stale atmosphere and noises of the office suddenly more unbearable than usual. I noticed a motor home in the parking lot across the alley to my right--and the dark man changing a flat--as I came through the revolving door, but once outside I gave way to grief and saw nothing. The next thing I knew, someone was taking me by the shoulders, face bent to see mine. In softly accented, lightly lisping English, a young man's voice asked, "What's wrong?"

 Instinct told me to back away, but I was too close to the fountain. I tried to move to the side; the man's grip, though gentle, was too strong. Raising my head, I looked him in the eye--if he meant me any harm, I meant to show him I wasn't afraid. Instantly I sensed this man was no threat, for the eyes gazing into mine were nearly round with child-like questioning, dark and brilliant at the same time. He was the first to turn away, seeming embarrassed, and as he let go of me and looked at the ground I could see long curly eyelashes on heavy eyelids and the thick waves of his nearly shoulder-length black hair.

 Turning back, he sat on the wall, patting the place beside him. I sat down and took the bandanna handkerchief he was offering. As I wiped my eyes, he was saying, "Que pasa, querida?"

My voice was an angry croak as I answered him, "Don't talk to me like that. I don't know Spanish, and I don't know you!" So he introduced himself--sticking out his right hand and smiling with large, even teeth from between huge dimples under a drooping mustache. In spite of myself, I giggled. "You're kidding, right?"

Reflexively, I reached for his hand and shook it quickly. My hand seemed to disappear, white and weak in his strong bronze grip. "Is that your real name?"

Angel slowly shook his cocked head, "Nope! Well, it's not officially." He jokingly stretched the pronunciation until it sounded like "offeeeshuuully." "That's just what my mama always used to call me." Abruptly he lowered his eyes. "She's been dead awhile now," he murmured.

"You're kidding," I said again, softly and without the giggle. I felt the weight that had been sitting on my chest give one last push and then float away. Here was someone who would understand. "My mom just called--she found out this morning that she might have cancer."

"Nooo," Angel breathed, echoing, "You're kidding!"

"Wish I was," I replied, wiping my eyes and handing back the handkerchief. Angel shook his head and gestured like, "Keep it," closing his hand over my knuckles. He put his other arm around me and whispered into the hair over my ear, "You can tell me all about it." I was resting my head against his shoulder before I realized it. Angel leaned away, and my heart fell. "Whoa! I don't know you, either!" His tone was abrupt, but when I lifted my head I saw to my relief that he was grinning.

"My name's Dolores." I was still croaking.

"How ironic--means 'sorrows'," Angel's smile disappeared; he scuffed his worn cowboy boot absently against the sidewalk for a moment, then leaned forward to look at me, resting his cheek on his fist. "Go on."

"I don't know if I can," I answered with a double meaning. He picked up on this, drawing me close again and gently pushing my head back to his shoulder.

"Sure you can. You can talk to me, and I'll help you through this!" When I told him I didn't want to talk about it in front of the office where I worked--it was now lunchtime and people were beginning to come out to sit around the fountain--he stood up and held out his hand. "Then we'll go to my place," he offered.

"Which is where?" I suddenly felt apprehensive at the seriousness on his face. Had my obvious vulnerability started him thinking something I never meant him to?

"This way," he replied, reaching down for the hand with which I was white-knuckling the wall. He gestured broadly with the other arm, and I followed his hand with my eyes until they rested on the motorhome in the lot across the alley.

"You're kidding!"

"Nope!" The mischievous grin returned, and as I smiled back Angel and I put our arms around each other's waists and walked away from the fountain. The motorhome was one of those with a front end like a van, obviously about twenty years old with orange and brown stripes on the sides. As if reading my thoughts, Angel spat, "My dad bought it just before he left for good when I was ten--he'd been goin' to Vegas off and on for years, and one day he told Mama he'd met someone else in a casino there and just left." He paused and reached into his pocket for the keys. "Some hikers found it in the desert with my dad inside, dead, six years later--a Nevada State trooper drove it back. Mama couldn't stand the sight of it, so I donated it to the vocational school where I was studying to be a mechanic. I lived in it on the school grounds after Mama died; I just couldn't stay in that house without her." Angel bowed his head, fighting tears by fumbling in jeans pockets and patting shirt pockets, pretending he couldn't find the keys that I could hear rattling.

 By the time he had collected himself and unlocked the door, I still hadn't thought of anything to say. I just looked around at the orange, brown and avocado green interior of this cramped house-on-wheels, then sat heavily down at the dinette. The blind over the picture window beside it was closed, and impulsively I reached to open it, feeling closed in by the dark-paneled walls. It snapped all the way up, making me jump. "Oh, I'm sorry!" I hadn't wanted to startle him, but even though Angel was now sitting across from me he seemed not to notice.

 "Yup, this ol' heap is all the inheritance I got," he continued as if to himself . "Oh, and this, too..." Reaching inside his half-unbuttoned chambray shirt, he pulled out a thick gold chain from which dangled a Star of David medallion. He watched as it bounced again his chest, then stared down at his long fingers drumming on the worn gold Formica tabletop, explaining, "Y'see, Dad was Jewish, and he sent me this when I turned thirteen and should've been Bar Mitzvah'd. Course I wasn't, and he knew I wouldn't be--even though he didn't like Mama to go to church after she married him, she had me baptized, took me to Sunday School, and always focused on the half of me that's Mexican." His voice trailed off and he sighed, fingering the star, eyes closed and mouth working angrily. "Biggest fight we ever had was over me refusing to pawn this." Suddenly he looked at me and half-smiled. "Guess I should be wearing a crucifix. Or maybe both--when you live like I do, you don't wanna be takin' no chances!" Angel brightened momentarily at his own little joke, then began to cry again as he went on to tell me about how his mother died just before he graduated high school.

She hadn't been too sad to hear of his father's death, but was just distracted enough by the fact that his meager support payments had ended that she had walked in front of a moving car on her way home from the bodega. The tears flowed harder as he told me about turning the house over to a real estate agent and just taking off in this motorhome. "I don't even remember most of the places I stayed in for the first year," now he was the one croaking, "but I think I've been in every crummy no-hookup campground west of the Rockies!" He chuckled a bit and raised his tear-streaked face. "Gimme that hankie, will ya?"

 As I handed the crumpled bandanna back to him, I asked, "But how have you lived?" As soon as I said it I felt ashamed of myself for prying, but before I could apologize, Angel was answering, "Well, y'see, my mother's family had kinda disowned her when she married my father--outside the faith and all--so every time one of her relatives died, her part of the inheritance was put aside for me. . Soon as my dad was found and the family in Mexico heard about it, checks started comin' about once a month."

 I must have been giving him a look that said, "Yeah, right," because Angel hastened to add, "Now, none of my people are rich, y'unnerstand, they just have good American jobs and don't buy no caviar and champagne!" We both laughed out loud, and all the sadness we had been feeling seemed to evaporate. Angel stood up and went to the little refrigerator. "Would you like something to eat?"

I had forgotten that it was my lunch hour. "Yes, please." He made us each a salami sandwich and offered me a choice of cola or beer. He ate a few bites and drank most of a beer while staring out the window at the lunch hour traffic, then turned back to me as if realizing he had forgotten something. "Hey, why didn't you stop me running off at the mouth like that--you're the one who needs to talk!" He leaned forward. "So tell me, how did you get your name?" What an odd question, I thought, but then I realized Angel had told me where he got his. And now that he had told me his whole story, it seemed only fair that I tell him mine, even though I hated to dredge up my troubles and risk breaking the sweet web of affection that seemed to be forming in the air around us. He continued eating, watching me with red-rimmed but still beautiful eyes.

 "Mom named me that because of how sad she was when my dad died." Angel drew in a breath and, pushing aside his plate, reached for my hand with both of his. I was looking out the window but could feel his unwavering gaze as I continued, "He was killed in the line of duty before I was born--he was a fireman."

 "Ooh, que lastima--I mean, what a shame!"

 "Yeah, it's been real hard. I had no choice but to do 'outside work experience' in the mailroom at Worldwide my last two years of high school, then stay on even though Mom had always wanted me to go to college. She just became so depressed that she could barely hold a job." I sighed and sipped my drink. "At least I was hired on permanently at Worldwide when I graduated and worked my way up to data entry..."

 I turned as Angel let go of my hand and leaned back, hands behind his head; I thought maybe I was boring him, so I finished quickly, "but I'm sure you know how it is." Angel nodded with tears welling up, which made me start to cry again. He came around to my side and took me in his arms. I sobbed uncontrollably as I described my mother's recent illnesses and that morning's phone call, soaking Angel's neck and the ends of his hair.

 After a few minutes of the comforting and tissues Angel brought me, I calmed down and looked at my watch. "Oh, jeez--lunch hour's been over!"

 Angel rubbed my neck and upper back and asked, "If your boss knows what's going on, don't you think she'll understand if you don't come back today?"

 "Well, she doesn't really know, and besides, just because the supervisors around there only understand crisis management, that doesn't mean they want to manage an employee's personal crisis!"

 Angel chuckled softly and kissed my cheek before standing up. "Well then...maybe you'll just have to quit and come stay with me!"

 Floored, I gazed up at him. He suddenly looked much taller that the slightly-over-six-feet that I had judged. Thumbs hitched in his wide leather belt, long muscular legs crossed, he leaned against the small kitchen counter with his head cocked, waiting for my answer.

"Now you gotta be kidding--I can't leave Mom!" "Not leave, just stay somewhere peaceful with someone who can take care of you. C'mon..." He leaned over and lifted my hand from the dinette's backrest, pulling me up and into his arms with one motion. Leaning back into the counter so that my full weight pressed against him, he tightened his hold and rested his cheek on my hair. "It'll be cool," he almost pleaded, "We won't be far away, and when your mom's better we can go anywhere you want." He looked down into my eyes. "What do you say, queri..." He stopped, then explained, "I just can't call you 'Dolores,' cuz I'm gonna make you so happy!"

"Well," I offered, "Like your mom called you 'Angel', my mom has a special name for me--at least when she's less depressed than usual."

Angel looked down at me. "Really? What's that?"

 "Dolly." As soon as I said it, I realized how silly it sounded for a woman of twenty-five.

But Angel was grinning. "Ooh, that's great," he laughed as he spun me around and lifted me onto the table. "In Spanish, you'd be 'Munequita'," he explained, enunciating slowly with a rolling "n," his hand forming a circle near his lips and moving in time with the syllables.

 "Nah, I think I prefer 'querida,'" I decided, "shorter and sweeter."

"Yeah, guess you're right...querida!" We both laughed. Then I looked back down at my watch and felt a wave of panic.

 "Listen, Angel," I insisted, jumping off the table, "I really need to at least go back and give them my two weeks' notice, so I can collect severance! And I'll need time to get Mom signed up for Medicaid."

 Before all this burst out of me I hadn't realized that I had made the decision to stay with him. Angel brightened with anticipation, though he said nothing. Crossing to the door, he walked ahead of me, guiding me down the rickety metal steps. As he reached the ground he turned and I got my first really good look at him. I saw with alarm that his nose looked as if it had once been broken. Shifting my gaze to his lips, I noticed that they were rosy and full and didn't quite meet in the middle--a tiny diamond-shaped space there made them look as though they were always slightly puckered. As if he knew I was thinking about this, Angel lowered his head, eyes still locked on mine, and opened his mouth. He hesitated for a second and I saw the little gap between his front teeth. Without touching me otherwise, Angel kissed me deeply for a long time. When he broke away, I saw his languorous eyes clouding with tears. He blinked them back, but his voice was husky as he said, "Hasta luego, querida!"

 Turning on his boot heel, he started toward the front of the van. "Wait!" I came clumsily off the bottom step, then froze. "You will be back?"

 Angel wheeled around, the beginnings of a smile creeping up to his mustache. He walked back to me and took my hands. "Do you really want to come with me?" The tears brimmed over his long lashes again when I nodded. "Alright then, since tomorrow's Friday and what you need to do can't wait over the weekend, I'll just get out of your way until the afternoon so you'll be all ready." Hugging me quickly, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and walked me to the door of the Worldwide building, where he kissed my forehead and hurried off, waving and smiling back at me. I stood numbly watching until he had gotten into the motorhome and driven away, not quite believing he would return.

 But he was true to his word, and by the next evening I was very much ready. After checking Mom into the hospital Thursday afternoon for a week of tube feeding to build up her strength before surgery, I spent the next morning wading through Medicaid red tape. I then returned to the office and cleared my desk actually welcoming the mindlessness of my normal routine.

 I had had trouble explaining the situation to my boss without breaking down, but fortunately she agreed to allow me a leave of absence to care for Mom, rather than accepting my notice--after she checked my personnel file and discovered that I almost never took a vacation.

Also fortunately, none of my co-workers mentioned having seen me crying my heart out to a tall, slender, beautiful Hispanic man. So when the intercom buzzed at five o'clock and everyone heard the security guard tell my boss that a man was waiting downstairs to escort me out, a similar buzz went up around my cubicle. Angel walked up to my desk about five minutes later and it became a low roar. Ignoring the stares, I grabbed my duffel bag--which Angel immediately offered to carry--and we took the first elevator to start life together.

 Angel drove out of town to a small campground in the foothills. Sitting at the dinette in the motorhome, I watched as he put together a homemade pizza and slid it into the small oven. When he suggested we avoid the heat by sitting outside on his lawn chairs, I followed dumbly and nearly tipped mine over in my amazement at just being there with him.

 We sat in silence holding hands as the sky turned orange and lavender with the sunset. Too soon there came the insistent "beep-beep-beep" of the oven timer. Angel jumped up. "Pizza!" he fairly shouted, startling the campers in the next site. Laughing, I grabbed his hand and we went inside to get our supper and bring it out to our picnic table. When we had finished and "done the dishes," (thrown away the paper plates in the campground's dumpster), we returned to the lawn chairs to look at the stars.

 "Querida?" Angel almost whispered.

 "What?"

 "Should I take you home now, or do you really want to stay here?"

 There was such innocence and compassion in his gentle voice that I didn't see any reason to change yesterday's spur-of-the-moment decision. "I'd like to stay. Last night was the first I've ever spent alone...I don't think I can handle another for awhile."

 Standing and folding his chair, Angel seemed to ignore my response. "Gettin' a little chilly," he observed, stuffing his large hands into his tight jeans pockets with difficulty. "Think I'll go get my jacket and then we can go for a walk." He stuck the chair under the motorhome and started inside.

"OK." I got up and started to fold my chair, too, but he took it from me and did it himself. I didn't know whether to take things like this, his labor over the pizza--or even his inviting me to stay and then suggesting I might not really want to--as condescension or just consideration. Or maybe (if I let myself think in terms of his ethnic background) it was just chivalry. In any case, I wasn't sure I liked being "done for." I was used to taking care of myself and Mom.

 Just as I was thinking, "Aw, come on, relax and enjoy it!" Angel appeared at the bottom of the steps, pulling on a short faded-denim jacket with rhinestone detailing. I put my arm around his neck and fingered the stones on the collar. "Where are we going that you got so dressed up?"

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, bebe!" He laughed back, exaggerating his accent for comic effect. That evening and the next week were spent bringing ourselves up out of our pasts and into the present. We talked about the books we liked to read, the music we listened to, and the movies we had seen, while walking around the campground each evening or driving to the hospital each morning. Angel said he identified with Ishmael in "Moby Dick" (not surprising, given the way he was living and how he had introduced himself). He loved the otherworldly sounds of Pink Floyd, especially in their recent movie "The Wall," and dancing to Latino music.

 I told him I was interested in nineteenth-century American writers, too, and loved Springsteen, but I really enjoyed anything that had come out of England, from its history to Shakespeare (especially as acted by Laurence Olivier) and even Monty Python.

 But in spite of how relaxed I was with Angel, my worries about Mom and not being used to sleeping on folded-out camper dinette seats (much less beside a man) kept me from sleeping. Angel tried to "spoon"--holding me with my back against his warm bare chest--but when that didn't help he brought out his guitar and played me Spanish lullabies. I would drift off each night to the perfection of his whispery voice.

Because I didn't feel like being around strangers that first Sunday, Angel read to me from the Spanish Bible; he was particularly fond of the Twenty-third Psalm. He also got out his rosary--wooden beads as brown and sparkling as his eyes, with a silver crucifix--and helped me recall prayers I hadn't said in years, then taught them to me in Spanish.

 On our second Sunday morning together, I woke to hazily see Angel in his bathrobe, pulling a blue suit from the wardrobe cabinet beside the oven. He got out a pale blue French cuffed shirt and a flowered tie and hung the whole outfit on the bathroom door. Turning back to the wardrobe he removed a small black velvet box from the shelf, then went into the bathroom.

 I closed my eyes once more, but my anticipation of this vision in blue kept me awake. I remembered what he had said about the rhinestone-trimmed jacket--I was about to see a whole other side of him!

Angel came out and shook me. "Querida, wake up." He then turned back to the mirror, not noticing that I rolled over and watched as he inserted beautiful turquoise-and-silver cufflinks into his sleeves. He had become so much more attractive--more than when he had first kissed my lips--that I opened my heart to the possibility of loving this man. And it wasn't just his looks or his style that made me feel this way; his movements had such grace that as he adjusted his shirtsleeves after fixing the cufflinks and tied the tie that had been dangling around his neck, I wanted to be those things.

He obviously still didn't realize I was awake and watching, because as he straightened his lapels he spun around on the heel of his black dress boot, stopping and doing a little shuffle step when he was facing the mirror again. "Looking good," he smiled to his reflection, smoothing his hair.

That was it--I couldn't stop myself from guffawing. I pulled the sheet over my head and lay there helpless, hearing the click of Angel's boots as he came to grab me, sheet and all, and lift me into his arms. Kicking in mock protest, I almost yelled, "Put me down, you gorgeous Latin lover, you!" Angel tossed me onto the dinette seats and drew back as if in horror, though he was grinning.

In a flawless British accent, he asked, "Lover, you say? Hmm..." He leaned forward and pretended to twirl his mustache, though there was hardly enough of it for that. "Does this mean that you think I love you, or that you love me, or both?"

 He moved his hand down to his strong chin, stroking it thoughtfully. I sat up, speechless for what seemed like forever. When I finally thought of something to say, my voice came out in a squeak, "Well, why does a man take such good care of a woman unless he loves her, and why does a woman get all warm inside watching a man fix himself up, unless she loves him?"

 Rearing back again, Angel answered in a voice that was a mocking combination of how I had just sounded and the way I had rebuked him for first calling me "querida," "Don't say you love me--I hardly know you!" We were both laughing as he sat down beside me and kissed me, first softly, then harder and more openly, holding me tighter the deeper the kiss.

 "Te quiero de veras...I do love you, really," he murmurred against my lips as I broke away, hoping he couldn't feel me trembling.

 I tried to joke. "Now how did I know that?!" Then my composure was gone and I felt tears stinging my eyes--tears of happiness that someone so special loved me. Angel tilted my face with both hands so our eyes met.

 "You have me at a disadvantage, then," he smirked, "I don't know if you really love me."

I nodded as his thumbs brushed the tears from my cheeks, my voice failing me all over again For a minute all I could do was cling to him. Then I ventured, "How did you say it? Te quiero de veras?"

"Si, mi vida," he breathed into my mouth, kissing me again. He seemed preoccupied this time, though, with the kiss being very brief and the mood quickly broken as Angel reached to the kitchen counter for his pocket watch. He bolted up as he opened its cover and saw the time.

"Shoot, we should get going," he muttered.

 "What?" I stood beside him and checked the time myself. "But it's barely eight o'clock!"

 "Yeah, I know," Angel's mustache was twitching with a suppressed smile. "Trust me, we have an appointment!"

 Trust him? Well...yes, I thought, I suppose I should if I can honestly say I love him. "Appointment? What appointment?"

 The formerly suppressed smile was now in full bloom. "You'll see! Now go get dressed up!"

 "Alright, but I won't be looking as good as you!" I grinned back over my shoulder. Then sighing with resignation to all this mystery, I headed to the wardrobe for my duffel bag and took over the bathroom.

 Angel had put the dinette back together and was seated facing me when I came out. "Looking good!" He shook his hand as if he had touched something hot.

 "I thought you only said that to yourself," I replied, running my hand under his chin and through his hair as I went past him to the door.

 "Where you think you goin'?" Angel laughed in his exaggerated Mexican accent and followed me out, wolf-whistling softly. We got into the cab of the motorhome and drove for a long time without saying anything, just listening to the Jose Feliciano eight-track Angel had popped in before pulling out of the campground.

Finally I couldn't stand the suspense anymore and had to ask again, "Where are we going?"

"Church." He said matter-of-factly.

 "Oh..." I hadn't been since confirmation, and before that only intermittently when my mother could overcome her anger at God. Somehow I didn't think I should admit that to Angel when he was just beginning to love me.

 "Yeah," he was saying, "I thought you might want to get a little closer to God now that you and your mom might be needing him."

 Indignation flashed briefly though my mind; then I remembered deciding to give Angel the benefit of the doubt when he tried to "do" for me. Still, I couldn't help thinking, You didn't have to bother--you are as close to God as I need to get. I reached for Angel's hand lying lightly against the steering wheel.

 "Thank you," I whispered, squeezing.

He squeezed back and kissed the air between us. "De nada, mi amor."

 The church was a small storefront surrounded by bodegas and other Hispanic businesses. We parked across the street and Angel held his arm across my body until it was safe to cross in the middle. Hand in hand we arrived, breathless, in front of the double glass doors. As we stood straightening our hair and clothes, Angel remarked, "This is the only place where I've felt loved since Mama died and the parish she took me closed." He turned from looking at his reflection in the mirrored window, hand still poised near his head, and added, "Until you, of course."

With a quick kiss, he led me inside. The service was conducted entirely in Spanish,. but I was familiar enough with the Mass to follow along. It was hard for me to concentrate, though--especially when we knelt for Holy Communion, Angel's arm pressing against mine at the crowded little rail. Then, when he took the Host on his tongue, all I could think about was the way he kissed.

Embarrassed to be thinking such thoughts in church, I stumbled a bit as we returned to our seats. Angel caught my elbow and helped me the rest of the way as I wished we hadn't sat so far back. I flopped down gracelessly as a woman standing in front of us turned and asked, "Como esta, querida?" I felt my face flush and looked helplessly up at Angel, even though I understood--her use of his endearment just embarrassed me more.

 "Esta bien," Angel answered the woman.

 "Es muy bonita, tambien," she was grinning at Angel. Her whisper became conspiratorial as she leaned closer and asked, "Esta tu novia?"

"Si." Now Angel was the one blushing. He averted his gaze to his boots just in time for the Benediction.

 As we got into the van, I asked, "I know what 'bonita' means, but what's 'novia'?"

Angel fastened his seat belt and cleared his throat, obviously stalling. "Well, it can mean different things." He leaned against the steering wheel and looked distantly out the windshield, ticking off the definitions on his fingers, "Let's see--sweetheart, fiancée, bride..." Suddenly, Angel was taking his seat belt back off. He slid out the door and turned back to say, "Wait there--I'll be right back!", as he waited for traffic to thin out before dashing across the street Stunned, I mechanically undid my seatbelt and went to sit in the dinette. When Angel returned, the priest was with him and both were talking animatedly in Spanish. Understanding little, I just sat across from them and smiled until I began to feel utterly stupid. Finally, Angel turned to me. Gesturing broadly, he concluded to the priest, "Y esta es la chica, Dolores Brezinski." "The girl," Angel was calling me. The girl who...what? "Querida," At last Angel was bringing me into the conversation. "this is Father Rodriguez."

"Pleased to meet you," I spoke from between cheeks that ached from smiling in a voice that was entirely too high-pitched.

 Father Rodriguez shook my hand. "Mucho gusto tambien." I guessed that meant he was pleased to meet me too.

 Angel tapped the priest on the shoulder. "Ella no habla mucho Espanol."

Father Rodriguez smiled at me. "Ah, lo siento...I am sorry."

"That's OK," I replied. Angel was holding my hand across the table and gave it a squeeze of approval, winking the eye the priest couldn't see. I didn't want to seem impolite, but I hated being kept ignorant. "Angel, what is this about?"

 "Nothing, really, I just wanted you to meet." The glint in Angel's smoldering eyes told me this wasn't the whole truth. Imagine, lying to your "novia" in the presence of your priest! The thought made me laugh out loud, and both men looked a bit shocked.

"Sorry," I blurted, "but I'm just not sure I believe that!"

Father Rodriguez was understandably confused. Angel began to stand up, and the priest rose to let him out. Gesturing toward the door, Angel was excusing both of us: "Lo siento, padre; desculpenos, por favor."

The priest hurried back across to the church. Angel closed the door behind him and returned to sit beside me at the table. There was a hint of displeasure on his face.

"Forgive me, Angel...I didn't mean to run him off!"

Angel shook his head, and a sick feeling rose up out of the pit of my stomach. He put his arm around me and stroked my hair, pressing my head to his shoulder. We sat like that for a minute and I felt better "No, it's not that, querida," he finally answered, "It's just that Father Rodriguez was trying to change my mind about something, and I didn't want to change it."

"About what?" Angel stood up and ducked under the overhead bunk into the cab.

"It's not important right now--it's more important that I get to meet your mother, if that's OK with you."

 "Sure," I managed to keep my voice level, though inside I was ecstatic.

Mom seemed weaker than ever, in spite of the tube feedings. Angel lived up to his name more than I had seen so far, taking her hand and kissing her on the forehead as I introduced him. The whole time we spent with Mom, Angel seldom averted his eyes from hers and never relaxed his grip, his thumb stroking her knuckles. His charm was obviously working on her. As we started to leave a couple of hours later, Mom called me back and motioned for me to lean in close.

"I think this is the one!" she whispered, smiling faintly and patting my cheek. I hesitated to tell her that I agreed, since she knew how short a time we had been together--and didn't know that I was staying with him. But her approval was all I needed to give in to the speculation that had been forming in my mind since this morning's meeting with Father Rodriguez. I was now convinced that I knew what he and Angel had been discussing.

"I know he is, Mom, and I think he thinks the same about me."

 "Of course he does, or he wouldn't have wanted to come here."

 I had noticed Angel taking the elevator, and now when he entered the room I thought he had gone downstairs to the gift shop, because he pulled a glossy black cardboard box out of his pocket and handed it to Mom. I started to protest into his ear, but he laid his finger on his lips. Mom's eyes filled with tears as she opened the box and lifted up the gift.

It was Angel's rosary.

 "I hope it will comfort you while you wait for your surgery and while you are recovering." I could tell from the stilted way he spoke that he had rehearsed these words, but that didn't stop me from breaking down. Angel was in tears, too, as he drew me to his side. Mom reached for Angel's hand and pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek.

 "Thank you so much, Angel--I know it will!" I thanked Angel also, then God, silently--Mom's anger at Him seemed to have been crushed under the burden of her illness, and I felt at peace that whatever happened, she was in His hands.

 But I didn't realize how soon she truly would be.

When we arrived back at the campground the owner was waiting at our picnic table. The hospital had called him. He didn't have to tell me--I knew in my soul that Mom had gone to heaven. Angel caught me from behind as I began to sink onto the gravel. He helped me to my feet and turned me around, pressing me to his heart as I sobbed into his tie. When I tried to walk and lost my balance, he fairly pushed me up the motorhome's steps and helped me to the dinette.

I spent the rest of that day crying as Angel held me and stroked my hair, offering tissues and trying to get me to eat. But all I wanted to do was sleep, as if that would help change anything. So before the sun had even begun to set, Angel was making the bed and lying down beside me, both of us still in our church clothes except for our shoes and his jacket. Strangely, it was the first entire night's sleep I got in the motorhome.

 When I woke up it was still early-morning dark and Angel was not there. Panic swept me and I reached for the light on the underside of the cabinet above me. I sat shivering even with the sheet and blanket wrapped tightly around me, poor substitutes for the arms that had cradled me all night. It seemed ages until I heard a key turning in the camper's door.

 Angel entered, still dressed in his suit with the jacket back on, his beautiful hair disheveled and eyes bloodshot. "I didn't think you'd wake up while I was gone...I'm sorry."

 I just shook my head against his chest as he sat down and held me. After a moment I looked up at him. "Where were you?"

 "I went up to the office to call Father Rodriguez," Angel replied, "I thought he should know."

"Thank you." I got up and headed for the bathroom. When I came back out Angel was cooking scrambled eggs on the stove and toast and juice were already on the table. I chuckled despite everything. "You are just too much--you've been doing all the cooking!"

 "Con mucho gusto," Angel bowed and put a plate of eggs in front of me with a sweep of his arm. "Eat up--we have another appointment this morning...maybe two." Not another mysterious outing.

"Come on now, querido, what is it this time?"

 Angel scooped eggs onto another plate and sat down. Between very quick bites he explained, "Father Rodriguez is going to meet with us about a funeral for your mother."

 For once I had no complaints about him "doing" for me--I wouldn't have known how to go about such a thing. Angel had finished eating and was taking a clean shirt from the wardrobe. He untied his already loose tie, took off and put away his cufflinks, then stripped off yesterday's shirt. A pang of guilt struck me--I felt the same warmth as the morning before while watching him dress today, even though my mother had just died. That thought brought tears to my eyes; and I went to Angel and burrowed against the fine curly hair on his chest. Twisting all my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck, I pulled his head down and kissed him. This time nothing was tentative, there was no uncertainty. We kissed each other--loved each other--with a passion that had no more innocence left in it. It had become fierce and would be everlasting. I knew Angel had felt this, because he broke away first with something like fear in his fiery eyes.

 "Ay-yi!" He stared down at me, the look of fear slowly replaced by a tender smile on his glistening lips. Then he took me by the shoulders and gently moved me to one side, reaching into the closet for another tie. As I watched his elegant fingers work, I realized that he needed to get back to his routine in order to diffuse his emotions, the way I had needed to the day we met. He pulled on the same suit jacket and moved away so I could change. I was still slightly more modest than he had just been, so I dressed in the bathroom.

 We met with Father Rodriguez in his little office at the back of the church. When the funeral arrangements (a simple cremation) were completed, Angel walked me out to the sanctuary and asked me to wait. He then returned to the priest's office and shut the door. I could hear them talking with similar animation as they had yesterday, but of course I couldn't understand much.

When Angel came out alone, he was beaming but said nothing as he took my hand and we left. This time I decided to head off the secrecy. As Angel held the van door open I insisted, "I'm not getting in until you tell me where we're going!"

 He was still smiling in a sort of idiotic way. "Lunch," he replied, kissing my forehead, "to celebrate."

 "Celebrate what?" I thought we had just prepared to lay my mother to rest. That certainly wasn't anything to celebrate.

 When I said as much, Angel responded with an effort, "Please, trust me, after lunch there will be cause for celebration." I decided to prove my trust and drop the subject, so lunch and the drive afterward passed in almost total silence. This drive took us to a small strip mall just outside of downtown. It looked new and out of either of our price ranges, but Angel pulled into the parking lot.

"This is the place!" He was beaming again.

 "The place for what?"

 "Put it this way," he answered, "I'm glad we got here at lunchtime, because the store I have in mind closes for lunch and I need to discuss something with you."

This sounded serious, but I tried to be flip. "And that would be...?"

 Angel took a deep breath and removed his seatbelt kneeling on one knee in the aisle between the captain's chairs. He grasped my hand as if for strength and looked straight into my eyes. "Well, I figured that if we're gonna travel all over the place together, we ought to at least be engaged."

Engaged?! Without meaning to, I laughed. Understandably, Angel let go of my hand and got back into his seat, shaking his head and looking hurt.

 "I'm sorry," I hastened to say, trying to bring my laughter under control. "This is just so unexpected!" Sure it is, I rebuked myself.

 "No," Angel exclaimed, shaking his hanging head, "I'm the one who should be sorry!" He scuffed the floor mat with the heel of his boot and I thought he was going to cry. Abruptly he looked up and continued, "Unexpected as opposed to everything else that's happened in the past couple weeks...in our whole lives, even?" At this he did begin to cry.

 I sat awkwardly on his lap and patted his head down to my shoulder, comforting him as best I could with the steering wheel in my back. For the first time I understood how vulnerable he really was--after all, even a mathematical illiterate like myself could figure out that he was about thirty years old. I had never considered that a thirty-year-old man would need a woman so much, or cry over much of anything, least of all my momentary hesitation to commit to him.

 I stopped myself--momentary? Just as I had instantly considered quitting my job and staying with a man I barely knew, I found myself ready to actually quit and go on the road with him now that I loved him.

 I stroked Angel's hair for a long time until I could tell he wasn't crying anymore, then leaned away to look into his face and told him as evenly as I could, "You're right, querido, we should be engaged." He fell back into my arms, his tears joyful this time as were mine. We were still sitting like that when I saw over Angel's head that someone had come to open up the jewelry store. "C'mon, love, we want to be their first customers after lunch, don't we?", I asked, taking tissues from my purse for both of us.

We pulled ourselves together, then got out and walked arm in arm into the small space, dimly lit except for intense bulbs over the cases of jewelry.

 "Good afternoon!", the clerk said, a little too brightly after the serious mood we had just been in. "May I help you?"

 Angel cleared his throat and stepped forward awkwardly, leaving me a couple steps behind. "Well, yes...I...I mean...we..." he broke off and gestured for me to stand with him.

 The clerk seemed to be stifling a giggle. What was she thinking--that we got drunk last night and did something that, in the hard light of day to two hung-over people, seemed to require marriage?

"Did you want to look at some diamond rings?" She offered with grin, gesturing toward the back of the store. I noticed she didn't say "engagement"--she probably figured we would come to our senses if we heard that word, and she would lose a commission.

 "Well....yeah," Angel still hadn't regained his composure, but we followed the clerk without any instances of stumbling which might have seemed to confirm the opinion I was afraid she held. Angel leaned over and whispered to me, "Whatever you want, querida," as the clerk slid a tray of rings with small diamonds out of the case and onto the counter. She obviously thought we couldn't afford anything bigger, but I knew I'd be happy with any ring as long as Angel slipped it onto my finger. Besides, the clerk's expression made me want to bolt for the door, ring or no ring.

Quickly I chose a simple solitaire and Angel wrote a check for the full price. At this the clerk's bemused look turned fleetingly to one of disbelief, but she collected herself enough to ask to see Angel's driver's license and ring up the sale. All through this, in spite of the fact that his full name would have been on both the check and the license, I was too caught up in the ring and what it symbolized to pay any mind.

 He would always be "Angel" to me, my angel--Angel de Dolores. "Querido," I ventured when we were back in the van, "Forget about my severance pay! After the memorial, let's just go to San Diego, scatter my mother's ashes, and go from there!"

 Laughing in spite of my reference to the most immediate future, Angel grabbed my hand and leaned over to kiss the ring he had just slipped on my finger. "Yeah," he chuckled, "San Diego sounds like a great place for a honeymoon!"

 "Honeymoon?!"

 "Oh shoot!" Angel slapped his forehead in mock disbelief. "Did I forget to tell you?!"

 "What?," was all I could manage.

 "Oops...well anyway, after we talked to Father Rodriguez about a memorial for your mother I asked him if it would be against some kind of church protocol to have a wedding before that, y'know?"

I was beginning to wonder if this man was not just amazing, but maybe a little crazy. He had just assumed I would go for that? Well, I'd already decided to make some sort of life with Angel, so why not married life?

 "So..." he was saying in his overdone Mexican accent, "You gonna marry me or what?!"

"Only if you let me buy us matching crucifixes as a wedding present." I teased, "We neither of us need to be takin' no chances now!" I attempted this last part in a bad imitation of Angel's bad accent.

 Angel shook his head, then threw it back and laughed, mouth wider and dimples deeper than ever. "Y'sure you wanna go back in there and let that clerk think some more nasty thoughts 'bout us?"

 I nodded and laughed back. "You realize of course," I warned him, "that getting married means I'm gonna have to find out your real name!"

Angel and I decided not to go back inside the jewelry store right then--we needed time to recover from the humiliation. Instead, Angel suggested that the next step after becoming engaged, and before getting married, was to go get the license. "Hey," I protested, "I haven't said 'yes' yet!" Expressionless, Angel started the van and began to pull out of the parking lot before saying anything. At the first red light, he stole a sideways glance at me, all boyish grin and twinkling eyes.

"Well, mi vida...?"

"What's that mean?" He had used the expression before, but in that intense moment I hadn't had the strength to ask. "My life." His face was serious and he seemed to be looking right into my soul. I thought all the love in the world was in his eyes just then. "If that's what you want me to be, then I will." I reached for Angel's hand, but he was throwing both up as if in frustration, looking skyward. His words came in a jumbled flood, "Ay, Dios mio! What is it, querida? A simple yes or no, por favor!"

"Yes!", I exclaimed just as the light changed. "Now how did I know that?" Angel laughed, stroking his chin, then reaching to cup my cheek. His hand was damp--he must have been nervous that I would back out. I took his hand from my face and kissed his knuckles. When I let go, we were both smiling like complete fools.

We arrived at the license bureau within a few minutes. While we sat waiting our turn, I rested my head on Angel's shoulder and watched my diamond sparkle. Angel realized what I was doing and took my hand, tilting it this way and that to make the rainbow colors flash. I was becoming hypnotized when suddenly something important occurred to me and I lifted my head to look at Angel.

"You never told me whether Father Rodriguez is OK with marrying us."

Angel took his arm from my shoulders and leaned forward, rubbing his hands together and not looking at me as he replied, "Well, he kinda wasn't when I first asked him about it that day after church..." I knew it, I thought triumphantly, that was the reason Angel had wanted us to meet! "...and like I said, he was trying to talk me out of it, but after we had met with him about your mother's memorial and I spoke to him alone, he seemed to have come around."

"Oh?," I tried to sound casual, "what did he say?"

"He said he could see that you are a caring and intelligent woman, with real spirit!" Angel chuckled and leaned back, facing me and taking both my hands. "In fact, he said he thought our spirits were...como se dice en ingles...almas gemelas?"

"Kindred spirits?" I ventured.

"Yeah, that's it!"

"Y'know, I think he's right!" I laughed.

"He also said he understands that we want to be married as soon as possible because your mother's death leaves you without any other family, and he knows we are both of an age to be responsible enought to make this decision on our own." Thank you, Father Rodriguez!, I thought. Just then, our number was called and we went up to the desk to fill out the application for a marriage license. Angel tossed me a sheepish look as he began to enter his full name. It was difficult to read, for his handwriting was typically masculine--small and sloppy. I thought it looked like "Isaiah Arturo Furst." My name was going to be Dolores Marie Furst?

When we had both filled out the papers and were seated again waiting for them to be processed, I asked, "So your real name is Isaiah?"

"Yeah, Mama liked the idea that Isaiah meant 'God's salvation' Guess she thought it covered both their religions."

"And I suppose Arturo is for King Arthur--knight in shining armor and all that?" Angel laughed a little too loudly for the hushed atmosphere of the registrar's office, causing some people to stare. "Nah, nothing so romantic--My dad's name was Arthur. They compromised on it being my middle name and on using the Spanish spelling. But even so, Dad always called me Artie." A fleeting look of distaste darkened Angel's gentle face. I hated to seem like I was interrogating him, but I had never heard a surname like Furst, except as part of the name "Diane von Furstenburg." "Is 'Furst' a German name?" Angel nodded. "Dad's family came from there--he was the first one born in the States."

"Does it mean anything? Like 'first' in English?" Oh, Dolores, what a dumb question! But Angel was putting his arm around me, drawing my head down to his shoulder, and toying absently with my ring again. "Uh huh...prince," he muttered, leaning his head against mine. I guessed he was tired of talking about it--it was just his name, after all; he'd lived with it all his life. But I had to say, at least to myself, that 'prince' was very appropriate.

"Should I call you 'Isaiah,' now that I know that's your name?" I just had to ask. "I have a hard time saying 'Angel' the proper Spanish way, anyhow!"

"No, that's OK, you can call me anything you want, as long as I hear 'I love you' in it." Angel kissed my hair; I flushed with embarrassment since people were still staring at us.

After we left the registrar's office, we drove for a while in silence, listening to the radio. When the campground was almost in sight, a pang of loneliness struck me. At first I couldn't figure out how I could possibly ever be lonely again, now that Angel and I were going to be together forever. Then I realized that I was missing my mother.

"Angel, could you please take me home?"

"I am." He didn't take his eyes off the road.

"No,. I mean to my apartment. I think I want to stay there tonight--alone." Now Angel glanced at me and I thought I saw hurt pushing the happiness from his eyes. Without a word, he pulled into the nearest parking lot and turned the motorhome to head back toward downtown. The drive continued quiet until we reached my building. Angel walked me up the stairs to the small one-bedroom place I had shared with Mom all my life. I turned the key in the door and let him inside. I followed him and plopped down on the couch, expecting that Angel would sit beside me. Instead, he wandered aimlessly around the living room, dragging his fingertips along pieces of furniture, then went into the little kitchen which was connected to it by a pass-through window.

"Help yourself to a drink," I offered, disappointed but trying to be polite in what was still my home, "and could you bring me one too, please?" Angel bent to rummage in the refrigerator, emerging with two cans of lemon-lime soda. Sitting in the overstuffed chair perpendicular to the couch, he took a long drink then set the can on the coffee table. I sipped slowly and watched him carefully, especially his eyes, which never left my face; something sad lingered in them. Finally, I had to ask, "What's wrong?" He shifted his weight uneasily from one hip to the other, holding the arm of the chair for support. Crossing his ankle onto the opposite knee, he looked at me for a long time before answering, "I...I guess I just figured we'd go on as we have been."

"What do you mean--I thought we were. In fact," I added, "I thought things were only going to get better from now on--not that they've been bad so far!" I laughed, but Angel's face was blank and he was looking past me. "What?!" My voice rose slightly in volume and sounded unintentionally whiny.

Angel cleared his throat. "Then why did you want to come back here? I didn't think you wanted to be alone, especially not in this place. I thought it would upset you."

"Oh, Angel! I'm so sorry!" I got up and walked around the coffee table. Standing beside the chair, I pulled his head to my chest and held it for a moment. "I don't mean I'm going to stay here every night, just tonight and maybe tomorrow if it feels right. I'm only just starting to realize how much I'm going to miss Mom, and I want to be where she always was a little longer."

Angel lifted my hand from his hair and used it to pull me down into his lap. We sat with our faces only inches apart for a minute, my arms around his neck and his around my waist. I saw his sad eyes soften back into contentment as they came to focus on my lips. Like the first time he had really kissed me, he opened his beautiful mouth a bit and hesitated for a split second before pressing it to mine. I relaxed into him, aware for the first time of how tense his mood had made me. Tension seemed to flow from Angel as well, his arms loosening from my waist and his hands travelling delicately up my back to entwine in my hair. The warmth of his hands sending paradoxical shivers all through me. Even our lips seemed too relaxed to actually kiss, just brushing lightly at each other until we had to separate to take a full breath. When I turned around to settle into his lap, Angel stretched his arms out for a moment then brought them back in to cross over my chest. "How 'bout if I stay here tonight, too?" His breath stirred my hair and his mustache brushed my ear.

"No, please, I just need to be alone and say my good-byes." They were probably the most difficult words I had ever said. Angel obviously had difficulty accepting them; he began to stand up with me still on his lap, and I had to scramble to my feet to avoid being dumped on the floor. He headed for the door without a word or a backward glance. I was chasing him and roughly grabbing his arm before I realized what I was doing. "Angel, please," I was almost crying, "you can stay awhile longer, can't you?" He stopped and looked down at my hand on his arm, then began to smile as he met my gaze. "Of course I can, querida, forgive me." He covered my hand with his and gently pried my fingers loose. Removing his jacket and tie and draping them over the coat rack by the door, he walked me to the couch and laid down on his side, head propped on one hand and the other still holding mine "C'mere, bebe," he whispered, tugging at me and throwing me off balance. I was on my knees by the couch for a moment, then pulled myself up to sit in the space formed by Angel's bent legs. I leaned against his taut stomach for support--the look in his huge brown eyes made me weak, the intent behind it was so obvious. I struggled with myself about whether I should say something to head it off. Suddenly, Angel bolted upright, reaching excitedly toward the coffee table and grabbing the TV remote control. "Cool!" he exclaimed, pushing the "ON" button and beginning to channel-surf, "I haven't had a TV in the camper for years!" I settled back into the couch and watched him, completely amazed at his childlike reactions. He stopped on "Live at Five," a local news/talk show.

Seeing this show reminded me what time it was. "Hey, I should fix you some dinner--for a change!" I stood up and stretched. "But first I gotta get outta this dress and these pantyhose!" Angel shot me a look that made me realize how that had sounded, but then he looked away and stood up too.

"Yeah," he replied, arching his back, cat-like, with his hands on his slim hips, "I'm kinda tired of being dressed up myself. Don't usually wear this suit two days in a row! Think I'll go out to the camper and grab something more casual." With that, he was out the door and I headed for my bedroom to change into the closest-fitting sweat pants and T-shirt I could find--comfortable but not totally sloppy, and maybe attractive as well. I paused at the door and looked at the twin beds Mom and I had used. If Angel insisted on spending the night (which a large part of me hoped he would, if I were to be honest with myself!), it would be the first night we would be separated while we slept. But the thought of not sharing the room with Mom anymore, coupled with the possibility of dealing with that fact alone, made me decide to let Angel stay even if he wouldn't be able to hold me.

As I brushed my hair I evaluated myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. I couldn't understand how the image looking back at me had attracted the attention--much less the possibly lifelong love--of a man like Angel. People had always said how much I looked like my mother, but most of them had never seen my father, and I had only seen him in pictures. True, I had my mother's coarse, wavy, unmanageable mane of hair that couldn't grow beyond shoulder length, but I hadn't been blessed with the rich Irish auburn color she had. My hair was a muddy light brown more like Dad's, and although I had Mom's hazel eyes, they were narrow like his. I also had my mother's smattering of freckles--I had never decided whether they were good or bad. But worst of all I had inherited my father's large nose and low ears. I was also above average height and somewhat gangly the way he had been. All in all, not a very alluring picture, I thought as I closed the bedroom door and came back into the living room, to find Angel dressing while still watching the TV.

His back to me, he didn't notice me at first. I stood transfixed by the sight of him as he put on a rust-colored shirt of polished cotton that complemented his carmel-colored skin perfectly. As he turned to pick his jeans off the couch, he raised his eyes and saw me staring. I could feel my face flushing, but he just smiled with closed lips and turned back to the news, pulling the tight jeans up over his slender, muscular legs and rear. I couldn't resist--I walked over and put my arms around Angel, hugging him as I smoothed the shirt down against the small of his back and into his jeans. I let my hands rest inside them as Angel's arms went around me and he kissed me with the passion that I had come to expect in him. It was so much a part of us now that I was surprised when he broke away and said, "I know we both would like to get right back out of these clothes now, but I hope you'll understand that I would rather wait." He reached behind him and gently pulled my hands away. "Let's save it until God says it's right." Embarrassed all over again, I started to let Angel go, but his arms were back around me and he was shaking his head. "It's alright, I didn't mean we couldn't be this close!" He quickly kissed me again and turned away to finish tucking his shirt and getting his jeans together. Then he sat down to put on gray tube socks and the pair of moccasins I had seen him use as slippers.

Reality came back to me as I noticed that the news was over. "Listen, I promised you dinner, so I better get started! It won't be anything fancy--there's not much here!" Angel grinned and stretched out full-length on the couch. "That's OK, as long as you feed me!" he answered. After I had rummaged through the tiny kitchen I realized there was nothing there that would do for supper. "I think I need to go to the store." Angel didn't move right away, so I thought maybe he was asleep. I walked over and tousled his hair gently. "Hey--you in there?" His hand came up fast and grabbed my wrist. I choked back a scream and then we were both laughing. He let go of me and sat up. "Gotcha! Now let's go--I'm ravenous!" I could tell by his tone and the glint in his eye that food wasn't the only thing he wanted, but if I let myself honestly consider his point of view for very long I understood that he wanted to make our first time as perfect as possible, and so did I.

The grocery down the street from my building was crammed with after-work shoppers. I felt I had to decide quickly and without a list what to buy and how much, since I wasn't sure how long I would be staying in the apartment. But Angel pointed out that if we wanted to travel we would need the food anyway, so we filled up two carts with enough groceries for about a month. In the painfully slow checkout line I stood with my back to Angel and he pressed against me, kissing the back of my neck. "Hey, not here!" I protested only half-heartedly, slapping lightly at his head. "I have to do something to occupy myself!" he laughed back. I reached into the magazine rack and pulled out the first one that came to hand. "Here, read this!" Angel grabbed the magazine, glanced at it and began to roar, "I don't think you want me to!" It was Cosmo. Angel pointed at one of the headlines and grinned, "Well maybe this one's for me," he read, "'Why We DON'T Like Public Displays of Affection'." He stopped laughing and put on his most seductive pout. "Oh, OK, come here," I gave in, taking the magazine from his hands and putting it away, then wrapping his arms around my waist, "but no more kissing, please!" Angel leaned to whisper in my ear, "Alright, querida, I promise!" By this time it was our turn to check out, and we were faced with another clerk barely suppressing a giggle--but this time I knew we deserved it.

We fixed dinner together, tripping over each other in the "shotgun" kitchen, but also stealing squeezes and kisses as we passed. After eating, Angel washed the dishes and I dried them. Then we sat on the couch with our glasses of wine and just stared at the ceiling, exhausted by the events of the day. It wasn't long, though, until Angel was restless and glancing about the room. "Where's the stereo?" I pointed to the bookcase, which had a pitiful little stereo on the middle shelf. Angel walked over and sat on his haunches to thumb through the cassettes and albums on the bottom shelf and choose a record. Then he stood and studied the controls of the stereo for a moment, put the record on the turntable and came back to the couch. Bowing with a comic flourish, he asked, "May I have this dance?" and took my hand. The record was one by Ritchie Valens that Mom had saved from her high school days, and the song was "We Belong Together." I stumbled a bit standing up--it didn't take much wine to make me tipsy--but Angel steadied me against him with his right hand in the small of my back and his left hand holding my right to his heart. We swayed to the soft music right where we stood, between the couch and the coffee table. Angel began kissing my neck as he had in the store, and this time I didn't stop him. But the song was very short, and followed by something more uptempo, so when that one started I moved away and sat back on the couch. Angel sat beside me, then laid down and put his head in my lap, eyes closed. I stroked the hair back from his forehead and stared out the window, lost in thoughts of what was ahead of us. By the time the record was over I had formed a plan in my mind and shared it with Angel:

"Listen, I think I should go back to work at the beginning of next week and give them two weeks' notice after all. You might have your money, but I'm going to want some of my own." At this Angel sat up cross-legged and focused his full attention on me. "I've worked there for almost ten years--the severance will make a pretty good emergency fund." Angel nodded and replied, "Yeah, I think it would be good for you to get back to your normal life for a while, after everything that's happened..." he trailed off, looking sorry for having reminded me of my mother's death. I touched his cheek as if to say it was alright, and he continued, "...and before everything that will be happening." His face clouded again, probably at the thought of the cremation service tomorrow, so I leaned over and kissed him as further reassurance. He smiled broadly, and I went on to tell him all the ideas I had just come up with for the wedding. It was late by the time we finished this discussion, and we ended by agreeing that we would keep my apartment as a home base for the travelling we had already decided to do.

Angel stood up, stretching and yawning, then picked up his wineglass. He leaned back and drained it before taking both glasses into the kitchen. Wordlessly, I hurried to the bedroom to rummage through my dresser for a presentable nightgown--somehow that mattered more now. I was just pulling one over my head when Angel tapped on the door I had left half-open. "Here, let me help you!" He held out each sleeve while I put my arms in, then bent and pulled the gown over my hips until it reached its full length just above my knees. As he straightened up I saw a mischievous glint in his eyes, and learned its meaning when I felt his hands come up to grab my rear the way I had done his earlier. I stretched up to kiss him quickly, reaching behind me at the same time to take his hands away. We stood arms-length apart for a minute swinging each other's hands, both giggling until Angel asked, "Where's the bathroom?" I pointed to the door which connected it to the bedroom, and he went in.

I laid down in Mom's bed and was nearly asleep when I felt Angel's breath on my cheek. He kissed me softly and whispered, "I'll see you tomorrow." It took a moment for his words to register, but when they did I nearly bolted upright--we had been so busy talking about the future that I had forgotten to tell him he could stay! He was almost to the front door when I managed to find my voice, "Angel, wait!" He came back quickly, a worried look on his face. "What's the matter, querida?" I was still so close to sleep that I had to hold my head up with my hand as I answered, "I'm sorry, I forgot--I decided I'd rather you were here tonight." His smile was brilliant in the glow of the nightlight from the bathroom. "Gracias, mi amor!" He turned toward the door again, looking back over his shoulder to explain, "I'll just go get my stuff from the camper."

By the time Angel returned I must have been asleep, because the next thing I knew I opened my eyes to dim pre-dawn light and felt his arm draped across me, the heat of his body against mine over-whelming in the warm room and narrow bed. I squirmed carefully around to face Angel, trying not to wake him. His golden skin and closely trimmed mustache were glistening with sweat, his black hair in damp curls on his cheek and forehead. His lips were parted slightly, an invitation to mine. I was torn between watching him sleep--his long ebony lashes being much more easily admired when his eyes were closed--or kissing him awake. Just then he stirred and rolled over. I tried to catch him as he was about to fall off the edge but missed. Angel hit the floor on his stomach and laid there for a full minute, propped on his elbows and shaking his head slowly. Finally he turned over and sat up, fully awake and laughing until he began to cough. "Ooh, Angel, I'm sorry! Are you OK?" He heaved himself back up onto the bed and leaned against me as I sat up in the corner with my pillow behind me. "I think so," he replied, sounding breathless, "just got the wind knocked out of me." I ran my hands over his bare chest and hard belly as if checking for injuries, but of course I was just being an opportunist. When he had caught his breath, Angel reached up and put his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me down for "good morning" kisses and "I love you"'s. Then he got up and took his duffel bag into the bathroom. I went into the kitchen to fix breakfast.

Angel came out of the bedroom a few minutes later, hair slicked back from washing, barefoot and dressed in a black polo shirt and the same jeans as last night. Over a cheese omelette and toast, we talked about the memorial service and decided to take the time afterward to unwind. "I'd love to go to the beach." I suggested, "Maybe we should drive to San Diego right after the service and scatter Mom's ashes, instead of doing it on our honeymoon." In spite of the subject I was grinning inwardly--I would never have admitted to Angel that the main reason I wanted to go to the beach was my desire to see more of him without a shirt! Fortunately, Angel was agreeable. We left the dirty dishes for later and I went to take a shower and put on the black and beige tropical print gauze skirt and top I planned to wear to the funeral home. When I came out to the living room I saw that Angel had swapped his jeans for a pair of dark grey pleated trousers, and a light gray cardigan sweater lay on the arm of the couch.

It was still early, so we sat drinking coffee and watching the morning news shows until I thought a florist would be open and I could order something to put on Mom's casket. I asked for a large spray of pink roses and white carnations with a white ribbon that would say "Mother" in gold letters on one end and "Love, Dolly and Angel" on the other. They promised to deliver it to the funeral home by ten-thirty, as the service was scheduled for eleven. When the morning shows ended at nine o'clock I packed up my duffel bag with a swimsuit, towels, sunscreen, and a blanket, then we made some sandwiches for lunch. Angel took everything out to the motorhome while I put on pantyhose and shoes and brushed my teeth and hair. When he returned, he tied the cardigan's sleeves over his shoulders and we headed down the stairs to face the hardest moment of our new life together.

The funeral home was in the storefront next door to Father Rodriguez's church, and he and the funeral director were waiting for us. Angel held my left hand tightly as I shook hands with them both, then put his arm around me as the funeral director led us to the little room where Mom's casket was waiting. It was just a plywood box, because we had chosen cremation, but the flowers covered it almost completely and made the sight a bit more bearable. I didn't want them moved or the lid lifted, and told the funeral director so. After he left us alone, I said to Angel, "I want to remember Mom the way she was when you met her, looking up with such love and happiness for both of us." Angel nodded and smiled a little at the thought, and I continued, "She told me while you were out of the room that she knew you and I belong together!" I began to cry and Angel gathered me in, one hand on my back and the other on my neck. Father Rodriguez must have been standing right outside, for he was in the room the next minute, putting one hand on Angel's shoulder and the other on mine. He addressed his words to Angel, and Angel translated for me.

"Is she alright?" Father Rodriguez asked.

"She'll be fine in a minute," Angel replied. He pulled a handkerchief from his hip pocket and handed it to me. As I wiped my eyes, he asked, "Shall I tell the padre he can start the service now?" All I could do was nod, and Angel said to Father Rodriguez, "We'll sit down now and you can begin." The service was brief, with Angel whispering a kind of synopsis in my ear, telling me that the priest was basically offering us both comfort in our understandable sorrow and the hope of seeing Mom again at the Resurrection. When he said, "Let us pray," he came from behind the podium and handed Angel's rosary to me. I looked first at it, then at Angel--Father Rodriguez must have gotten it from the funeral director along with Mom's other things and thought it should come to me. Angel closed his hand over mine and whispered, "It's ours now, you pray it with the padre!" We all made the sign of the cross and I struggled to remember the Spanish prayers. Angel leaned close with his arm around my shoulders, whispering them in my ear. I was fine until we got to the part about "Pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our death," then I broke down again. Father Rodriguez came to pat me on the back and offer a blessing, then left the room. Angel cradled me and rocked back and forth for several minutes until I regained a little of my composure, then he asked, "Should I go tell the funeral director it's time to take the casket out?" He was trying to spare my feelings by the way he put it, but I still continued to sob. I turned away to wipe my face and nodded. Angel left me sitting there and went out to get the funeral director. I also heard him speaking in Spanish briefly with Father Rodriguez.

While the casket was being moved, Angel led me out the door, into the lobby and then out into the blinding sunshine. It didn't seem like very long until the funeral director was at the door motioning us to come back inside. We stood in the lobby again while he went into another room, returning shortly with a brass container. I began to feel faint at the sight of it, and Angel grabbed me with one arm and the urn in the crook of the other. He thanked the funeral director quickly and hurried me back out the door.

We said little on the entire long drive to San Diego. Once there, we parked the motorhome at the beach and each of us in turn went into the bathroom to change. I went first, pulling on my plain black maillot and deciding I couldn't let Angel see me without the yellow terrycloth coverup I had brought. When it was Angel's turn, I sat in the dinette shaking--not from cold, but from a combination of the emotional traumas of this morning and the incongruity of now anticipating Angel's appearance in his trunks. I once again felt pangs of guilt like I had shortly after Mom died, when I had been watching Angel change his clothes. Of course, this time I wasn't watching, but the feelings were the same.

"Al-lo!" the now-familiar phony Mexican accent rang out. I looked up from staring at my hands folded on the table to see Angel standing in the bathroom doorway, shirtless and wearing a very short pair of cut-off jeans. I couldn't decide whether or not to be disappointed he wasn't wearing trunks. The picture was a wildly attractive one in any case, what with the smooth, well-muscled bare arms, chest and stomach that presented themselves--not to mention the lean, shapely yet unmistakeably masculine legs with their fine, curly dark hair. I couldn't help myself, I had to say it-- "Loooking goood!" Throwing his head back, Angel roared with laughter, then abruptly fixed a steady gaze on me. "Stand up, mi vida!" His tone was demanding, but he was grinning. Crossing to me as I complied, Angel reached down for the hem of my coverup. Without thinking, I lifted my arms as he straightened up, letting him pull the robe over my head. Dropping the coverup on the table, Angel took a step back and whistled softly. I felt too foolish for words, but he managed to find some: "Also loooking goood!" We both laughed for a minute, then Angel went to the closet and pulled out an off-white cotton shirt, buttoning two buttons near his waist and rolling the sleeves back to his elbows. Taking the sandwiches out of the refrigerator, along with a six-pack of beer for himself and some soda for me, he put everything in his cooler. He also took a bag of chips from the pantry and handed it to me. It was mid-afternoon before we finally set foot on the beach.

We found a secluded spot and spread out the blanket. The sandwiches, two beers and two sodas were quickly gone, along with most of the bag of chips. Being so fair-skinned, I was worried about not putting on sunscreen right away, but when we were finished eating, Angel was more than willing to help me with it. With my back to him I pulled my straps halfway down and tried not to shiver from either the coldness of the lotion or the thrill of him stroking it on my skin. And he didn't stop there--next he came around in front of me and, taking one of my hands in both of his, massaged the sunscreen slowly from the tips of my fingers all the way up my arm, across my shoulder, neck, and chest to the other shoulder, down the other arm to my fingertips--every so often stopping to squeeze more lotion from the bottle. I started to thank him, but he was on his hands and knees crawling down toward my legs. Squeezing out more sunscreen, Angel started massaging at my ankles and worked his way up my legs even more slowly. By now I had goosebumps and was trembling so much I knew he had to have noticed. When he was finished, Angel gave me a quick kiss, put the lid back on the sunscreen, and scooted on his rear to the duffel bag to put it away. "Don't you want me to do yours?" I was much more disappointed now than about the trunks.

"Nah, I don't burn, I'm so dark already!" Angel smiled and started to take off his shirt. I reached over to help him get out of the sleeves. He raised his bared arms and stretched. "But you can rub these kinks out of my neck!" I knelt behind him, slid my hands up under his long hair and did the best I could to help rather than hurt him, not knowing the first thing about massage. Angel rolled his head from side to side and moaned, "Mmmm, that feels great!" As he did this, the crown of his head kept brushing against my bare chest; the softness of his hair was almost unbearable. I inched closer so he could no longer move his head but had to just rest it there. Angel took my hands from his neck and leaned his full weight back into me, letting my arms fall gently over his chest. I stroked him lightly everywhere I could reach from my position, and every so often Angel turned his head with his rosy lips puckered for a kiss. We sat like that for a long time before he said, "This is nice--we should do this every week after we're married!"

Angel started as if he had just remembered something, turning to face me. "Listen, querida, I managed to have a few words to Father Rodriguez about the wedding." Oh, so that was what they had been talking about. "He said he would clear time on his schedule for it anytime we want." After some discussion, we decided to wait until I was completely free of the obligations of work, in about three weeks.

By now the breeze was chilly, so we went back to the motorhome to put on jeans and jackets and get a second blanket. Then we returned to the first blanket and laid down on our stomachs side by side to watch the sun set. When it had sunk almost entirely into the ocean, I got the urn from the cab of the motorhome and poured it out into the oncoming tide. Angel came and took my hands and we said a prayer, then laid back down on the blanket until the darkness was complete, wrapped up in each other's arms until we fell asleep. I woke with a chill to the sight of Angel sitting beside me, hugging his knees and watching me with a look of sheer happiness on his face, turned coppery by the moonlight. When he saw I was awake, he laid back down next to me and took me in his arms again. We fought sleep by rubbing each other's backs, kissing, and caressing each other's faces and hair, but soon the little alertness and warmth we could muster in those ways was not enough to fight off tiredness or cold, and we decided to go back to my apartment.

"Here, you drive," Angel tossed me the keys. "I've had too much to drink." I admired his willingness to admit this, but had to admit to him that I had never driven anything so big. "It's nothing!" he assured me. "No different than a car, really!" I also had to admire his confidence in me, but it turned out to be hugely misplaced. I must have been lulled to sleep by the monotony of the drive, because the next thing I knew I jolted to attention realizing that the motorhome was out of control. I looked at Angel, his face a horrified and horrible mask as I sharply turned the wheel in a futile attempt to get all four wheels back onto the highway. It was no use--the front half of the motorhome was on the shoulder, listing toward the passenger side. As I watched--seemingly from outside myself--my frozen hands jerked the wheel again, trying to spare Angel the worst of the impact with a looming bridge abutment. The left front tire finally jumped up onto the pavement, but this only made matters worse as the high, rough asphalt edge of the highway caused the tire to blow. I couldn't tell in my confusion whether I heard metal, Angel, or myself screaming; it was probably all three. Then there was nothing.

When I came to I had no idea which way was up, or where Angel was. My first thought was that he must be the more badly injured since the blown tire had made the motorhome swerve back toward the bridge. My efforts to lessen the severity of the accident had been in vain, and the love of my life could be dying or dead because of my ineptitude. I turned my head to my right, where Angel should have been--the pain in my neck was excruciating, but I had to find him and help him. He wasn't there.

In the silence--more terrifying than the sounds of the impact had been--I suddenly thought I heard Angel groaning. I looked again to the passenger seat and realized that in the all-encompassing darkness I had not noticed his black hair. By squinting, I at last managed to see that he was sitting on the floor with his back to me, head against the edge of the seat, his body wedged, knees to chest, between the seat and the dashboard which had been shoved back toward it. His seatbelt must have broken. Mine was still fastened, and I struggled to undo it and slide across the glass-covered, tilted van floor to his side. When I put my hand down to steady myself on the seat where Angel had been sitting, I felt something wet. Horrified, I jerked my hand back and hoped the wetness wasn't what I immediately thought it was. I felt around with my left hand for the glove box and found the flashlight Angel kept there. Under its small, intense beam I looked at my right hand and screamed--it was blood! I knew I shouldn't try to move Angel's head to find the wound, in case his spine was injured, and for the longest moment of my life I debated what I should do.

"Uhhhhhh....ay, Dios mio, mi cabeza!" Angel was conscious! Thank you, Lord! "Querida....are you alright?"

"I think so," I tried to keep my voice steady, but Angel sounded so weak, I was shaking with fear. "Don't try to move--you're bleeding from somewhere on your head!"

"Yeah, I feel it--it's on my forehead. Feels like some glass is stuck there!"

"Ooh, what am I gonna do?" I couldn't hold myself together any longer, not even to help Angel. I crumpled back down into the driver's seat and began to sob. Angel's voice broke through a little more strongly, "Dolly, please, you need to get help!" He seemed to be trying to get up. "No, Angel, don't!" I fairly screamed at him, I was so afraid he would be paralyzed. Next thing I knew, Angel was also nearly screaming, "Dolly, I can't get up--I can't feel my legs!"

Oh my God, I berated myself, I thought of him being paralyzed, and now he is! I tried to regain some measure of control so that I could get us help--I knew little about medicine beyond what I had learned in my job. But I had to help Angel get himself under control as well, so he could tell me how to operate the CB radio. I slid back over to the passenger seat and sat gingerly down on the bloodsoaked cushion so I could make physical contact and calm Angel down. I touched the crown of his head and could feel him shaking with silent tears.

"Shhh, mi vida," I whispered, rubbing his shoulders. I had never meant anything more in my life--if anything happened to Angel, my own life would be over. "Shhh...we'll be alright..." I didn't believe this for a second, of course. "Listen, you've got to tell me how to work the CB--I've never used one before. I'll try to get some trucker to call an ambulance for us or something." Angel didn't answer. Panic seized me--was he still alive? I ran my hand up from his shoulder to his neck and felt for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. I leaned down and spoke into his ear, "Angel, can you hear me? I need to call for help, but I don't know how to use the CB--please, wake up!"

Tears were streaming down my face and I ached all over, but I knew I had to do something quickly. I climbed back toward the driver's door and pulled up the lock. I tried the handle, but it was stuck. I realized that if I were going to get out I would probably have to climb over the dashboard and out the space where the windshield had been. I dreaded the thought, but I knew there was something much worse than making that climb. So I boosted myself up onto the dashboard and slid on my stomach out the opening. I held on to the top of the windshield frame to keep from sliding off the sharply angled hood, then leaned back in and said to Angel, "I'm gonna go try to flag down somebody driving by. You just sit still and wait for me." I had no idea if he heard me--there was no sound, no movement. I let go and slid off the hood, falling on my hands and knees to the gravel shoulder below.

I had to wonder if people would see me, since I was dressed in jeans and a dark green windbreaker over a black bathing suit. I tried to get into the living area to retrieve my yellow cover-up, but the side of the motorhome was too close to the bridge abutment for me to squeeze through. I berated myself again for not thinking of going in from the cab before I climbed out the windshield. Now there was no way for me to climb back up the hood and inside. Then it dawned on me that the windbreaker had a tan lining--maybe that would be light enough for passing motorists to see. I took off the jacket and turned it inside out and put it back on. It wasn't long before a semi truck pulled over and stopped. The driver called on his CB for an ambulance and relayed Angel's possible injuries as I described them. He remained parked on the shoulder behind us until we heard the wail of the ambulance siren. He brought a crowbar and broke out the picture window over the dinette, then he was gone.

The paramedics helped each other get through the picture window opening and picked their way carefully up to the cab. "Please, can you pull me up?" I begged, " I want to be with him!" The female EMT came back to the window and shook her head. "I understand you want to be with your husband, but we need room to work," she replied. "He's not my husband--not yet anyway!" I held up my left hand to show her the ring. She smiled briefly and called to her companion, a burly man, "Hey Chuck, can you help the patient's fiancee get through the window, please?" He pulled me up and sat me on the tilted dinette seat and ordered, "You stay put, OK?" I nodded weakly and they went back to working on Angel, talking so that I couldn't hear over the roar of passing vehicles. There appeared to be no sound from Angel when they spoke to him, so I guessed he was still unconscious. "He said he couldn't feel his legs!" I yelled to them. At this the female paramedic hurried past me out the window and returned carrying a board with straps, which she asked me to grab as she climbed back in. In the meantime the male EMT was trying to gently extricate Angel from between the seat and the crushed dashboard. He managed to get him into a lying down position under the dash, as the female EMT laid the board in the aisle between the seats. Together they manuevered Angel until he was lying on the board, then strapped down his head and legs. As they did this I thought I heard him moaning.

I got up and started to go to him, but the female EMT stopped me. "You need to go back to the window and help us get him out," she told me. The male paramedic went out the window first as the female EMT and I held the board. I was at Angel's head; there was blood all across his forehead and down the right side of his face from cuts made by embedded glass, and many other scratches on his cheeks. The waves of his lovely hair were curled by dried blood, made shiny by glass. His nose looked as if were truly broken now, his eyelids bruised. I longed to be able to clean his wounds and get the glittering fragments out of them, to wash his face and hair and restore them to their usual beauty. "Hand him down to me!" the male EMT was fairly shouting, jolting me back to reality. The female EMT and I slid the board across the dinette table and she climbed after it. After the paramedics headed for the ambulance, I jumped out the picture window opening and followed them. They checked me over in the ambulance and decided I could ride sitting up. I asked to be allowed to sit beside Angel on the gurney and they allowed it. I took his hand in both of mine as my eyes travelled all the way down his body--there was glass all over his clothes and they were torn in several places by it. His black dress boots were covered also, uppers and soles, and on the places where they had been scuffed I noticed what looked like blood. I leaned into the cab and told the paramedics about it Once the ambulance was underway, the female EMT came back to check on Angel, monitoring his blood pressure, breathing, and whether his eyes reacted when she shined a small flashlight into them. As she pushed back his sleeve and inserted an IV, she told me all those signs looked positive, but then she took a large pair of scissors and cut away his jeans from the hems up. I stifled a scream--Angel lower legs were mangled and bloody. I began to sob, and the tears ran onto Angel's face, leaving streaks in the dried blood. He stirred and opened his eyes. "Dolly, what's wrong? What's happened?"

"We had an accident, love," I lifted my right hand from his and wiped my face. "I was driving because you said you'd had too much beer, and I fell asleep!" As I said this I began to sob again. "I'm so sorry!" Angel tried to lift his hand to touch my face, but his left arm was strapped to a board to keep the IV in place. "Please don't, querida!" His eyes filled with tears also and he turned away weakly. I now saw more clearly how bloody his face was. "Excuse me, ma'am," I called to the female paramedic, who was sitting in the cab again, "could I have something to wash this side of his face with?" She came back, smiling indulgently, and got me some gauze dampened with alcohol. "Just be careful not to touch anyplace where there's glass," she warned, "friction there would really hurt him!" I dabbed carefully at his right cheek until all the blood was gone; I hated to have to leave it all over his forehead, but I thought to myself that I had already hurt him more than enough. "Please," I whispered, "forgive me!"

"There's nothing to forgive--we were both tired, and I was maybe drunk." Angel looked at me again, trying to reach for my cheek with his right hand this time, but his arm just fell back onto the gurney. I was terrified at how weak he was. "It could have happened no matter which of us was driving." He sighed and closed his eyes, seeming to lose consciousness again. I threw the bloody gauze in the trash bin on the wall and took his hand in both of mine again, holding on for both our lives all the way to the hospital. When we arrived, the male EMT hustled Angel inside and the female helped me down. Then she put a hand on my chest to stop me from following. "You stay in the waiting room!" she called over her shoulder as she ran to keep the automatic double doors open. I followed numbly and went the opposite way from where they were taking Angel. Flopping into a chair in the waiting area, I put my head in my hands and sobbed, not caring that the room was packed with other patients and their families.

It seemed hours later when a nurse came out and called, "Family of Isaiah Furst?" I bounded up from the chair and fairly ran to her--the fact that she had his name must mean that Angel had been conscious! "How is he?" I almost shouted. She motioned for me to sit down with her, then explained, "He regained consciousness as we were examining him, but he is very weak from loss of blood. We removed the glass from his forehead and stitched up the cuts. He should be in surgery by now." Surgery? I felt a wave of panic. "Why surgery?" I managed to choke back tears. "Both his lower legs were severely damaged," the nurse continued, "it will require several metal pins to repair each one, and he'll be in casts for about two months. He'll probably need to use a wheelchair for a few weeks after the casts come off because his legs will be too weak to bear his weight." Wheelchair? He was too independent for that! "How long?"

"That will depend on how closely he follows the rehabilitation plan the surgeon will recommend." She got up to go, but I stood up and grabbed her arm. "When will I be able to see him?" She smiled the same indulgent smile I had seen on the female paramedic. "It will be a few hours," she answered, "You could go home and get some rest--just leave a phone number at the desk." She hurried off and I sank back into a chair. No, I thought, I hadn't wanted to stay in my apartment alone after Mom died, and I certainly couldn't now. I headed for the elevator to go up to the surgical floor, hoping there would be couches in the waiting area.

"Mrs. Furst? Mrs. Furst?" I was being shaken awake. Rubbing my eyes I sat up and answered reflexively, "I'm not Mrs. Furst--we're not married...yet." The nurse smiled and sat down next to me. "What's your name, honey?" I stretched and fought to wake fully. "Dolores...Dolores Brezinski." It finally dawned on me where I was and why. "How is Ang...Isaiah?" Her smile faded, "It was difficult; there was a lot of damage to his legs, and his blood pressure was unstable because he'd lost so much blood," She paused for what seemed forever, then smiled again and continued, "but he came through the surgery just fine--he's a strong young man!" I smiled, remembering how tightly he had held me when I needed him. Now he was going to need all my strength, which at the moment felt like very little. "When can I see him?" I asked as the nurse was walking away. She returned to me and replied, "He's just gone into recovery. Someone will let you know when he wakes up." How long would that be? I looked out the window--it was fully daylight. Seeing this made me realize I was starving. "What time is it?" I yawned. "Almost eight o'clock," the nurse answered. I went downstairs to the cafeteria and got some breakfast.

On the way back upstairs I passed the hospital gift shop. I remembered wanting to get Angel and me matching crucifixes and figured this was a good time--we would need them now more than ever. So I went in and browsed the selection of jewelry. There were two exactly alike and I asked the clerk to take them out of the case. As I reached into my windbreaker's pocket for my wallet, I realized I was wearing only my bathing suit and jeans under it. So I asked the clerk to hold the necklaces for me while I looked around. All I could find were mock scrub shirts with the hospital's name on them. I wasn't so sure I would want to have such a reminder of this experience, but I had no choice, so I found one in my size and gave it also to the clerk. Then another thought occurred to me--Angel wouldn't have a robe unless I went home and got his. I couldn't do that until it was later in the morning and I could call one of my co-workers to come and get me. Besides, Angel's robe was obviously several years old; I decided to get him a new one. On the rack of men's robes I found a beautiful deep blue velour one that looked long enough. As I laid it on the counter, the clerk said, "Is this it, then?" I chuckled and nodded, handing her my credit card and waiting impatiently while she rang me up. When everything was bagged and ready, I headed for the nearest ladies' room to put on my shirt and crucifix. While I was still in there trying to make my flattened hair fluff up without a brush, I heard an announcement over the PA system: "Dolores Brezinski, please report to the surgical recovery area." Angel was awake! I got into the elevator trembling so hard that the bag was rattling, afraid of what I would find.

The recovery room was windowless and dim. There were four beds in it, but only Angel and one other patient. I was in conflict with myself--half wanting to run to him and hold him, half terrified that if I even held his hand I would be killing him. I compromised by walking quickly but not touching him at all once I got to his side. I wondered why he was still asleep because the nurse had said they wouldn't call me until he woke up. A nurse was at the bedside of the other patient, and when she was finished there I called her over. "Why did you call me? He's not awake yet." She seemed to hesitate to answer, which caused panic to rise within me again. "Your husband had a crisis and lost consciousness again," the nurse finally replied. I ignored her identifying him as my spouse and went straight to the end of her comment. "What happened?!" I almost shrieked. "His blood pressure dropped again, and on further examination the surgeon has decided there may be some bleeding into the abdomen. He wants to do further surgery, but your husband isn't able to sign the consent this time." So they wanted me to take Angel's life into my hands one more time? "But he's not my husband...yet." I finally had to disabuse her of the idea. "It wouldn't be legal, would it?" She nodded, "Someone in the ER asked him who you were, and he mentioned you had your marriage license, so it should be fine." She went out and got a clipboard with a consent form and I signed it, my hand shaking badly I could barely read my own signature. Then she left us alone, and I had a better look at Angel's condition.

His hair was still matted and pulled back oddly from his forehead because of the bandage over the stitched up cuts. Both eyes were blackened and both cheeks covered with tiny scratches. All traces of blood were gone from his face now, and I could see that even with his dark complexion he looked terribly pale; his lips were almost grey. I moved closer and kissed Angel, as if to breathe my own life into him. It seemed to me his mustache twitched, but that had to be my imagination, didn't it? I watched in amazement as his long curly eyelashes fluttered and suddenly he was looking right at me. "Querida, where am I?" I leaned in to whisper my answer and took his hand in both of mine. "The hospital, mi vida. You had surgery on your legs and then something happened that told the doctor you might be bleeding in your belly, so I signed a paper to allow them to do more surgery." A faint smile crossed his lips, which somehow looked rosier now. "Thank you, Munequita!" He hadn't called me that since our first meeting; the sound made tears well up in my eyes but I was determined to be brave for Angel. I squeezed his hand and he tried to squeeze back, but I could tell he was too weak. I hoped they would be back soon to take him to surgery. Just as the thought formed itself in my mind, I saw through the window to the nurses' station that an orderly was coming with a gurney. Behind him was the nurse, who used a syringe to inject what she told us was a sedative into the IV tube in Angel's left arm. Then the orderly, the nurse and I together helped Angel onto the gurney. They were about to wheel him out when he raised his hand slightly and touched my arm. He tried to lift his head. "No, Angel, don't! Lie still." His head fell back with a thud and he turned to look at me. "Querida, what's that around your neck?"

I looked down--I had all but forgotten the crucifix I was wearing, let alone the matching one for Angel. I held mine out and leaned closer so he could see it. "Where's mine," he wanted to know, a smile playing on his lips again. I went to the chair by his bed and got the bag. As I rummaged into the bottom for the necklace box, the robe came slithering out onto the floor. I left it there as I got the crucifix out and held it up. Angel grinned and asked the nurse, "Can she put it on me? For luck? Please?" He was giving the nurse the sideways glance that always melted me. She smiled and nodded. I helped Angel lift his head and passed the chain around his neck, fastening it in the front as he laid back down. He took the cross between his long fingers and raised it to his lips. Then he closed his eyes and I saw his lips moving as he reached for my hand. We clung to each other and each said our own silent prayer until the nurse broke in, "We need to be going." I watched until they were out of sight, then bent to pick up the robe and lay it on the end of the bed. I returned to the couch where I had slept the night before, wishing I had Angel's rosary to pray with. That thought got me to wondering what would become of the motorhome and all of Angel's things. I had also figured a police officer would be questioning me about the accident, but none had come to the scene or to the hospital. I hoped I wouldn't be charged with anything--at the least I probably deserved "reckless operation." I tried to console myself that it was a good thing nobody was investigating; after all, I didn't need anything more than Angel's condition to worry about. I began to cry again, thinking how it was all my fault and that I did deserve some sort of punishment. "Please God, don't let that punishment be his death!" I pleaded, half out loud. I laid back down in a kind of fetal position, crying and praying until I fell asleep again.

I woke up on my own this time, stomach nagging me with hunger. Yawning and stretching I walked to the nurses' station and asked a nurse to call and check on the progress of Angel's surgery. She called into the operating room by phone and let me know that the nurse in attendance had said it would be at least another hour. She also indicated that things were going well. That was all the information she could give until the surgeon was finished. It would have to be enough--I had to go get something to eat so I could be strong for Angel. The cafeteria was almost deserted, and when I glanced up at the clock I realized why--it was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon--Angel had been in this second surgery for about four hours, and they weren't finished yet? I wished the surgical nurse had been able to tell me more! Even though I was hungry, my churning emotions made it nearly impossible to eat. I picked at my food and sat staring out the window until I heard my name on the PA again. I bolted from the cafeteria, leaving my dishes for the staff to clean up.

Back in the recovery area, I was kept waiting while the nurse checked Angel's "post-operative vital signs." When she came out she said nothing, but gestured that I could go in. Angel was awake, looking weaker than before. His bare chest and belly were bandaged, and over the bandages was a tight elastic band about eight inches wide. "What's this?" I touched it gingerly. "The nurse said that when they opened me up they found out that the cause of the bleeding was that a broken rib had punctured my liver. That's to hold the broken ribs in place." I could feel myself swaying with panic as Angel reached for my hand--his grip had no strength at all. "Ribs?" I queried, "how many?" He shrugged, wincing with the pain it caused. "They didn't tell me." I stood helplessly holding his hand and trying not to break down. "Why do you think they didn't catch it before?" I finally croaked. "Maybe because they were so busy trying to fix my legs," Angel replied, giving them a brief, anguished glance. For the first time I let myself take notice of the casts that were holding the shattered bones together from the outside; I tried not to think about the pins on the inside

Thank God, Angel was changing the subject: "Have you called Father Rodriguez?" The question snapped me to attention. "I hadn't even thought of it," I confessed, "He doesn't speak English anyway." Angel smiled in spite of everything. "Yeah, he speaks a little, and he would understand you if you told him what's happened--he gets that kind of call alot!" Angel tried to laugh, but it strangled in his throat and he began to cough. "Ay-yi!" he gasped, "that hurts!" I let go his hand and ran to the nurses' station. "He's in pain!" The nurse looked at me as if I were crazy and answered, "He's going to be--we're giving him medication on a regular basis, and he can't have anymore for awhile yet." I slunk back to the recovery room, embarrassed. Angel had seen the whole thing and this time was trying not to laugh. "Come give me a kiss for the pain, Florence Nightingale!" he ordered, grinning, though his voice was only a suggestion of its former romantic self. I gladly obliged, but was careful not to touch him. Even his lips seemed to have lost their vigor--the kiss was quick and dry. As I drew back I noticed that the crucifix was gone from Angel's neck. "Where's your necklace?" Angel felt for it, then replied, "I don't know. They must have had to take it off for surgery." I looked around and saw a bedside stand with a drawer on the other side of the bed. Going around the end of the bed, I went and opened it. There was a big white plastic bag inside, containing Angel's glass-covered clothes and boots; on top of them lay the crucifix. I gingerly plucked it out and put the bag back in the drawer. Then I returned to where I had been standing and leaned over to fasten the chain for Angel. As I was doing this I realized that I hadn't seen his Star of David since the accident. When I asked him about it, he answered, "I don't really care, querida--that's part of my old life now. You and this"--he touched the crucifix--"are my new life." We held hands and both shed a few tears, but this time they were happy ones.

"How about I go call the padre now?" I offered. Angel nodded and I went to find a phone.

I did the best I could to make Father Rodriguez understand what had happened, and also tried to ask him to provide Angel with a rosary since his was wherever the motorhome had been taken. The priest agreed and said he would be in to see us "soonly." He arrived about a half hour later, taking one of Angel's hands as I took the other and leading us in a prayer that Angel translated for me. Then he pulled a rosary of black plastic beads from his pocket and gave it to Angel, making the sign of the cross over it in blessing. "Muchas gracias, padre!" Angel said, but Father Rodriguez inclined his head toward me. "This was your idea, Dolly?" I nodded, and Angel lifted my hand to his lips, tears in his eyes. "I just wish it was your beautiful wooden one," I looked at the floor, fighting tears as well. Father Rodriguez leaned across Angel and pressed something into my other hand. He had brought a rosary for me as well, this one of rose-colored beads. "That's alright," Angel was consoling me, "I'll get it back soon, and we can save these for our children." I had to smile at the thought. We all said the rosary together; when we were finished Angel and and priest talked in Spanish for quite a while, smiling so often that my curiosity was aroused. At one point Angel lifted the crucifix from his chest and pointed to me. Father Rodriguez smiled at me, then blessed us both again and left.

"What were you and the padre talking about?" I had to know. "Oh, I think maybe I'll keep it a secret for now," Angel was grinning almost like his usual self. I started to pout, but thought better of it because of his condition--I needed to be as selfless as possible now. I sat in the chair and took the robe I had bought him off the end of the bed. "Do you like it?" Angel nodded, "It's beautiful--just what I'll need. Gracias, querida!" I stood up and draped it over his bare chest. "De nada, mi amor!" We sat in silence for a long time, Angel fingering the robe with one hand, the black rosary with the other. I just stared at the pink beads of my rosary and kept thinking about how Angel had said we would give these rosaries to our children . I began to fantasize about a perfect family--a boy named Isaiah Angel and a girl named Mary Louise for my mother, or more likely Maria Luisa. I was jolted from this reverie when Angel's dinner was brought in; it occurred to me that he hadn't eaten for at least twenty-four hours. I also noticed that I was getting hungry, so I asked, "Do you want me to help you, or would you mind if I go down and get some dinner myself?" Angel shook his head to both parts of my question, so I quickly kissed his hand and went to the elevator. When I came back from eating, Angel insisted that I go back to my apartment and really get some sleep. He told me to look in the hip pocket of his jeans for money to take a taxi home. The look in his eyes told me there was no protesting, and I figured he wanted the chance to rest without having to worry about me. So we kissed good-night--still weakly but openly this time--and I caught a cab back to my building.

The stillness in my apartment was almost frightening, so I took out the Ritchie Valens album we had danced to--was it only the night before?--and played it as loudly as I thought my neighbors would tolerate. I curled up on the couch and was asleep before the record was over. In the morning I got a bit dressed up to go visit Angel--sage green floral pants and matching T-shirt--and drove back to the hospital, arriving before seven. To my amazement Angel was sitting up in bed eating scrambled eggs. I realized I had been in such a hurry to see him that I had forgotten to eat breakfast. He offered me his toast and I ate it, drinking a few sips of the orange juice as well. When the orderly came to take the tray, a nurse was close behind saying it was time for a shave and a sponge bath. Angel grinned at me before jerking his thumb in my direction and asking, "Can she do it?". The nurse laughed and answered, "Well, maybe the shave, but I'll do the bath so we make sure your incision is kept dry, OK?" Angel pretended he was going to pout, then smiled. The nurse handed me the razor and laid a tray with a bowl of warm water, bar of soap, and washcloth on the over-bed table where breakfast had just been. I wet the soap and used my fingers to spread it gently on Angel's cheeks and chin. The cuts on them must have stung, because he bit his lower lip as if trying not to cry out. I told him, "I'm almost afraid to use the razor if the soap hurts that much!", but Angel smiled and replied, "Just watch out for the mustache! I'll be OK!" He managed to laugh without hurting himself, but stopped abruptly as I leaned in with the razor. When I was finished, I wet the washcloth and carefully wiped away the soap, then gave him a quick kiss on his newly smoothed cheek. Angel smiled and kissed the air in my direction.

The nurse, who had been waiting by the other side of the bed all this time, was also smiling as she took over to bathe Angel. As she stroked the washcloth over each lean, well-muscled arm while holding his hand in hers, I found myself having similar thoughts to those that I had had when watching him take Communion, followed by the same pang of guilt. He was lying in a hospital bed, for heaven's sake! You almost killed him, Dolores! I watched the rest of the bath trying to bring these conflicting feelings under control. Then the nurse was asking, "Would you like me to get you some shampoo?" Angel asked, "Who gets to wash my hair?" The nurse smiled more broadly, "Your wife can do it if you like!" Angel and I both sighed and said almost in unison, "We're not married...yet!" As this all three of us burst out laughing, and the nurse was still chuckling as she went to get the shampoo. She had to help me with the actual washing, since I had never done this for somebody who was lying in bed, although I had often washed Mom's hair in the sink in our kitchen when she was especially depressed. I fought back tears for her and for the damage to Angel's face and body, even while feeling a greater attraction to him in his vulnerability as I held his wet, glossy hair in my hands and gently massaged his head. He looked upside down into my eyes and whispered, "Please don't cry, querida--I will heal!"

Soon after this the orthopedic surgeon who had fixed his legs came to talk to us about how Angel's recovery should progress. He first relayed the other surgeon's opinion that the abdominal surgery would keep him in the hospital for about two weeks. And as the nurse the day before had told me, he explained to Angel that the casts would have to remain in place for about two months, after which he would need a wheelchair and two more months of physical therapy to strengthen them. This sounded bad enough, but then the surgeon finished, "Of course, Mr. Furst will have to undergo all his therapy in an inpatient rehabilitation center." I almost gasped as the implication of his words hit me--we would be apart, not just for the first time, but for four months! After the doctor left, I hesitated to bring this up to Angel--after all, he would have enough to worry about without me being selfish. But Angel broke the heavy silence between us by asking, "Will you be alright while I'm away?" I just couldn't believe Angel was that concerned for me in the face of what lay ahead of him. I came over to him and hugged him as best I could without hurting him. He rubbed my back and kissed my cheek, whispering, "You'll come to see me every day, right?" I moved away and tried to smile, "What a silly question!"

Angel was sufficiently recovered to be moved to the rehabilitation center a little over two weeks later. Until the casts came off his legs, his therapy would consistent of weight training to strengthen his upper body for using a wheelchair and later crutches. Once again I rode beside him in the ambulance, but this time we were smiling, joking, and kissing during the entire trip. The rehabilitation center wasn't far, and an orderly was waiting at the curb with a wheelchair. He helped Angel into it and let me wheel him into the building to Angel's room. It was cheerful enough, though still clinical: the hospital-type bed was covered with a tan and brown plaid bedspread and in front of a picture window overlooking a garden there was a dark brown velour-covered recliner in one corner, a small dining table with two chairs in the other. "Ay, I'd love to get out of this thing already!" Angel exclaimed, "Can you help me into that recliner?" I wheeled him over to it, and the orderly helped me get him settled. Angel was too weak to push the chair back, so we lent our weight to that effort. Then the orderly left Angel and me. I pulled a dining chair over and sat beside Angel holding his hand and silently thanking God that he'd made it this far.

Later, the trainer who would be helping Angel with his workouts came to take us to the weight room. I wheeled Angel and listened as the trainer explained all the equipment When he finished and asked if he had any questions, Angel grinned and pointed at me, asking, "Can she come watch?" I could feel myself blushing, but the trainer just smiled and said, "Sure!" So I came every day and quickly found that the sight of Angel's bare chest glistening with sweat, his arms becoming visibly more muscular nearly by the minute, was almost more difficult to bear than the long scar on that chest or the now-familiar white plaster monsters--only for different reasons. I began thinking constantly about the day it would be possible for us to get married and relieve all this tension. But Angel never mentioned if he was feeling it, nor whether he even still wanted marriage. In fact, he seemed completely preoccupied with himself and his therapy--and with getting the medication that would stop the pain it caused. Over the first few weeks he was in the center, he kissed and touched me less often, and eventually didn't want me to be in the weight room at all. I would sit outside and listen to him grunting and swearing, sometimes begging his trainer for more pain medication long before it was scheduled. Finally I worked up enough nerve to speak to his doctor about it.

"He just isn't himself these days--I think it's the medication," I ventured first thing one morning. The doctor seemed unconcerned, saying, "He's going through a very difficult time. What Isaiah needs is your support." I nearly lost my composure at this. "Support?! I've been here every day, taking leave of absence from my job, sitting in the weight room--until Ang...Isaiah kicked me out! That is NOT like him. I know something's wrong!" The doctor brushed me off with, "I'll instruct the staff to make very sure Isaiah is not given any more than the prescribed amount of painkiller." Then he was gone, and I headed to Angel's room, ready to confront him as well. I found him sitting by the picture window of his room in his wheelchair. He didn't see me at first, and I was startled as I studied his face. His eyes seemed sunken, his bronze skin ashen and stretched tight over the bones beneath. Even his glorious hair (which now hung well past his shoulders because he was usually too tired after his workouts to sit for a haircut) appeared to have lost its luster. I crossed the room with tears in my eyes and knelt beside him. Putting my hand over his, I whispered, "Angel? You in there?" He didn't look at me. "Yeah, of course I am," he fairly snapped. I stood up and lifted his chin. He still didn't look at me. "What's the matter these days, querido?" Now Angel raised his eyes, and there was anger in them. "What do you think's the matter," he was almost yelling, "Look at me!" I let go of his chin. "I am," I answered quietly,"and do you know what I see?" Angel turned away, but I continued, "I see a man who means more to me than anything in this world--a man I want to marry and live with forever--turning himself into a reclusive monster!"

I immediately regretted the vehemence of my words, but when Angel turned to face me again, he was crying. He reached for my hand for the first time in weeks and squeezed. I knelt back down beside him and took his head in my hands. His hair was like straw, but I stroked it and kissed it, then lifted his face so I could kiss his lips. "I'm so sorry, Munequita," he said as he broke away, too soon, "I've just been in so many different kinds of pain! My body isn't my own anymore!" I stroked his shoulders covered in the blue robe I had given him, feeling the new hardness his workouts had given them. Touching him increased the desire behind what I said next, in an effort to break the tension: "That's my biggest problem--I want to be able to take your body and make it mine!" Angel looked aghast, then began to laugh like his old self, head thrown back, mouth wide open. I laughed too, but all my concerns had not been answered, so I stopped and went on, "Are we still going to get married?" The surprise returned to Angel's face as he responded, "What? Of course we are! I just wanted to wait until I was able to walk down the aisle!" Now it was my turn to be surprised. "Oh, Angel," I answered, cupping his cheek, "that doesn't matter to me, as long as I get to be your wife!" But what really did matter to me was still unspoken, so I took a deep breath and plowed ahead with the most difficult part of the discussion. "There is one thing, though--I've noticed that your anger with your body and your distancing yourself from me have both seemed to get worse the longer you're on pain medication." An unfamiliar kind of expression now came over Angel's haggard face--a look of defensiveness and perhaps defiance, I couldn't be sure. "Are you saying I'm an addict?" His tone was a challenge. "I don't know--I'm not the doctor, but the doctor is no help, either." Angel was wheeling away from me. "Where are you going?" He shot me a look over his shoulder, "I need to think," he replied, "and I think better outside." I hurried after him. "Can I come with you?" Angel didn't stop or turn to face me, yelling back, "No! Just go--I'll call you when you can come back!" I leaned against the wall of the corridor for support and watched until he was out of sight. I next saw him through the wall of windows in front of me; he wheeled to a spot under a shade tree and just sat, arms folded, staring into the distance. From my vantage point I couldn't tell if he was crying, but I thought I saw his shoulders shaking. After a few minutes he noticed that I was still there and mouthed, "Go home!" Now I was the one crying as I went to my car and did just that.

The phone rang at dawn an agonizing week later. I bolted out of bed and ran to the kitchen pass-through to pick it up. It was Angel, sobbing, "Please, Dolly, don't be angry!" Even half-asleep I could hear the desperation in his voice. "I'm not angry, Angel, I'm scared," I replied as I rubbed my eyes and fought to wake up enough to have what I sensed was going to be an important conversation. I stretched the phone cord over to the couch and laid down as Angel continued, "I've been refusing medication all week--NOW they think I've got a problem." He chuckled grimly. I was horrified, "But querido, aren't you in pain?" I could hear him grunting as if shifting his weight. "Of course I am," he answered softly, "but my body doesn't hurt nearly as much as my heart!" We were both crying by this point. "Will you come over here right now?" I didn't think they would let me in, and told Angel as much. "Please? Please, mi vida? And dress up for me, OK? Remember, blue is my favorite color!" When he put it that way, I had to say yes. So we said our "I love you's" and I hung up to put on my one blue dress and drive to the rehabilitation center.

When I arrived, I found the front doors locked but an orderly waiting to open them for me. Father Rodriguez was in the lobby. In his limited English he explained that Angel had called him first. We walked together to Angel's room. He was sitting in his wheelchair with all the curtains still drawn. "Why's the padre here, Angel?" He wheeled around to face me, and I saw that he was grinning, wearing a shirt and tie with his gym shorts and bathrobe. Not only that, but he was holding his wooden rosary, with the Spanish Bible on his lap. "What...how...?" I sputtered. Angel and the priest both laughed. "I've been making arrangements almost since...." he broke off; I knew when he meant, but he concluded, "...after I had a long talk with the doctor!" He held up the rosary and the Bible, "And it just so happened that my things from the motorhome arrived yesterday!" I knelt beside Angel and we kissed, long and deep. "Now, what arrangements were you talking about?" I asked. Angel winked, "Wedding arrangements, silly!" I threw my arms around his neck and cried for joy. Angel extricated himself from me after a minute, laughing, and nodded almost imperceptibly to Father Rodriguez, who then opened the curtains. The table in front of the window was set up like an altar, with a cross and two candles, and even a vase of white roses and stephanotis. On one corner was a bouquet of the same flowers meant for me and a boutonniere for Angel. On the other corner were two small black velvet boxes. I walked over and opened one. It was a wide gold wedding band. Angel broke into my racing thoughts, saying, "Dolly, if you'll go and get the orderly and the nurse, we can get started!" I fairly ran down the hall and asked them to come to Angel's room. They were to be our witnesses. I pinned Angel's boutonniere to his robe and picked up my bouquet.

The ceremony itself was very brief, but that didn't matter to me at all--I was just grateful to God that Angel and I were married now. When I crouched down to kiss Angel at the close of the service I nearly lost my balance, we spent so long at it--fingers in each other's hair and tongues exploring each other's mouths more deeply than ever before. By the time I stood up, Father Rodriguez and the witnesses had slipped away. Angel and I looked at each other and burst out laughing, then he wheeled over to close the door and locked it. Of course, there was no question of a honeymoon right then--Angel still had weeks of inpatient therapy ahead of him, and the casts weren't scheduled to be removed from his legs for another week. But there was a bottle of champagne, so after I poured us each a glass (actually a plastic hospital cup), I helped Angel into the recliner and settled gingerly into his lap. We drank until we were both tipsy, kissing in between sips with our tongues tasting of champagne, and when we had had enough to drink we just kept kissing and fondling each other. Because we had both gotten up so early and had so much to drink, we soon fell asleep. I woke with a start a while later, and was terrified to realize that it was because Angel wasn't breathing!

I screamed for help, but had difficulty getting myself out from under Angel's arm and over the side of the fully reclined chair. I was straightening my dress when the orderly pounded on the locked door. I hurried to open it for him and the nurse who followed. They worked on Angel for several agonizing minutes, performing CPR and evaluating his vital signs. The orderly continued mouth to mouth resuscitation while the nurse came over to where I stood, crying and fingering Angel's rosary, terror making me unable to actually pray. "What happened?" she was asking. "We fell asleep and when I woke up I could tell he wasn't breathing!" I fairly shouted; what did she think had happened? It was then that the nurse spied the champagne bottle on the floor beside the chair. "How much did he have to drink?" I shrugged, "I'm not sure--not enough to be very drunk." The nurse shook her head, "It doesn't matter how little it was, when someone's on the medication he's on!" I gasped, "What are you talking about? He called me this morning and told me he hadn't had any since the last time I was here--that's at least a week ago!" The nurse looked shocked, "But I gave it to him myself when he woke up today!" she insisted. I felt panic rising in my throat as I tried to think of a good explanation. "Maybe he just took some today so he wouldn't be in pain during the wedding!" I ventured. The nurse shook her head, "No, his chart says he's been getting medication on the same schedule as he has since he first came here." She held it out for me to see. I couldn't believe it--the doctor had noted in the chart that Angel was not to be given any more than prescribed, as he had said he would, but the medication schedule did indicate that it had never been stopped. Angel had lied to me!

I heard a retching noise coming from the direction of the recliner. Angel was still alive, and rid of the combination of champagne and medication. The orderly headed out the door and returned with a mop to clean up the mess. While he was doing that, I went into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in cold water to wipe Angel's face. I sat down on the arm of the chair after the orderly and nurse had left, but as I reached to place the wet cloth against Angel's lips, he grabbed my wrist with one hand and took the washcloth from me with the other. "I think you better go now," he said as his wiped his mouth without looking at me, "you're probably the one who needs time to think now." I got off the chair and bent down, pulling the lever on the side so I could put down the footrest and stand in front of Angel. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to look as angry as possible (though I felt mostly sad) as I said, "Why did you lie to me?"

Angel hung his head, his overly-long, unkempt hair obscuring his face. I could tell he was crying by the way he shook. "I'm so sorry, Dolly," he sobbed through his fingers, "I just didn't want you to worry so much anymore! I really meant to stop taking them, but the pain has just been so bad..." I took his frail-looking hands away from his face and held them gently as I choked back tears and crouched to look into his eyes, "Querido, what worries me isn't the pain you've been in--I know it's bad, but it's to be expected after what you've been through. No, what I'm terrified of is what the medication is doing to you!" Angel looked at me for a long moment, his huge eyes made to look even bigger by their sunkenness and the light gone out of them. He nodded slowly, "Yeah, it scares me too, but I'm almost as scared of not being able to handle the pain by myself!" At this I began to cry again, "Oh, Angel, you're not by your-self," I held up my left hand with the wedding band he had placed there only hours before, "you have me, always!" Angel put his hands under my arms and drew me up onto his lap; I could feel his new strenghth. "Te deseo mucho!", he murmurred with his scarred forehead against my breasts. "I want to have you, to make love to you. I love you so much--I never meant to hurt you!" His voice rose and he seemed to be trembling as he looked up and finished, "And I just wish I were completely back to normal right now!" I tried to reassure him, "I love you, too, mi vida...and I want you! No matter how long it takes, that won't change!" I tousled his hair and kissed the top of his head as his lips brushed my dress and travelled up to the neckline to touch the bare skin of my chest. He kissed up to my neck and stopped right below my ear, where he began to suck gently. My head went back involuntarily with the pleasure coursing through me from this and from Angel's hand travelling slowly across my breasts, but after a while I lifted his chin to gently push his head away as the sucking became somewhat painful. "Oh, bebe, I'm sorry--did I hurt your neck?" I smiled, "Not really, I just don't want to walk past the front desk with a hickey!"

Angel laughed and let go of me, saying, "I really want to kiss you some more, but maybe I better brush my teeth first!" He did gently kiss my neck one more time as if to heal the hurt he had caused there, then let me stand up. "Can you help me into that thing?" he gestured to the wheelchair. I brought the chair over and did what I could to get him into it. Angel squeezed my hand and smiled like himself, then headed for the bathroom. When he returned, dabbing his mustache with a towel, he wheeled toward the door. "Speaking of the front desk, I think before we continue I better ask the nurse to call the doctor about stopping my medication for real this time! I want it taken care of while you're here, so you know it's been done!" He led me out to the front desk and the nurse called the doctor, who apparently asked to speak directly to Angel, because she handed him the receiver. From Angel's side of the conversation I could tell the doctor was trying to talk him out of it by pointing out how severe the pain could still be, but finally Angel told him through clenched teeth, "Listen, doc, this is what my wife and I both want!" I smiled to myself--that was the first time Angel had said "my wife"! The conversation wound up quickly after that, and Angel and I returned to the recliner in his room, doing what we could to give each other some of the pleasure a husband and wife usually share even though we were limited by the casts on his legs and how easily he tired. When our dinner arrived--institutional food as usual, but Angel had arranged for candles and flowers--we had to scramble to arrange our clothes and hair before unlocking the door, and after we ate we devoted ourselves to more of the same pleasures, this time on the bed. I slept beside Angel that night, waking several times to marvel at my beautiful husband as I watched his chest rise and fall with gentle breathing before lowering my head to kiss the scar there, then resting it once more on his newly-hardened shoulder. He never woke as I did this; I figured he was exhausted from all the love we had shown each other. I decided I would spent the next few nights in my apartment so Angel could keep up his strength.

A few days later it was time for the casts to come off. I sat on an examination table with my arms around Angel and his head on my shoulder, both of us cringing at the noise as the doctor used a hand-held circular saw kind of thing to cut them. When I saw the scars on Angel's beautiful legs for the first time, I tried to marshall all my self-control to keep from crying. I needn't have bothered, for when I looked at Angel, I saw his eyes glistening with tears as well. I could only imagine the pain he was in, not having had any more medication. I had always felt as though I needed to be strong for him, but never more so than now, as the doctor and the orderly stood on either side of Angel and I stood behind him, helping him stand for the first time in weeks. But he had no strength, and his knees buckled almost immediately. The three of us helped Angel back into his wheelchair, then the doctor and orderly left us alone. Angel was quiet, but tears were streaming down his cheeks. "Querida," he finally said, "are you sorry?" I had a feeling I knew what he was talking about, and found I was right as he continued, "That you married me before you knew how I'd end up?" I was shocked, "Angel, no! I promised to marry you, and the vows say 'for better or worse'. We're going through the 'worse' now, and I know things are only gonna get better! You're not finished getting your strength back--you have to have physical therapy for your legs yet."

I got a tissue and wiped the tears from Angel's face; the scratches on his cheeks had left no scars at all, and we had talked about him letting his hair stay the length it was now and allowing it to cover the ones on his forehead. As I noticed that the abundant waves were shiny again, I was absent-mindedly toying with them. Angel smiled up at me and asked, "Let me guess--you're getting turned on, aren't you? I can tell by that faraway look!" He was right, but I hedged, "Well, I was just thinking how much better your hair is looking, and how much more handsome you are with it this long!" I had barely finished speaking when Angel pulled me down into the wheelchair with him and kissed me. I involuntarily pulled back, remembering how it had occurred to me after our wedding night that we could get too focused on the physical too soon for Angel's good. We both knew we had to build a marriage that could survive without the more intimate aspects, in case his recovery took longer than we anticipated. But I felt that we should continue to confine ourselves to touching only while clothed--Angel was still too weak for consummation, and a lot of skin contact would tempt us too much. Now I struggled to decide how to approach the subject; I was afraid he would think I didn't want him--after all, hadn't he just asked if I was sorry I married him?--and nothing could be further from the truth! Maybe if I put my reaction just now in those terms Angel would understand. However, for some reason I just couldn't get the words out. Instead, I heard myself asking, "Would you like to go outside?"

Angel nodded, but in my guilt over not letting him go further, I thought I saw a brief flash of disappointment in his luminous brown eyes. He said little at first as I wheeled him around the garden. Then all of a sudden he seemed to be voicing his thoughts, "We're gonna need to get a new motorhome if we're gonna travel like we said. And we'll need a bed in the apartment--I don't know, double or king? But what I really need now that the casts are off is some pajamas!" In spite of myself, I laughed. "There's the Angel I know and love!" I exclaimed, "Restless, full of plans!" I leaned over the wheelchair and kissed Angel's forehead. Grinning, he tried to pull me around in front of him, "And horny!" he finished for me. "I noticed, babe!" I replied, laughing, "But I thought we should take it easy until you're strong enough for..." I couldn't even say it--making love just seemed so remote right now. "I know, bebe," Angel was saying, "but that doesn't mean we can't do anything, does it?" I came around to face him, "No, I suppose not--let's just not right now." He looked hurt, so I changed the subject, "Why don't we go shopping for that bed? And those pajamas?" Angel made an obvious effort to smile and answered, "OK, but let's try not to think about what they're for, shall we?" We went back to Angel's room first and I helped him into a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, still trying not to give in to the desire his body brought up in me. Then I helped Angel into my car and folded his wheelchair into the trunk.

We drove to the nearest mall singing along to a Bruce Springsteen tape. I hadn't heard Angel's sweet tenor in so long, I almost cried when he sang "I'm on Fire"--especially since I knew it really spoke of how he was feeling. We started shopping in a tall men's shop, because Angel said he had trouble finding pajamas with sleeves and pants long enough in a regular department store. We found a pair in pale blue broadcloth and I paid for them. Then we headed for a furniture store which specialized in bedrooms. All we knew was that we didn't want a king-sized bed because we were going to be desperate to cuddle. As to style, my apartment really didn't have one, so I said I would let Angel decide. He liked a massive, dark wood bedframe in a sort of Mediterranean motif, but when I rounded a corner and saw a delicate iron bed, I suddenly developed an opinion. As a result, we spent considerable time trying to find something that combined both. At last we did--it had both a headboard and footboard of heavy wooden posts framing ironwork shaped like vines on a lattice. We signed a contract for monthly payments and made arrangements to have it delivered just before Angel was scheduled to be released from rehabilitation. This store also sold mattresses, and I had a hard time talking Angel out of a waterbed, telling him it would make me seasick. We decided to put off buying linens for now, as Angel was beginning to tire and didn't care about that sort of thing anyway. "I'll let you handle that on your own," he told me, "As long as you promise not to buy anything floral!"

When we returned to the rehab center it was time for Angel's first workout to strengthen his legs. I hadn't been coming to watch him even though he told me I could again after our wedding, for the same reason I didn't want to spend so much time kissing now--the temptation. But I felt I needed to be there for him on this day, as moral support. I could see the pain Angel was in, his beautiful face contorted as the trainer led him through a series of bench press exercises, and I longed not only to take that pain away but to replace it with pleasure. So when the workout was over I took Angel back to his room and helped him into the bathtub. "I'd love to wash your hair for you," I offered. "I haven't done that since you were in the hospital. And maybe I could even scrub your back?" Angel looked surprised and pleased, "But I thought you said..." I cut his words short, "I know what I said, but after all, I am your wife, and you do need a little help, don't you?" His grin told the whole story as he handed me the bottle of shampoo. Before I started I stripped off my shirt--and not only so it wouldn't get wet. Angel leaned against the edge of the tub and I poured the shampoo into my hand. I massaged his head far longer than it would have taken just to get his hair clean; soon Angel's head fell back against my chest, and I washed his scarred but sweet face and his muscular neck as he lay there with his eyes closed and moaned. After I rinsed his hair and washed his back, Angel turned to face me, putting his wet hand on the back of my neck to pull me closer and kiss me, his tongue giving my lips no choice but to part and let it in. While we kissed, I managed to dip the washcloth in the water and run it over Angel's shoulders and arms, then more gently over his chest .I hesitated to go lower, but Angel took my hand and tried to guide it down. But I was truly beginning to get cold and figured he must be too, so I hurried to finish the bath, kissing Angel one last quick time before I helped him sit on the edge of the tub and dried him off.

I managed to get Angel back into the wheelchair and wheeled him over to the bed. When he was lying comfortably I brought him his underwear. As he was putting it on I unwrapped his new pajamas, then helped him get into them. "Should I brush your hair?" I asked when he was dressed. "Yes, please, and could you make it feel as good as when you washed it?" Angel sat up and I did my best to smooth the wet tangled waves without pulling them. Finally I leaned around in front of him and used my fingers to arrange the hair over the scars on his forehead. Angel put his arms around me and murmurred against my neck, "Thank you for taking such good care of me, Dolly!" I leaned away and looked into his eyes, "It's the least I can do after I caused you all this pain!" He shook his head, "I've told you, mi vida, this was not your fault!" Eyes welling up, he searched my face, settling his gaze on my lips as he had done that first day we met, gentle mouth slightly open and soft tongue showing. I moved closer and initiated the kiss, hoping he would be satisfied by feeling in it all the desire bubbling up inside me. Still kissing me deeply, Angel laid back against his pillow, pulling me down on top of him with the same motion. I rolled away almost immediately, still afraid of hurting him, and snuggled into the crook of his arm instead. He was soon asleep, and I lightly kissed his cheek and whispered, "Love you," before getting up and leaving for my lonely apartment.

The strength of Angel's legs was slow to return, and during his workouts he often begged to be put back on pain medication. "Dolly, tell the doctor I can't take this anymore!" he would demand through clenched teeth as he collapsed into my arms and I helped him into his wheelchair. Each time he said this I had to let the orderly take him to his room and go sit alone in the garden. There, through tears I saw once again the change that he had undergone the last time the drugs had taken hold--in fact, it occurred to me that perhaps he had already "told the doctor" himself and the doctor had given in. I was torn up inside trying to figure out how to confront Angel for a second time without becoming the focus of his returning anger. And I knew that speaking directly to the doctor was of no use; he had seemed to think that I wanted Angel to be in pain so that I could comfort him as a way of assuaging my guilt over the accident. My only hope was to try to speak to Father Rodriguez and get him to talk to Angel. I called the church and asked the secretary--who spoke fluent English, as it turned out--to arrange a meeting as soon as possible, and to be the interpreter. The morning the priest agreed to see me happened to be a week before Angel was due to be released from the rehab center. Our new bed had just been delivered the day before, and I had told Angel, "I can't wait until we can sleep together in it!", meaning of course in both senses of the phrase. He had said nothing. There was again a faraway look in his eyes that frightened me, and the pallor I remembered from his previous descent into dependency. It was all I could do to spend the day with Angel as if I suspected nothing and was not going to confer with his closest friend about it the next day. When I left, Angel turned his head away as I tried to kiss him. I could barely see to drive, I was crying so hard.

When I arrived at the church, the secretary let me in the locked front door and led me to the priest's office. With her interpretation, I told Father Rodriguez, "Angel has been having problems with the medication again. I'm afraid to try to talk to him this time--he seems much angrier now. And I know he wouldn't be taking the medication if the doctor wasn't giving it to him. But I talked to the doctor before, and he was no help!" Father Rodriguez agreed to speak to Angel alone. I took him back to the rehab center and waited in the hall as he went into Angel's room. I heard conversation in Spanish for several minutes, then suddenly Angel's voice rose, shouting, "Basta! Vayate! (Enough! Go!)". There was a crash as he evidently threw something and Father Rodriguez burst out the door and hurried down the hall. Angel came into the hallway on his crutches, going too fast for someone who had only just started using them. He didn't see me, and one of the crutches caught on my foot, sending him thudding to the floor. I screamed, and Father Rodriguez came running back to help me get Angel upright. When he had caught his breath, Angel shot each of us in turn a furious look and hobbled back into his room, slamming the door. I heard the lock turn, and the sound made me burst into tears. Father Rodriguez put his arms around me and held me until I had regained some of my composure. Then he pounded on the door and called out, "Abran! (open up!)". When there was no answer, I ran to the front desk and asked the orderly to bring the key. He let us in, and we found Angel lying on the bed, shaking. The pieces of his lunch plate lay in the corner, and the orderly went to clean them up as I sat down beside Angel and touched his face. It was sweaty, but I could tell from the smell of soap on him that he had recently had his bath.

He jerked away. "Querido?" I moved closer but didn't touch him--he still seemed to be shrinking from me. I sighed, and as I did so I raised my head and noticed that the bathroom door was closed. This was unusual, so I caught Father Rodriguez's eye and nodded my head in that direction. He walked over and opened the door, and out came a nurse who had been hiding in there--the same one who had placed the call to the doctor for Angel when he decided to refuse his medication. In her hand was a syringe that had obviously had something in it but was now empty. I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming at her or Angel. Father Rodriguez took the girl's arm and led her out, leaving me alone with my husband--who seemed to have betrayed me in at least one way, if not more. "What the hell has been going on?!" I didn't usually swear, but the situation seemed to warrant it. Angel uncurled himself and rolled over in my direction, but still didn't look at me. The silence was oppressive for what seemed like several minutes after I turned my back to him and sat with my arms folded, my entire body tensed to strike out if he said the wrong thing.

"Munequita?" Angel's voice was small, frightened, and he was using the name he knew was most likely to cause me to melt into his arms. But this time I wasn't going for it. I stayed still and waited to hear what would follow. "Bebe, please forgive me!" He put his hand on my arm, and I turned to see him with his head lifted up on his other hand, mustache glistening with sweat and eyes red-rimmed. "What am I supposed to forgive you for?" I cried, "I don't even know exactly what you've done!" Now Angel boosted himself up and swung his legs around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed beside me, but maintaining a distance in which a chill swirled between us. "I haven't slept with her, if that's what you think!" He looked positively indignant, as if he had any right to be. "I know my limitations right now." I reached for his left hand and held it in front of his face. "What about this?" I shrilled, running my fingers around his wedding ring. "I know," he replied, "I was referring to that, too!" He thought of being married to me as a limitation? I couldn't bring myself to address that right now--there was something much more important to be discussed. "What has she been giving you, and when did it start?"

Angel turned away and looked out the window as he answered, "It was morphine." I drew in a sharp breath, but Angel turned back to look in my eyes and stopped me from saying anything by putting his fingers on my lips. "This was the only time, I swear to God!" He looked at the floor and continued with obvious discomfort at the memories, "the doctor had told me that as the nerves in my legs regenerated, I would feel pain probably worse than any I had ever had in my life, not just since the accident, and that he would prescribe a small amount of morphine if I thought I couldn't deal with it." I had to wonder anew about the doctor's judgment, but said nothing. I took hold of the fingers covering my mouth and kissed them. I had to trust Angel as I always had--perhaps the pallor and the spacy behavior had been a result of the pain, perhaps not, but the love I felt for him would allow no other response. Besides, I told myself, once he was out of here I could make sure neither pain nor drugs ever hurt him again. "You'll be coming home soon," I voiced the thought to change the subject, trying to sound cheerful, "Did I tell you I slept in the new bed?" I knew I had already told him, but I could think of nothing else pleasant to talk about. Angel nodded, "I can't wait to be beside you in it!" he brightened, sounding more like himself, but it was obvious the morphine was kicking in and making him sleepy, so I took him by the shoulders and eased him down onto the bed. We laid there for a long time just holding each other, kissing lightly every so often. I must have succumbed to exhaustion from the day's stress and slept also, because the next thing I knew the orderly was knocking at the door with dinner for both of us.

We ate sleepily but still enveloped in tension, both unable to think of much to say. Finally, as if grasping desperately at the only thing he could think of to make all this up to me, Angel looked up from his plate with his languorous eyes pleading and said, "Dolly, I want us to have a real wedding as soon as I can stand up on my own!" I reached across the table for the hand he offered and replied, "Oh, querido, you know that doesn't matter to me--we're already married!" Angel smiled ruefully, "Yes, but I want you to have the things you've probably always dreamed of--the white dress, the candles, the flowers, the music, all that!" The pleading expression had hardened to one of insistence; I knew enough not to argue with it. "OK, love, if it will make you happy to give me that, I guess I'll let you!" We laughed for the first time in ages and finished our food with silly grins on our faces. No more words were necessary, and after we ate we spent the rest of the evening cuddling in the recliner. By the time I left that evening I had had time to decide, without consulting Angel, to ask the doctor to let him come home (how wonderful that sounded!) a few days early--I just wanted to get him away from the "any drug you want, anytime you want it" atmosphere of the rehab center. Of course I said nothing of that to the doctor, instead promising to buy Angel some ankle weights and see to it that he continued his workouts. So the next morning I called Angel and told him to start packing. "What? Is this your doing?" he sounded groggy but pleased. I was glad I had awakened him with this news, and hung up the phone with the same silly grin as at dinner the evening before.

After I was dressed it occurred to me that I hadn't checked in with my office since a few days after the accident, and now that Angel would be coming home I needed to think of our future. Even though Angel had his trust fund and investments his mother had made on his behalf, he had no insurance. Now that we were married I could make him beneficiary of my policy, but while I was on leave we would have to pay extra for it. So I decided to call and let my boss know that I would be coming back to work as soon as Angel was strong enough to be alone, but needed flexibility in my hours, and would be leaving for good after we had our wedding in the church. She was agreeable to all of this, and began to discuss setting up a severance package suited to the financial circumstances in which she apparently assumed Angel and I would find ourselves after I quit. I chose not to disabuse her of the assumption--any money I would receive was only what I deserved after working at Worldwide for almost ten years. As we were hanging up, my boss actually told me she was happy for me in my new marriage. I set out to bring Angel to his new home feeling a peacefulness I hadn't felt since lying in his arms in the motorhome in the first days of our relationship. When I arrived, Angel was sitting in the recliner in his room dressed in a red polo shirt and denim shorts, barefoot as he had been ever since the casts came off because the nerves in his feet were still too sensitive for shoes. But he had to wear something to get outside, so I had bought him a new pair of plastic beach sandals at a drugstore on my way to get him. I brought them over and knelt down to slip them on. Then I got his crutches and helped him out of the recliner. All this passed without either of us saying a word--somehow it still didn't seem necessary. We each knew the other was unswervingly in love and that if all we had already faced hadn't changed that, nothing ever would. Our smiles said all we needed to say.

On the drive home, Angel wanted to listen to "Dark Side of the Moon" by Pink Floyd. I guessed that he was feeling the same quiet assurance about everything that had settled into my soul, because this was dreamy music very different from the upbeat things we usually listened to together, and we were starting to live our dream now. I especially liked "Us and Them" for its hypnotic vocals. The comment it made on racial issues was not lost on me either--it had occurred to me that Angel and I might face such problems from some people because he was dark and I was not. I began to wonder if his parents had known much of that--he had said her family had disapproved, but what about the rest of the world? We would have plenty of time to discuss things of that sort while Angel's recuperation continued. I wasn't deluding myself that we knew everything there was to know about each other--we had been married for weeks now and still didn't know how it felt to make love! I tried to squash that thought by talking about returning to work as I helped Angel change into his pajamas and climb into our new bed once I had put away his things in my apartment--our apartment now! But just looking at him lying there made me want him so much, I had to leave the room on the pretext of fixing us some lunch. I brought Angel a tray with sandwiches, potato chips and one of the beers I had made sure to buy the day before. I ate a sandwich and drank a soda while sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. The silence was still sweet, but I longed to hear Angel's melodic voice, so I asked, "Are you comfortable?" He put down his sandwich and as he swallowed I could see how thin his neck had become, his Adam's apple looking too prominent. "Yes, very!" Angel smiled, "But there is something that would make me more comfortable." I asked, "What's that?" The smile became mischievous as Angel replied, "If I could rest my head right there." He touched the front of my shirt with his index finger, letting his eyes follow it from one breast to the other and back again as I shivered with delight. I set my plate on the nightstand, climbed across his legs--being careful not to bump them--and propped my pillow so I could sit up against the new headboard. Angel set his tray on the floor and turned himself to lie back on my chest. His eyes closed and he sighed as I tangled my fingers up in the hair covering his forehead and leaned down to kiss the scars there. I stroked his neck, shoulders, and chest under the pajama top; Angel laid his left arm full length along my bare left leg and with the tips of his elegant fingers worked his way up and down until I began to shiver again.

"Does that feel good?' he asked. "Yes, querido!" my voice was thick with the desire he was bringing to the surface. Angel lifted his head and turned to face me, "Besame--kiss me," he murmurred. I cradled his head and his other hand went up to the back of my neck as our lips met. He didn't linger there long, brushing his lips across my cheek and down my neck, all the while fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. I helped him until they were all undone, then slipped the shirt off without stopping him kissing my chest. Angel went to put his arms around me and I leaned forward so he could unhook my bra. His lips left my skin just long enough for him to sit back and watch me take the bra off, then he lowered his head again. It was ecstasy enough when the ends of Angel's luxuriously long hair brushed against my breast, but then his mouth was engulfing it and he was sucking like a ravenous baby. It seemed too soon that he let go and sat back again, big brown eyes full of longing as they held mine for a long moment. "How about that--does that feel good?" I couldn't speak, just nodding as I took hold of either side of Angel's head and pulled it down to the other breast. He chuckled against it before latching on with even more pleasurable force than he had used on the other, which he now caressed delicately. I laid there absolutely limp and trembling uncontrollably--I couldn't even bring my hands up to touch Angel's hair, I was so far gone. Finally I found at least a whisper of a voice to ask him, "You don't want to make me...?" I couldn't decide how to put it--I hated the word "climax", it sounded so clinical. Angel lifted his head, grinning. "Gee, is that all it would take?" He laughed heartily, his head going back as he shifted to lay it in my lap. He started to stroke where his mouth had just been, but the area was tender from the sucking, and I grabbed his wrist. "Ouch!" Angel sat up, leaned against his pillow and held out his arm, "Oooh, querida, I'm sorry!" He smiled again, more gently this time, "I didn't meant to hurt you!" I snuggled against him and felt him kiss my hair and lay his cheek on it. "It wasn't hurting, exactly," I assured him, looking up into his face, "just sensitive." I realized that as I was speaking, Angel was unbuttoning his pajama top. "Your turn!" he laughed, guiding my head toward his chest. I kissed all over it, even the scar, until he was moaning.

Suddenly Angel tapped my shoulder. "I hate to break the mood like this," he said, "but could you help me to the bathroom?" We laughed as I went to get his crutches and helped him stand with them. I walked alongside him as he hobbled into the bathroom, then shut the door for him. Grabbing my shirt off the bed I wandered out to the living room as I put it back on. I got out the Ritchie Valens album we had listened to our first night here--God, how long ago that seemed!--and laid down on the couch to wait for Angel. When he finally came out the song playing just happened to be "We Belong Together." Angel came over to the couch and sank down heavily as I sat up. "I'd ask you to dance, but, well..." he chuckled and gestured toward the crutches leaning on the arm of the couch. "I know," I replied, helping him prop his legs on the coffee table, then snuggling against him, "but you can still sing for me!" So Angel joined in just at the end of the short song, "You're mine and we belong together, yes we belong together for eternity." Then he kissed the top of my head and leaned his cheek against it. We sat quiet for a long time,.and now the silence began to bother me, especially since (as I had thought on the way home) there was still so much we needed to know about each other. I had no idea where to start, though, so I just said the first thing that came into my head--"Were you finished eating, or do you want me to go get your lunch?" Angel smiled, "No, that's OK, I was finished, but now that you mention it I would like another beer!" I got up and went to the refrigerator, making a mental note that Angel always drank two beers when given the chance. I sat and watched as he drank it, noticing how his full lips seemed to kiss the top of the bottle. He saw me looking at him and asked, "What--is it so fascinating to watch me drink a beer?" We laughed, and I answered, "It's not that, it's just that I was thinking of kissing you again, but I guess your lips are otherwise occupied?"

Angel drained the last of the beer and put the bottle on the coffee table before turning to me and taking me in his arms. He put his weight against me until I was pressed against the back of the couch and running out of breath, at the same time opening my mouth with his tongue--which tasted not entirely unpleasantly of beer. I decided then that if I were going to be married to a man who liked the stuff, I should try to get used to it, too. I had never cared for the kinds I had tried, but maybe the kind Angel drank, which was imported from Mexico, would suit me. When Angel broke away, I excused myself and went back to the refrigerator. "Hey, I didn't ask for another one!" he joked. "No, this one's mine!" I grinned and tried to open the bottle. I struggled for a while as Angel looked on, chuckling, then he finally offered to do it for me. "I didn't know you liked beer," he said as he handed me the opened bottle. "I usually don't," I replied, "but I figured anything from Mexico can't be all bad!" Angel was chuckling as I took a drink--too big of one, as it turned out, because I began to choke, which only made him laugh harder. I doubled over and continued to cough as Angel slapped me lightly on the back and roared. When I could talk again, I protested, "That was not funny!" Angel was nearly in tears as he said, "Oh yes it was! Some people are just not cut out to drink!" I leaned back against the couch and Angel held me and kissed my hair while I calmed down. "You don't have to try to keep up with me in anything," he reassured me. After a pause he chuckled again and continued, "That is, until we can...y'know..." he inclined his head in the direction of the bedroom. "Oh, don't you worry," I joked, "I'll be right there with you!" Angel laughed, "I certainly hope so!"

Between my ineptitude at drinking and that last little exchange, I was so embarrassed that I had to change the subject. I decided to use the idea of keeping up with him as the means to bring up what I had been thinking about earlier in the car. "There are alot of ways that I'm not up to speed with you, querido." Angel let go of me and leaned back to look at me. "Like how?" he asked. "Like about how you were treated growing up--did people look down on you because your mom was Mexican, or because your dad was Jewish, or both? Besides your mom's family, I mean." Angel stared out the window and thought about it for a long moment, then answered slowly, "Well, there's people like that everywhere, who don't like anybody who's different from them, y'know?" He looked back at me and I nodded. "So my life hasn't been any worse as far as that than anyone else's, I don't think." But it was worse in terms of your parents' relationship, I thought. "What did your dad do?" I came at the topic from the most neutral direction I could think of. "He owned a business that supplied parts for machines in factories." Angel looked out the window again, his face briefly contorted with what I thought was anger. "That's how he met my mom--she worked on the line in a shoe factory that he supplied. It's also why he wasn't around much--he would rather do the sales calls himself and let his partner run the business." He leaned back again and reached for me. We rested our heads against each other's and Angel continued, "I was supposed to go into the business, but I wasn't interested. The only personality trait I inherited from my dad was wanderlust, I guess. I knew all my life that I would never really settle down." I wondered if that was what Angel had meant when he implied that marriage was a "limitation" when I caught him having morphine injected. "Do you think I'll make it difficult for you to pursue your wanderlust?" I asked slowly. Angel sat up to face me. "No, not at all! You made it clear almost from the start that you wanted to travel with me, and once you quit your job, I have no doubt you always will!" He grinned with that mischievous twinkle in his eye and added, "Nope, wanderlust or any other kind of lust, I can tell you're game for it!" I giggled, a bit shocked in spite of myself. Angel kissed me quickly and reached for his crutches. I helped him up and walked him to the bedroom. He seemed groggy, so I tucked him into bed and went back out to the living room, closing the door quietly.

Angel had to return to the rehab center every day to try walking between the hip-level parallel bars. His knuckles went white and his lovely face contorted with the worst pain yet every time he made an attempt at putting his weight on a leg. He began refusing to allow me to watch, as he had...I could barely bring myself to finish the thought. That had been the first indication that the pain medication had taken over. But if he was taking pills again, where was he getting them? I had a flash of memory about the nurse who had given him the morphine shot--hadn't she also been the one to call the doctor when Angel had refused medication? But I had been standing right there, I saw her dial the phone, heard her speak to the doctor...or had I? I could not have known whether there was really anyone at the other end of the line. Had Angel given the nurse some sort of bribe to get her to pretend to make a call? I tried to tell myself this was crazy, that Angel was too honorable a person and loved me too much to do any such thing. But after two weeks of sitting outside the therapy room listening to the awful sounds of Angel's pain, I decided to confront him--even if he was secretly taking medication, it was obviously not doing him much good. It was only making an addict out of my beautiful, gentle husband.

I thought it was probably better if I first checked for the hidden pills. I hated to spy, and hated even worse making an excuse the next morning to put Angel in a cab for the rehab center and stay home. I pretended to have a headache bad enough to require more sleep. When Angel offered to massage my head and neck to relieve my pain, I felt like an idiot--Angel was still the same sweet, selfless man I had fallen in love with. But the thought intruded into my mind that maybe he was receiving pills or shots once he got to rehab center, and I might find nothing in our apartment. So I gave in and let him rub my head, intending to continue the pretense to the point of saying I felt much better afterward and wanted to go with him. Of course, I didn't even have a headache; I just wanted his touch, which had been very rare these last two weeks. I laid facedown on the bed and let Angel's long tapered fingers work their sensual magic all over my scalp and the back of my neck and shoulders. By the time he was done, I really needed to sleep more, I was so relaxed! But it was almost time to leave for the rehab center, and I was still in my pajamas. So I settled Angel in front of the morning TV news and went to get dressed. I wore a blue shirt because I knew it was his favorite color, leaving it unbuttoned as far as I dared--hoping this would make him more agreeable to my staying in the therapy room today. In addition, when I came into the living room I sneaked up behind the couch and put my arms around Angel's neck, leaning down to kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair (which was so long by now that from the back he looked almost like a woman). "I love you," I whispered in his ear. He didn't respond, seemingly engrossed in the news. So I climbed over the back of the couch and reclined across his lap, waving my hand in front of his eyes. Angel swatted my hand away. Now I was the closest to angry with him that I had been in a long time--I grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched off the TV. Then I got up and ran into the bedroom, remote still in hand, locking the door and beginning to rummage through that room and the bathroom for the pills. Angel's spacy behavior had me convinced they must be in there somewhere.

As I was going through his gym bag, I heard Angel's crutches clattering to the floor. "Dolly, help!" he yelled. They must have fallen out of his reach. Reflexively I ran to help him. His face was a mask of rage as he leaned down and reached as far as he could--I was right, the crutches were too far away. Instead of picking them up, though, I sat back on the couch beside Angel and took hold of his arms, turning him so he had to face me. "Querido, what's going on?" I let him decide for himself why I might be asking that. "What do you mean?" His face was blank; he seemed genuinely not to understand. I went toward the subject as slowly as possible. "I mean, it's like you're not here this morning!" Angel shook off my grip and turned away, looking out the window. "I'm here," he finally answered, "I just wish I wasn't!" What?! I fairly fell off the couch and knelt in front of Angel, reaching up to tilt his chin down so I could see his eyes. They was glistening with tears. "Why do you say that?" A tear slid down his cheek; he brushed it away with the back of his hand in an angry gesture. "I mean, the pain just keeps getting worse the closer I get to walking!" he exclaimed, "Am I gonna have to endure this or else spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair?" So maybe he wasn't taking any medication! The changes in his personality were the result of the pain, poor darling! Gently I asked, "Have you asked the doctor for some pain medication?" I didn't mean to encourage him to do so, really--I was just tiptoeing toward a subject again, trying to discover if I might have found some pills had Angel not dropped his crutches. There was anger in his eyes now as he looked down at me. "No, how could I? After what it almost did to me...to us?" Angel's eyes softened and he reached down to pull me up beside him. "No, Munequita," he continued, shaking his head until his hair bounced against my face, "for you and for my own stubborn pride I was determined to face the pain and get through it! I can while I have the crutches, but if I'm ever going to walk without them I might have to break down and take something!" By this time I was crying, too. Angel wanted to be brave not just for himself, but for me--and for me first! I put my hand on his cheek and turned his face so I could kiss him. His lips were dry, but I fixed that with my tongue. I usually didn't get much of a chance to use mine when we kissed--Angel was always the one opening my mouth--but this time it was my turn. He murmurred, "Mmmmm," as I probed deeper into his mouth, and my whole body vibrated with it. His arms went around me and he shifted around so his hard body was pressing against me. As he had done to my breasts, he began to suck on my tongue until it came close to being painful. I broke the kiss and asked, "There now, does that feel better?" My speech was thick because my tongue was nearly out of commission. Angel was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but he nodded enthusiastically. "Good," I smiled as I stood up and went to get his crutches, "because we gotta go!" After we got into my car I looked over at Angel and said softly, "Don't ever talk like that again--like you can't live through this! You're strong, and love only makes you stronger!" He shook his head, "Never again, I promise!" With all my heart I believed him, and this time I was sure I was justified.

That day was the last time Angel went to rehab. On the way home, we stopped at a medical equipment supplier the trainer recommended and purchased a set of the same type of parallel bars he had been using at the center, as well as the ankle weights I had told the doctor we would get for him. "From now on, you'll be my only nurse!" Angel laughed, "That way you can keep a close eye on me, and you'll know I'm not trying to sneak around and get drugs!" I played very dumb and shocked, "What makes you think I thought such a terrible thing of you?!" Angel threw his head back against the car's headrest and guffawed, "Are you kidding? The walls in that apartment are like paper, bebe! I could hear you trashing the bedroom, and why else would you be after seeing how out of it I was this morning? I was trying to come in there after you when the crutches went down." He reached for my hand on the steering wheel and put it to his lips before concluding with a grin, "Don't worry, Munequita, I just love you more for it!"

We needed to replace the totalled motorhome, which would require taking out a loan. Since Angel was not going back to the rehab center, I decided now was the time to return to work. Braving the curious looks and questions of my coworkers, I got slowly back into my old routine. In the afternoons Angel and I did the best we could, with him still on crutches, to negotiate the gravel lots of RV dealers in our area. Finally we found a motorhome that was just what we wanted--its interior was even blue for Angel and green for me, with a bit of burgundy as well, in a brushstroke pattern on the curtains and upholstery. It was a little bigger than the one we had lost, with the kitchen, wardrobe closet, bathroom and dinette in the same places though the kitchen had a little less counter. This was fine with me, since I didn't cook anyway, and because in place of the counter there was a couch. But best of all, beside the bathroom was a bedroom with a real bed! I had to struggle to keep from thinking of all the things we would do there as we signed the papers setting up the payments.

Angel was still insisting he wanted to stand and walk at our church wedding, and that he wanted it to be as soon as possible. I told him that such things always take time to plan, so he would have plenty of time to strengthen his legs. But without my supervision he seemed to be exercising harder than he had in rehab and tiring himself out, so I started going to bridal shops while Angel napped in the afternoons. He never showed interest in the bridal magazines I bought--I figured that was a man thing, so I let it go. I knew what I wanted him to wear anyway--a dark blue velvet tuxedo jacket with black satin lapels and black trousers, bow tie and cummerbund (I feared a vest would be uncomfortable over his scarred chest). My dress was another matter, however. Being so tall and without many curves, I didn't think I looked good in any of the ones I tried on. I just wasn't the frilly type, so what I ended up with was more like a fancy suit with a short jacket that flared at the waist over a sleeveless calf-length dress, a small amount of crocheted lace appliqued on the lapels and the hem of the skirt. My hair didn't work with any of the headpieces--it seemed to swallow them up in unruly curls. Finally I asked a clerk if she knew where I could get a lace mantilla like some of the older ladies still wore to Mass, and she said she would look into it. I was going to end up looking as if I was just slightly overdressed for a regular Sunday service, not like a bride. Angel was enthusiastic, though, as I described what I had chosen: "It sounds lovely, querida! You know I don't like satin or lots of lace, anyhow! You'll look beautiful no matter what!" I couldn't look beautiful even in the most fanciful creation any designer could come up with, I thought as I settled next to Angel in front of the TV. His head was soon resting on my shoulder and he fell sound asleep. The hair grazing my cheek felt like straw, as it had back when his overuse of pain pills had sapped all the vitality from every part of him. In fact, now that I had a quiet moment to give it some thought, I could recall many times lately when Angel seemed to be more tired than his workouts should have made him, as well as occasions when he had seemed overly irritable about little things like soap in his eyes when I helped him with his bath and burnt toast at breakfast. He was even beginning to withdraw physically again, paradoxically complaining that he was dying to make love to me. I had to admit that I was also feeling the deprivation keenly, but every time I saw him without clothes these days I noticed that he seemed to be getting thinner and thinner. It made me afraid to touch him, but it terrified me to think what was causing the weight loss.

I fell asleep sitting next to Angel on the couch. Awakened by his ragged coughing, I saw that the late news was on. But even after I helped him into bed and watched him fall back to sleep, I felt restless over the thoughts that had been running through my mind earlier that evening, so I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and let them continue. Angel seemed to get dizzy fairly often, which was completely unlike him. He ate little, yet would complain of nausea, and to drink his usual two beers a day. And sometimes he laughed out loud at nothing--even while watching sad news on TV. Yet his eyes seemed as sunken and empty as they had been when he had been taking pain medication at the rehab center. In light of all of this, I was convinced he was once again doing so. Where was he getting it? And where was it hidden in the apartment? There weren't many places it could be, the place was so small. I had already gone through the bedroom and bathroom. So the living room or the kitchen were the only other areas left. It suddenly occurred to me that since Angel was over six feet tall and his arms were so long, even though he was still on crutches he could probably reach things that were up quite high. I began to look around both rooms from the vantage point of the table which stood between them. There was the top of the refrigerator or the kitchen cabinets, the top of the bookcase, and that was about it. I took the chair I was sitting on, quietly carried it into the kitchen and stood on it to check the likely places in there, then took it to the bookcase. I found nothing anywhere.

Finally it dawned on me that Angel would probably be trying to fool me into thinking just such a thing--that he would be using his height to advantage in hiding the drugs. So maybe he was putting them in a place down low. I checked both rooms in every place that seemed likely, but still found nothing. I was becoming frantic, determined not to come to bed until I found what I was looking for, but hoping Angel wouldn't wake and wonder where I was before then. As a last-ditch effort I opened the refrigerator. It immediately struck me that there were two cases of beer in there, when I could only remember keeping one at a time in the apartment. The one in front had cans in it, so I put it on the floor and reached for the one in back. It weighed little, and something rattled inside of it. I peered throught the small opening and saw two white cardboard boxes. The other end of the box gave way, and I realized that its flaps had been opened in order to insert the two boxes. I went to the kitchen table and placed the case on it, with the open flaps facing me. I withdrew both boxes and looked inside each one. The first held syringes, the second two small vials marked "morphine"! I sank onto the floor--I had only been looking for pills!

I stumbled into a chair, my mind swirling with anger, fear, and pity all at once. Struggling to collect myself, I began to formulate a plan to catch whoever was bringing Angel these things. Since the boxes were both almost empty, I figured that he would soon be contacting whoever it was to obtain more. I decided to call in to work the next day and tell my boss that Angel was facing a crisis (it was true, after all) and I needed to stay home until it passed. Then I would leave the apartment each day at the usual time, drive out of the parking lot and watch from down the street to see if any unfamiliar cars pulled in. As soon as I had all this clear in my racing mind, I replaced the beer cases just as they had been in the refrigerator. Then I went to bed as quietly as I could to avoid disturbing Angel, but I don't think I really slept all night. When the clock on my bedside table showed 6:30, I got up carefully and placed a call to my boss's phone. I left a message on her answering service as I had planned, then crept back to bed and pretended to be asleep. The pretense must have given way to actual sleep, because I was jolted awake by Angel stirring and turning over to cuddle as he always did before getting up. I kept my eyes closed for a while, still pretending. Suddenly Angel sat up and shook me, "Querida, wake up! You're gonna be late for work!" I looked at my clock in mock surprise; it said 7:30, and I supposedly had to be to work at 8:30. I jumped out of bed and ran for the bathroom without a word, took a fast shower and threw on some clothes as Angel still lay in the bed, watching. I leaned down to kiss his cheek quickly before heading at top speed for the door, calling over my shoulder, "Take care, babe! Love you!"

I hurried down the stairs, out to my car and pulled out of the parking lot as usual, but stopped down the block to await the arrival of Angel's supplier. I didn't have to wait long. A car I had never seen before pulled into the parking lot about fifteen minutes later. I thought the driver looked familiar, and pulled closer to the parking lot just as she was getting out and heading for my building. It appeared to be the nurse who had given Angel his injection and hidden in the bathroom at the rehab center. I pulled my car back into the lot after she entered the building, and crept slowly up the stairs to give her plenty of lead time to get to our apartment. I entered the hallway of our floor just as Angel was closing the door behind her. I walked as silently as possible up to the door and put my key in the lock very carefully. When I entered, I found Angel sitting on the couch in his pajamas and bathrobe, the nurse standing over him with two white cardboard boxes in her hands. Angel was holding some money out to her; they didn't see me at first. I slammed the door and both of them jumped. "What the hell is this?!" I screamed. Angel was so shocked that he tried to stand up without his crutches, falling back to the couch, his face contorted in pain, as soon as his weight hit his legs. I fought my urge to run to him and comfort him, instead letting my anger propel me toward the nurse. I ripped the boxes from her hands and threw them to the floor across the room. The bottles shattered and their contents darkened the carpet. I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the mouth. Blood showed at the corner as she ran for the door, which remained ajar behind her.

"Munequita, let me explain!" Angel was near tears. I grabbed my purse from where I had dropped it on the coffee table and headed for the door also, slamming it a second time. I could hear Angel trying to get up on his crutches behind me, but I just kept going until I was in my car again. Once inside I put my hands on the steering wheel and, resting my head on them, sobbed until I felt physically ill. I opened the car door and let that happen, then sat there trying to think what to do next. I didn't need to hurry to work, since I had already called in, but I couldn't go back to the apartment, either. I was so angry with Angel that I was afraid what I would do to him. The only place I could think to go was to the church. I drove extra carefully, since I was still crying and feeling sick. Once there I went straight to the altar rail and knelt with my hands folded and my eyes fixed on the small figure of the Virgin. I wondered if her anguish at seeing her Son in pain had been like mine at seeing what Angel was going through. How stupid, Dolores, I chided myself--of course hers was much worse than you could ever imagine! I felt myself drawn closer to Her, and found myself doing something I hadn't done since I was a child and my mother had still felt it needful to pray for the repose of my father's soul--I took an unlit vigil candle from its holder and touched its wick to a lighted one. Replacing it in its stand, I lowered my head and made the sign of the Cross, but just couldn't find the words to pray. What was I praying for, really--for Angel to be delivered from addiction, for me to have the strength to help him, or for dispensation to leave him because he was betraying our marriage?

I returned to the altar rail and knelt once again. My head on my folded hands, I didn't see Father Rodriguez enter, but I felt his presence as he knelt beside me and asked, "Que pasa, Dolores?" I remembered the meaning of that phrase from my first meeting with Angel--how long ago it seemed just now! I flashed briefly on our first time at this rail as well, when I had watched Angel receive the Host on his tongue. This thought, unbidden, led to a rapid succession of thoughts--all the other ways he had used his tongue in recent days to give me pleasure--and I could feel myself blushing as I turned to face the priest. "No se, padre," I answered. (At least I knew how to say "I don't know.") Father Rodriguez nodded sympathetically and asked, "Como esta tu novio?" This I also understood, as being a query into Angel's condition. "No se," I said again, and not just because it was about all I knew how to say. "Que?" The priest was now the one who didn't understand, and I couldn't explain any more in Spanish. I pulled my pink rosary from my purse and motioned for Father Rodriguez to join me. When we had prayed together I felt a little better, and his secretary arrived just before we finished, so I had a translator. We all went into his office and I told the priest what I had discovered about Angel's drug use. Father Rodriguez tried hard, but couldn't hide his shock that one of his favorite parishioners--to whom he had been like a father for several years--had sunk into this. He agreed to come home with me right away and confront Angel as he had done at the rehab center. He left his secretary in charge and followed me to my car.

When we got to my apartment, we found Angel still on the couch, curled up, his hair obscuring his face. I couldn't tell at first if he was asleep, so I left Father Rodriguez in the hall and tiptoed inside. As I came close, Angel stirred and looked up at me. "Munequita," he mumbled thickly, stretching. I sat down in the curve formed by his body and tried to think of anything to say that wouldn't provoke an argument. I felt Angel's hand against my back and jerked away. "We're not alone," I spat, "Father Rodriguez is outside." I got up and went to the door to ask him in. Angel sat up and tried to get his crutches. I handed them to him and waiting while he stood up. Then I sat down and motioned for the priest to do the same. Angel left the room without a word, apparently to use the bathroom. When he came back and sat beside me, I slid away from him and shot him a withering look. He and Father Rodriguez began to converse in Spanish, so I felt like a third wheel. Retreating to the bedroom I lay crying and still trying to pray for the Virgin's help until the previous sleepless night caught up with me.

The next I thing was aware of was Angel climbing into the bed beside me and trying to "spoon" with me. I squirmed to the edge of the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. "Dolly?" Angel whispered, sitting against the headboard and tousling my hair, "Munequita, please!" I couldn't bring myself to speak; I lay motionless waiting for Angel to explain himself. "Ay, lo siento muchisimo!" he was murmurring, trying his best to apologize and be seductive at the same time. But I wasn't buying it. "Bebe, I am so sorry! I love you so much!" His tone was one of begging, and in my anger I found it very unattractive.

"Mi novia...mi vida...mi amor," Angel just kept muttering every endearment he could think of, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand, and in spite of myself I began to find it more and more difficult to ignore the sensuality of his voice and the delicacy of his touch. I found myself wanting him, willing to ignore the events of that morning if only he would make love to me. Oddly enough, this was the thought that snapped me back to reality, making me sit up and face him defiantly. He couldn't make love to me if he didn't get past this addiction--neither the drugs nor I would let him, to say nothing of the pain his regenerating nerves would cause if we tried. "Don't try to start something you won't be able to finish!" I snapped. I couldn't believe how quickly my mood was shifting--I was experiencing desperate truly anger at Angel for the first time, and I didn't like it. I let myself look deep into his eyes, and saw a pain in their dark recesses that must have been just as bad as the pain in his legs. I had my arms around his neck before I could stop myself. "Alright, querido," I heard myself saying in a voice that wasn't really mine, "I'll try to forgive you, but only if you tell me the whole story and promise to get yourself some help!" Angel nodded, tears welling in those haunted eyes as he began, "Well, first of all I must tell you that Father Rodriguez is going to arrange for the help. There is a doctor that many of the parishioners go to, and the padre thinks he could help me. And the diocese has a counselling center and he's going to make an appointment for us." I was taken aback: "Us?" He nodded again, "Yes, because I don't want to keep any more secrets from you, mi vida!" I could see by the way he inclined his head and parted his lips that Angel wanted to kiss me, but I put my hand on his chest to stop him. "Then you have to tell me when and how this all got started," I reminded him. "It was almost as soon as I began to work my legs out," he replied, beginning to cry. His words spilled out as fast as his tears, "I was lying to you the day you found the nurse in my room! She wasn't the one assigned to give me medication--I think she's only an aide--but she was always coming in to do this or that, and it was obvious she had a crush on me. She used to talk about how sorry she was that I was in so much pain, and that she knew how to get something that would help me more than the pills. So I started asking her to get me the morphine anytime I couldn't handle the pain--the doctor had never really prescribed it." He paused and looked away. "It didn't take long til I needed it alot."

I tried not to let the shock I was feeling register in my face, because Angel was facing me again. Looking up at me from under drooping eyelids, he said, "I'll understand if you want to ask the priest to start annulment proceedings!" Now I couldn't conceal my shock, "Oh, Angel, never! I couldn't just walk away from you now when you need help so much!" Angel brightened and even smiled fleetingly as he seemed to be remembering something, "I almost forgot--Father Rodriguez is also going to arrange a job for me!" I was aghast. "A job?! But you're still recovering! And once you are on your feet again, we were going to have our church wedding and take off travelling!" Angel laughed until he coughed, then replied, "I know, querida, but this is a job with a man from the parish who owns a car repair business. He's just getting started and can't afford to pay fulltime workers yet--he's got a couple guys working parttime for him already. He is willing to let me do only the work I can do from a stool for now, and after we've had our honeymoon he'll just call me when he gets busy and needs another pair of hands." As he said this, Angel held out his hands; I couldn't resist--I took them in mine and kissed each palm in turn. When I looked up, Angel was leaning in to kiss me as he had been before, and this time I let him. As he kissed me he gently pushed me back until I was lying down and his torso was on top of mine. We laid like this for a long time just kissing. I could tell from the passion rising in Angel's lips that it was only a matter of time before he would try to lay his full length upon me and take what I was longing to give him. But I knew he was not ready by the way he kept having to break the kisses and groan with pain. Slowly I lifted my head up off the pillow to show Angel that I wanted no more at that moment. He understood and let me sit up. I got out of bed and left him there, curling up to take another nap.

At least that was what I thought he was doing, but just as I closed the bedroom door I heard Angel's voice. It was barely a whisper, but somehow I knew he wasn't talking to me. Even so, I leaned against the closed door and tried to hear what he was saying. The words were a confused mixture of English and Spanish, but it sounded to me as if Angel was praying. "Ella es mi vida," he was saying, "How can I do this to her?! How much longer can she take it? Dios mio, will she still love me? Santisima Virgen, help her!" I was struck with shock of a different sort now--in all his pain, with addiction hovering around him, Angel was praying that God and the Virgin Mary would help me! But the prayer continued as I stood there transfixed, "I haven't felt this alone since Mama died, even though Dolores esta aqui." He was lonely, even with me here? "Necesito su fuerza, Nuestro Senor, I don't want to disappoint her anymore! Ayudame por favor--I can't get away from the morphine alone!" Angel was asking Our Lord for strength and help, which I fully understood, but I couldn't understand him talking as though he had forgotten I was still with him. Then I heard Angel saying, "She has stood by me through all this, she's loved me in spite of it--I don't deserve her anymore, if I ever did!" When he said this I couldn't stand it anymore. I opened the door and went to Angel, taking him in my arms as we both cried. I rocked him the way he had done me when I cried over my mother, his tears falling softly on my chest. When it seemed they had stopped, I leaned away and told him what I planned to do next. "Angel, babe, I think I better call my boss and quit my job for good!"

Angel looked up with the same kind of shock on his beautiful, tear-stained face that I must have shown earlier. "Dolly, you don't need to worry about me--I am going to go to counselling and I will not be having any more morphine! You broke the last box anyway!" He grinned through his tears and in spite of myself I giggled. Then I remembered the two vials I had found in the refrigerator. I had to destroy them as well, so I needed to convince Angel to stay in the bedroom a bit longer. I stood up and took both his hands. "Listen, love, I think now you need some rest, OK?" But he knew me too well--his face went serious again and he replied, "I know what you're doing, querida--you want me to stay here so you can look for any other morphine I might have hidden!" I couldn't lie to him, "I don't need to look--I already did! I found the last two vials in the beer case in the fridge." To my surprise Angel grinned even more broadly and asked, "Would you let me do the honors?" I got his crutches and helped him up, then walked ahead of him to the kitchen. I took out the box hidden in the beer case and handed it to Angel, who was by now teetering beside the sink. He tipped the box upside down; both vials fell into the sink and shattered. We hugged and kissed, whispering, "I love you," then I helped Angel to the couch and gave him the TV remote before returning to the kitchen to clean up the glass. When I was finished I got the phone and joined Angel on the couch. I dialed my boss's number and when she answered I went immediately to the point--that I needed to quit because Angel's recovery had become too complicated for me to leave him alone. She told me that I had not been back long enough to quit without forfeiting my severance. I responded that I would need to discuss that fact with my husband and call her back.

After I hung up I looked at Angel--he was grinning bigger than ever, dimples flashing and teeth sparkling. "What?" I asked. "That's the first time you've said that to anyone!" I was confused: "Said what?" Angel touched my cheek. "'My husband'", he clarified. I shivered remembering the first time he had said, "My wife"--when he had been telling the doctor that he and I both wanted him to discontinue his medication. Shivered, because he had evidently not really been talking to the doctor at the time. I tried to think if I should bring that up or just move on to the subject of me losing my severance. But Angel decided for me, seeming to read my mind. "I know, you were just thinking about the first time I called you my wife, weren't you?" I nodded, stunned. "You're right, the nurse was just pretending to call the doctor--it was her idea!" I shivered again, this time in disgust at her nerve. "Let's not talk about it anymore," I almost pleaded, "That's over now, and we have a more immediate problem." "What's that?" Angel asked, putting his arm around me. "I will lose my severance if I quit now," I answered, leaning against him and resting my feet next to his on the coffee table. Angel sighed and was silent for a long time, then said, "I think we'll be OK without it--I'll work as much as my new boss needs me after our honeymoon. We might just not be able travel for a few months, that's all. And if you must know, I don't think we'd be hurting for a long time even if I didn't have this job lined up--my understanding of my trust fund is that it's pretty huge!" I looked up, startled, and Angel broke into guffaws. "Now, don't get excited! It will run out eventually! But we could probably get by for a long time if we had to--I've only been drawing the dividends, and I've lived off them for almost ten years now." I wasn't great at math, but somehow I figured that meant his trust fund's principle had to be in the hundreds of thousand of dollars. But I supposed that was reasonable when it had come from several deceased members of his mother's large family, and had been accumulating for ten years or so. I hadn't married Angel thinking I was landing a millionaire anyway. I called my boss again and told her I was quitting for good this time.

The thought of our marriage reminded me--I had to go to the bridal shop for my first fitting in about an hour. I was just glad that there were no more drugs hidden in the apartment. "I've got to get ready now to go to the bridal shop," I told Angel. He let go of me and I stood up, leaning back down to kiss the top of his head before going into the bedroom to change. When I came back out he was sitting there asleep. I had just grabbed my purse from the coat rack beside the door when the phone rang. I grabbed it quickly, hoping not to wake Angel, but when I said "Hello?", I heard a click. Puzzled, I hung up and left the apartment.

The fitting seemed to take forever, because the shop had ordered my dress a size too large for my gawky frame--the clerk said it was their policy, especially since so many brides these days gained weight in the months before their weddings. The distasteful look she gave me made it obvious that she didn't mean they gained it through overeating, and I debated whether to respond with indignation. I chose not to answer this insulting comment at all--I had no time anyway, because she had left the room and was returning with a hanger covered in plastic, under which hung the mantilla she had told me she would order. The clerk unwrapped it carefully and let me remove it from the hanger, then helped me put it on. It was very delicate, fine lace which she told me had actually been woven in Mexico. "Oh, my husband will appreciate that, since he's half Mexican!" I exclaimed as I admired how the frilly edge of the mantilla framed my face. I noticed the clerk's expression in the mirror behind me--another look that I read as distaste. But her only question was, "Don't you mean fiance?" I shook my head and the mantilla almost fell off; the clerk hastened to grab it before it hit the floor, saying, "I need to get you some bobby pins." "No," I concluded as I adjusted the mantilla and watched her get the white pins from a nearby cabinet, "we were already married while he was in the hospital." The odd look still had not left the clerk's face as it was again reflected in the mirror while she put the pins (which she was holding in her mouth) through the lace and into my hair. When she was finished, she finally said, "So he's Mexican, huh?" I shook my head again, "Half--his mother was Mexican, but his father was Jewish." Now the clerk shook her head, "What a weird combination!" She chuckled derisively, and I felt my cheeks stinging. This time I couldn't contain my indignation--I wheeled around and demanded, "What on earth do you mean?" She didn't say anything for a moment, then finally cast me a sideways glance in the mirror before turning away, saying as she left the fitting room, "Well, you noticed we didn't carry any of those head things and I had to order it!" I was floored. I took the pins out of the mantilla and placed it over the hanger before grabbing my purse and hurrying to the front door of the shop. As I reached for the door handle I called back to the clerk, who was standing at the register a few yards away, "You can cancel the dress and send the mantilla back to Mexico! I don't do business with bigots!" Then I stormed out and headed for my car at a jog.

It was then that I decided to make our church wedding as faithful to Angel's heritage as I could. The first thing I did was go to a formal dress shop that catered to Hispanic women. There I found a white dress of stiff polished cotton with a deep ruffle at the neck that could be worn off the shoulders, a dropped waist and a six-tiered skirt which fit my boyish figure perfectly,.plus a mantilla even more beautiful than the one I had just left behind. Though my height made the dress bit short, I decided it would better show off the satin pumps I had already picked up at the other shop. I put the dress and mantilla in the trunk of my car then headed back to the apartment. As I was putting my key in our door I thought I heard Angel's voice, sounding unusually angry. Had that nurse had the nerve to come back? Well, I thought, at least Angel isn't welcoming her! I steeled myself for the confrontation I figured was coming and opened the door, making as much noise as I could putting my keys back into my purse and rattling the plastic bag over the dress. But Angel was alone, still on the couch with the phone in one hand and the receiver in the other at his ear. He turned when I came in and smiled broadly even as he said emphatically through closed teeth, "No, I told you I won't be wanting it anymore! My wife is home now--I need to hang up!" He slammed the receiver into its cradle and handed me the phone to put back on the table by the door. After I had done so and hung the dress on the coat rack, I came over and leaned down to kiss him quickly, then backed away and asked, "Who was that?" Angel grimaced and replied, "That silly little nurse won't leave me alone--she just can't believe I don't need the morphine anymore!" I leaned back down again, putting my arms around Angel's neck and whispering in his ear, "You don't need to worry about her anymore--I think you got through to her!" He touched my hair and kissed my cheek, then whispered conspiratorially, "What's in the bag, bebe?" I straightened up and went to get the dress. As I started to remove the bag, Angel shook his head and pouted seductively. "No, querida, I want you to model it for me!" We giggled as I headed for the bedroom and put the dress on. I didn't put on the mantilla, because I was afraid of tearing the delicate lace before the wedding. I slipped on the satin pumps and teetered on their two inch heels back to the living room. Angel had turned the TV on, so I slipped the pumps back off and tiptoed up behind him. I pulled his hair back over his shoulders, stroked his ears and kissed his cheek, and he reached up to grab my right wrist and pull me around in front of him. Holding hands at the length of both of our arms, he looked me up and down several times, then whistled softly and breathed, "Looking good!" We both laughed out loud, then Angel pulled me toward him until my legs were touching his, which were propped on the coffee table as they so often were these days. He tugged at my hand so that I had to either fall forward or straddle his legs. I lifted the voluminous skirt, which spilled over his legs like foam on a raging sea, and stood over Angel with my legs on either side of his.

Angel reached around and caressed my rear, pulling me closer until I almost lost my balance. I steadied myself with my hands on the back of the couch as Angel held me by my hips, keeping me standing though I felt my knees buckling and needed to at least put them down on the seat. I felt Angel reaching under my skirt and stroking up the outside of my bare thighs, then stroking back down again, and after a few times I felt my underpants moving down along with his hands. When they reached my knees Angel finally let me bend and kneel on the couch astride him. He pulled the ruffle down from my shoulders until his head was resting on my breasts, then put his right hand between my legs and buried his long fingers there as his left arm went around my waist to steady me again. After a minute he looked up at me and whispered, "I missed you, mi vida--I've thought about doing this all day!" I bent my head down and we kissed deeply, then Angel broke the kiss and continued, "Actually I've wanted to do this for ages!" We smiled at each other, our eyes locking as his fingers moved back and forth, sensations rising in me that I had never felt before. Then, just when I thought I was about to lose control, Angel removed his hand. I tried not to show my disappointment, but it was short-lived anyway because he reached behind him and took my right hand from the back of the couch, guiding it to the waistband of his sweatpants as he held them out far enough for my hand to get inside. I had never felt anything so smooth and soft, yet hard and obviously powerful, in my life.

We kissed over and over again as I began to stroke him and he reached to stroke me again, then after a few moments Angel's lips dragged across my cheek and I heard him breathe hard in my ear and whisper something I couldn't understand. Looking down at him with his head thrown back now against the couch, languorous eyes half-closed, I asked between breaths, "What did you say?" He had a difficult time answering, but replied, "Correte....it means I want you to come!" At almost the same moment his wish was fulfilled as my head went back and gave in to the sweetest feeling I had ever known. Angel had not had the same experience, yet took my hand away from him. When I ceased shivering I whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry you didn't!" Angel responded by kissing my palm, then saying, "Don't worry, querida, I want to save that until I can be inside you!" Shivering again at the thought, I ran my hand over his cheek and stood up slightly so that I could pull up my panties, then lowered myself all the way back down onto Angel's lap, still straddling him. He ran his fingers through my hair and gently pulled my head toward him so he could kiss me without raising his head from the back of the couch. My arms went around his neck and we sat like that until I realized my legs were numb. But I still didn't want to stand up--it had been a long time since we had been this close except when he held me in bed at night. But the feeling was disappearing from my legs, so I reluctantly tried to get up. As I struggled to extricate my legs and the dress's many layers from around Angel, he put his hands on my waist and tried to lift me. At the same time he put his feet on the floor and leaned forward, and we both ended up on the floor in a white frothy heap, laughing uncontrollably.

Angel lay on top of me with his head on my shoulder for several minutes until suddenly he looked down at me and asked, "How are we gonna get out of this predicament?" I giggled, "Do you really want to?" Angel's deep breathing near my ear reminded me of the sweetness I had just experienced as he murmurred, "No I don't--I want to lie like this forever!" I nodded, "Only one thing could make it better!" I looked into Angel's eyes--they were shining with tears. "Que pasa, mi vida?" I asked. "If that is going to happen anytime soon," Angel answered, "I am going to have to see that doctor and get off those damn crutches!" He rolled off me, turned around and stretched his legs out near my head. "Then I can stand beside you before God and pledge all of myself to you forever!" I sat up and rubbed Angel's legs as I replied, "I'll call the doctor right now--where's the number?" Angel motioned to the coffee table where there was a small piece of paper with Father Rodriguez's handwriting on it. I got the phone and sat on the couch. Dr. Montez's receptionist told me that the priest's secretary had already called and made an appointment for Angel. It would be the first one after lunch tomorrow, so the doctor could give Angel a thorough physical exam in addition to evaluating his readiness for a walker. I thanked her and hung up, then told Angel about it. Then, since it was early evening and we now knew we had a big day coming up tomorrow, I changed my clothes and fixed dinner, and after we ate I settled Angel into bed for the night. I was restless once again and so stayed up watching television, but this time the feeling was caused not by fear, but by happy anticipation. Angel was more his usual self than I had seen him be in weeks.

The next morning I helped Angel with a bath, carefully avoiding any touch that would cause us to be late for his appointment. He wore jeans, as his legs were becoming less sensitive to the touch of heavy fabrics now, and the off-white shirt he had worn that day at the beach--though he would never again wear it half-open, because of the scar on his chest. He smelled so good, and looked so beautiful after I used the blowdryer on his hair that it was tempting to just forget about going to the doctor. I still had to help him put on shoes--his brown leather sandals, as his feet were also better but not totally normal yet--and get him and his crutches down the stairs, but we managed to get to the doctor's office a few minutes early. It was near the church, in another storefront. Dr. Montez himself was a pleasant man of about my height with graying hair and a nice smile, who spoke to Angel in Spanish and allowed him time to translate for me. When the doctor asked him to step on the scale, Angel's huge eyes became larger with shock: "Ay, Dios mio! I have weighed one hundred and eighty pounds since I was 16, but now I only weigh one hundred and fifty-five?" The doctor also looked very concerned, and Angel told me he said it was because that was an abnormal amount of weight to lose simply as a result of trauma and hospitalization. Angel gave me a sheepish look that told me he knew he had to confess his abuse of morphine to the doctor. I listened to their ensuing talk understanding nothing of course, but sensing in the doctor's tone and manner that he was sympathetic.

The examination continued as would any other complete physical, then Dr. Montez had us come into his private office to discuss the results. I sat feeling like the third wheel until I heard Angel say "Me duele todavia las piernes." I knew the phrase because he said it every time he tried to put weight on his legs between the parallel bars we had bought--it meant, "My legs still hurt." So I figured he was letting the doctor know that he still needed some kind of medication. This was confirmed when Dr. Montez took his prescription pad from the pocket of his lab coat and began writing. Angel told me the doctor said this medication was not addictive. I asked Angel to tell him for me, "I certainly hope not!" In addition, the doctor gave Angel a sample pill to take right away, because he hadn't had any pain relief since I smashed the vials of morphine. We sat in the waiting room until the medication took effect, then the doctor had Angel walk a few steps in the hallway between himself and me. After this, Angel told me it was the doctor's opinion that his progress had been held back by the lethargy caused by the morphine, and that he would not need any further assistance walking apart from perhaps a cane, as long as he kept up with the walks between the parallel bars--which he had been doing religiously three times a day since leaving rehab. At this, I threw my arms around Angel right in front of the doctor, fairly shouting, "This means we can have our wedding very soon!" Angel told this to Dr. Montez in Spanish, and the doctor grinned. He shook both our hands and said, "Felicidades!", which Angel told me meant "Congratulations!" Then we took our leave of him--and of Angel's crutches--paid the bill at the front desk, and headed for my car.

I did my best to help Angel walk, and he did better than either of us expected. Thus encouraged, we decided to go to a tuxedo rental shop right away. As we drove around looking for one, Angel was nearly jumping out of his seat, he was so excited. "I don't think I'm going to need that counsellor after all!" he insisted, and looking at him at that moment, I had to agree with him. His sweet brown eyes sparkled and danced, his smile seemed broader and his dimples deeper. He laughed more easily and more melodically. He even sang to me again, his voice higher and richer than I had ever heard it. And wonder of all wonders, he was hungry! "Let's have a picnic!" Angel suggested. "But we didn't bring any food or a blanket or anything!" I reminded him. "I don't care, let's just go to a Mexican take-out place and get some stuff and then find a park to eat it in!" I pulled in at the first Mexican place we found that had a drive-through window, after which we headed for the nearest park. Angel ate four tacos before I had even finished my two, and drank down a large cola in a few gulps. Then he leaned against the tree under which we were sitting and just stared at me as I continued to eat. I remembered how he had teased me when I had watched him drinking a beer, so I asked, "What? Is it so fascinating to watch me eat?" Angel's long luxurious hair shimmered in the sun as he threw his head back and roared with laughter. "It's not that," he finally replied, "It's just that I realized I haven't really looked at you in a long time, I've been so preoccupied with my own pain! I had almost forgotten how beautiful you are!" Trying to control my emotions, I took a long drink of cola, looking into Angel's eyes over the rim of the cup, then leaned over to kiss him for saying something so sweet. He responded with an open mouth and gentle tongue, his arms going around me as he pulled me around onto his lap. This was a public park full of people eating their lunches and taking walks, but we didn't care--we had each other and would soon be joined before God and His people.

We sat like that for a while before going slowly back to my car and resuming our search for a tux shop. Not too far from the park we noticed one on which the sign was written in both English and Spanish. I suggested we stop there, without telling Angel about the incident at the bridal shop that had made me determined to patronize only shops which would not discriminate against us. He agreed this one looked promising and we went inside. I knew immediately we had made the right choice, for many of the tuxedoes hanging along the walls of the narrow shop were in the Mexican style--hip-length jackets with velvet lapels and swirling braid trim, coupled with narrow-legged trousers, ruffled shirts and ribbon ties. I could just picture Angel in one of them, preferably in the dark blue velvet jacket with black satin trim and black trousers that I had already been picturing. But such a tuxedo was not readily visible, so I told Angel, "I don't see the kind of tux I think would look best on you--could you ask the clerk if they have one?" Angel smiled indulgently, "You've given this some thought, have you, mi vida? What did you have in mind?" I described it to him and he chuckled, "You want me to look like a matador, do you?" I pouted, "No, I just want you to look the most handsome you ever have in your life! I think that means having you look as Hispanic as possible." At this Angel's rich laughter rang out, startling the clerk behind the counter into finally acknowledging our presence. He and Angel conversed for a short time in Spanish, then the clerk disappeared into the back room. I found Angel a chair while we waited, then sat on his lap and toyed absently with his hair. The clerk returned several minutes later empty-handed. He spoke in a regretful tone to Angel, who translated for me that the shop did not have such a tuxedo in stock but could get one within a couple of weeks. I tried not to show disappointment, realizing that we still had other things to arrange before we could have a wedding anyway. I helped Angel up to the counter where the clerk had the necessary order form waiting. When that was filled out we left the shop and headed for home. Angel's new job was to start the next day and he needed his rest.

In order to get to the car repair shop before it opened, Angel had to get up earlier than he had in a long time. I took it upon myself to wake him at 5:30 so we would have plenty of time to get him ready. By the time he had breakfast, a bath, and a shave it was almost 6:30. I ended up putting on and tying his workboots for him so he wouldn't be late, and had to tell him I would bring his lunch by later. Then I drove him to the garage and dropped him off on the dot of 7:00. Before I went home I had to go to the only store that was open--the all-night drugstore--and buy Angel a lunchbox. While I was there I noticed a display of canes near the pharmacy. Hoping that Angel wouldn't need it too much before lunchtime, I looked through them and found a shiny black one that I thought handsome enough for Angel's looks and long enough for his height. I bought it and the lunchbox and went home to the absence of my husband.

I had a hard time adjusting to having so much of the day to myself in our apartment. Before I knew Angel, I was used to either going to school or work (or both) all day. After we met, we spent our days at the hospital with Mom, then I went either to the hospital or the rehab center to see Angel. Then I had gone back to work again. So idleness was difficult for me. I decided I would do something I hadn't done since high school--I would start writing. I wanted to begin with the story of my life with Angel so far, then thought maybe I would write part of my own vows for our church wedding. I ended up doing both at the same time, going back and forth between the two all morning as inspiration struck. The next time I looked at the clock in the kitchen, it was eleven o'clock and I hadn't made Angel's lunch yet. So I threw a sandwich together, put some chips, an apple, and some cookies in the lunchbox along with it, and grabbed the cane from the coat rack before heading out the door to my car.

I arrived at the shop just in time for the early lunch break taken by the part-time workers who comprised most of the staff--four of the six men who worked there. Angel was sitting on a high stool by a workbench--head bent over a small piece of a car's engine--already covered almost entirely with grease, his hair damp with sweat and tied back in a rather haphazard ponytail. In spite of all that, and the garage full of similarly filthy men, I went right up to Angel and kissed his cheek--or at least the soggy lock hair hanging over it. He looked up at me and grinned--his beautiful teeth were the only part of his face that wasn't black. All the other mechanics stopped what they were doing and applauded. Angel stood up, propped against the stool, to face them. This reminded me to give him the cane, after which he took a deep bow. I did my best to curtsy--which I hadn't done since a brief stint in ballet lessons when I was six.

"Everybody," Angel was saying, "I'd like to introduce my wife, Dolores!" The men applauded again, and Angel put an arm around me and kissed my cheek as he boosted himself back up onto the stool.

I could feel my face reddening as I whispered, "I'll be back at 3!" and left the garage with a backward wave to the others.

As I was getting into my car I could hear Angel yelling, "For the welcome you've given me and my wife, you guys and your wives are all invited to our church wedding! As long as you clean up real good!" Everyone, including me, was laughing as I backed out of the alley.

When I returned to pick him up, Angel had washed his face and hands, untied his hair, and was coming out the large corrugated metal garage door. Though I had to admit I missed his long, loose-hipped stride, there was something about the way he meandered toward my car leaning on his cane that made my heart go out to him in a new way--the way a mother feels toward a child just learning to walk. His steps were not quite a shuffle--one forward, then a stop and half a step back as if to regain his balance. More of a cha-cha, I suddenly realized. I began to giggle and Angel stopped giving me a hurt look, lower lip trembling ever so slightly, eyes questioning.

"What's wrong?" I asked through the window as I rolled it down. Angel resumed walking until he got to my car door, then leaned in and growled,

"Don't laugh at the way I walk!" He looked on the verge of tears.

I reached up and stroked his cheek, rough with a day's growth of whiskers, and apologized, "I'm sorry, mi vida, it's just that you look like you're doing a little dance!"

At this Angel gritted his teeth, remarking dryly, "Well it sure don't feel like it!", and started around to the passenger side of the car. Once settled inside, he scratched his head vigorously with both hands and blurted, "Whoa, bebe--do I need a bath!" We were both laughing as he began to play with the radio, looking for a song he felt like singing along with. He stopped when he heard Steve Perry of Journey singing "Open Arms". As Angel's sweet tenor joined in, I almost couldn't see to drive for tears welling in my eyes.

When we got home, Angel was still singing between grunts of effort as we went up the stairs. He immediately went to the closet in the bedroom and got his guitar out for the first time since our accident. I had to carry it to the living room for him so he could lean on me as well as the cane as we walked back out--his first day at work had obviously been exhausting. We settled on opposite ends of the couch and I watched Angel tune the guitar and fiddle with the strings for a few moments before deciding what to sing.

I went to fix our dinner to a continuous serenade of the songs Angel knew I especially loved--another Journey song, "Faithfully"; the Jim Croce song "Time in Bottle"; Elton John's "Your Song"; "Lady" by Styx; an Eric Clapton song, "Wonderful Tonight; and two songs by the Righteous Brothers, "Ebbtide" and "Soul and Inspiration". After we ate, Angel went to take a bath. I sat down to watch the news and soon realized that I had never heard the water running, so I went in to check on him. I found Angel lying, undressed, on the bed--sound asleep. I bent and kissed his forehead as I pulled the covers over him. Then I went to get myself ready as well, feeling as though he needed me beside him. Angel rolled over--as if automatically--when I was settling into my pillow, and laid his arm across me. The heat from his body was as intense as always, and I could still smell the odors of the garage on him. The two things combined made my head foggy, and I was soon asleep as well. The next thing I knew I thought I heard Angel talking. I opened my eyes to total darkness and checked my alarm clock, which read 2:07. As my head cleared further, I noticed that Angel was no longer "spooning" with me--in fact, he was tossing and turning, nearly hitting me several times. I strained to hear what he was saying, but when I finally could, I realized it was all in Spanish, some of which I recognized: "Basta! Vayase! (Enough! Go!)"--the same things he had shouted at Father Rodriguez when he had come to see Angel at the rehab center about his use of drugs. Other words I had heard before as well, but not in anger: "Callate! (Shut up!)"--he often said that to me in a teasing manner--and "No mas! (No more!)". Then he began to call out more loudly, "No lo necesito! (I don't need it!)" and "Ahora usted venga! (Now you are leaving!)"--I could piece those together from other things he had said. But who did he think he was talking to? I finally figured it out when Angel cried, "Vayase! No mas de la morfina!" He must have been dreaming that the nurse had come back with more vials of morphine and he was trying to get rid of her and it.

I wasn't sure what to do when someone talked in their sleep, so I just let him go on. After a while, I could hear Angel starting to cry, and I decided I needed to wake him and find out what was wrong. But just as I reached out to touch his shoulder, he became still. His face and body relaxed and he turned toward me, but he still continued to talk in Spanish--though now his voice was a low murmur: "Lo siento, mi amor! Te deseo muchisimo, mi vida...ven aca y besame...quiero hacer el amor contigo, Munequita...por favor...?" I knew those words as well-- "I'm sorry, my love! I want you very much, my life...come here and kiss me...I want to make love to you, Dolly...please...?" I knew I wouldn't ever get back to sleep unless we acted out just exactly what was going on in Angel's subconscious, so I took him at his word. I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, very softly. Then I leaned back onto my pillow and waited to see if that would wake him. Angel stirred slightly, but aside from the smile playing at the corners of his mouth he didn't react. So I turned back to him and briefly touched my lips to his. He still seemed to be completely asleep, but I thought felt his mouth working under mine, so I pressed a bit harder. "Mmmmm," Angel moaned and stirred again. I put my arm around him and he moved closer, reciprocating that move and the kiss as well. I knew he was awake as I felt the tip of his tongue touch my lips. I pressed my full length against him and opened my mouth. Both of Angel's arms were around me now, and I felt the strength he had gained from his workouts as they held me tighter and tighter, the muscles in his scarred chest rippling. We kissed hungrily for a long time, then suddenly Angel broke away and got up out of bed. He picked his cane off the floor and went into the bathroom. I heard him brushing his teeth and clattering what I figured was a bottle of cologne against the counter. After what seemed like an hour to my still-sleepy brain, I saw him standing there without his black low-rise briefs. When he came toward me and I could see him more clearly, I was afraid to even hug him again--let alone make love to him, which it was obvious he wanted. The relapse into morphine had taken its toll--he looked so thin and frail in silhouette.

Angel pulled back the covers and looked down at me, his huge languorous eyes growing even larger and his perfect teeth flashing a wide grin in the dim light. He sat down on the edge of the bed and just kept staring until I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Finally he turned away to prop his pillow against the headboard and swung his scarred legs into the bed, pulling the covers up to his waist. Then he turned and looked invitingly into my eyes, lifting his left arm so I could lie against his chest. I hesitated because of his ribs seeming so near the surface, but I did lean my head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of my head, wrapping his still-muscular arms tightly around me. "Hey bebe," he whispered with his cheek on my hair, "Go ahead, do what you want--I won't break!" I could feel my face flushing; I hadn't wanted him to know that I was afraid of hurting him. He arched his back so I could get my other arm around him, and as he did I saw his ribs become even more prominent.

I was on the verge of tears as I tried to explain, "But, honey, you look so fragile, I'm scared I'll hurt you!" Angel put his hand under my chin and tilted my face up, looking sadly into my eyes for a few seconds before kissing me with what I thought was a touch of anger in the way he forced my mouth open and pushed his tongue in harder than ever before.

Once again he was the one to break the kiss, but this time he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and asked, "Does that feel like I'm fragile to you?" I didn't want to, but I burst into tears at the defiant look on his usually gentle face.

"Ay, querida, I'm sorry!" He gathered me to him, lifting me off the bed and sitting up. He rocked me for a few minutes, smoothing my hair and caressing my face until I stopped crying and moved away from him. I laid back down on my pillow and held out my arms. He got back under the covers, laying his torso on top of mine and kissing away the last of the tears on my cheeks while running his hand over my left shoulder and arm, down to entwine his fingers in mine for a moment, then back up again. Angel moved away slightly to look into my eyes, licked his lips and kissed mine--more gently this time--while teasing my neck with the back of his fingers like downy feathers, then turning his hand palm down and stroking my chest from one shoulder to the other. It moved slowly down to cup each breast in turn, squeezing gently. He did this several times on the outside of my nightgown, then pulled down the elastic neckline and reached inside to do the same to my bare skin. He continued leaning in to gently kiss me, and I finally lost my apprehensions enough to caress all over his chest and back. His delicate touch was causing an ache in my breasts, and from there into my whole body, that I knew only Angel's mouth could banish, so I ran my hands one last time up his back and into his hair, guiding his head down. He gently kissed each breast several times first, then seemed to swallow them in turn. As he did this, Angel reached up under my gown to stroke my belly and hips, then began flicking his tongue against my breasts, spending most of his time on the nipples.

His mouth began to follow his hands down my body as Angel removed my gown, until I felt his luxurious hair against my thighs and belly and he made love to me with his lips and tongue. I knew we both wanted to save the sweetest feeling for a little later, so I shifted onto my side and Angel had to move back up to face me, putting his arms around me. We lay chest to chest for a while, my head in the curve of his neck, his pulse beating strongly against my forehead. No, I thought, that is not the heartbeat of a fragile man. I thought he could do all night what we both wanted so much to do now. As if he had read this thought, Angel whispered, "I feel plenty strong enough to go on, if it's what you want." I looked up at him and nodded. "I've been your wife for a while already--of course it's what I want!". He laughed lightly, "Me too!" Giving me his seductive sideways glance, Angel added, "But...you're not afraid of hurting me anymore?" I didn't answer--not in words at least. I took his hand and guided it between my legs, then reached over to touch him. We had both been ready for this for a long time emotionally, and a few gentle strokes in those private places made it obvious that we were now physically ready as well. One more long open kiss, and then Angel entered me. For the briefest moment there was pain, but it was swallowed up quickly in pleasure. He broke the kiss at the moment he was fully inside, looking down at me and never taking his eyes from my face.

Our rhythm together was like the ocean on that night in San Diego--a night that had been so wonderful but had gone so wrong, a night that had made this night seem so remote. It didn't take long until this perfect unity brought us both the fulfillment we had hungered for so long, and had come through so much to reach. Angel then lay on top of me for a long time as I rubbed his back and massaged his neck and shoulders, ending up with my hands hopelessly entangled in his long soft hair. We kissed almost constantly, and whenever our lips needed a break we whispered in each other's ears of how good it had felt to love each other in this way. When Angel finally left me and lay on his back, I turned onto my stomach and leaned over him to continue kissing as I stroked his body and hair. He put his arms around me and his hands mimicked mine. Too soon, lying like I was began to bother my back, so I snuggled it against the warmth of Angel's chest and he cupped his hands under my breasts again. As I drifted off I thanked God that He had once again restored my love to me, and that Angel had finally been able to show me, through the overwhelming experience of this night, that he was himself again after his ordeal. I knew for sure now that we were both strong enough to endure whatever else this new life together would bring. I could not have anticipated how soon that endurance would be tested.

I awoke a few hours later to hear Angel moaning in pain. "Dolly," he was saying, "I can't move my legs, they hurt so bad!" His face was contorted, and when I reached out to touch it his bronze skin was cold and clammy. The hand that took hold of mine and moved it away from his cheek was shaking, and I noticed that Angel's whole body seemed to be as well. I was terrified, but immediately realized that Angel had not had his bedtime dose of medication last night. I grabbed my robe and hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water, then to the bathroom to get Angel a pill. I cradled his neck and helped him raise up enough to take the pill and swallow some water. Then I returned the glass to the kitchen and came back to bed. I held Angel until he began to relax, stroking his damp hair and whispering, "You go back to sleep now and everything will be OK when you wake up!" I was not at all sure I believed that, and after Angel drifted off again I lay awake thinking of how this would probably not have happened if I had not seduced Angel into making love for the first time before his body was fully recovered. Even in his sleep Angel shivered now and then, so I got up to get him another blanket After I tucked it tightly around his naked body, I went into the kitchen and tried to do normal things like making coffee and watching the morning news. But I ended up sitting on the couch with my arms around my knees, crying.

I heard a crash a short while later that jolted me out of my sadness and into fear again. When I ran into the bedroom I saw Angel leaning over the edge of the bed trying to pick up his cane from the floor, where it had dropped from leaning against the nightstand. I rushed to pick it up for him as he slowly sat up and put his feet on the rug. He smiled weakly up at me as I handed him the cane, then said, "Could you help me to the bathroom, please, querida?" I obliged and left him alone in there for several minutes while I went to pour coffee. I came back into the bedroom, found my discarded nightgown wrapped up in the bedclothes and put it back on, then put my robe on over it again. Then I returned to the living room and sipped coffee in front of the TV until I heard the toilet flush and Angel called, "Dolly, I need you to help me with a bath, por favor."

I ran a bath and helped Angel into it. "How are your legs now?" I asked when he was settled.

"Still hurting," he replied, "but the medicine takes the edge off." Washing his hair reminded me of the ponytail he had been wearing at work.

"Did your boss make you pull your hair back so it wouldn't get caught in stuff?" Angel winced, not in pain since he wasn't moving but apparently in disgust at the thought of a ponytail.

"Yeah, I hated that but it's the rules!" Angel gave me a big smile as I poured water from an old pitcher over his head. "Mmmm,. that feels soooo goood!" He leaned back against my chest, soaking my robe until I had to back away and take it off.

"Don't do that--you got me all wet!" I cried in mock protest, breaking into giggles. I brought them under control as I voiced another thought, "Maybe I should cut your hair? I always cut Mom's."

Angel chuckled, "Can I trust you not to cut it all off?"

I laughed in response, "I don't know--Mom never had as much hair as you! I could just get carried away!" Still laughing, I got a towel and dried his hair as little as possible so it would be easier to cut, then got the scissors out of the drawer next to the sink. "Doing it now while you're still in the tub will make it easier to clean up, and letting your legs stay in the water as long as possible will probably make them feel better too." Angel nodded, and I had to warn him, "Don't do that anymore now--I'm gonna start cutting!" I pushed his head down and started on his left side, stretching swaths of his hair out to their full length between my index and middle fingers and making my way back and forth on my knees until I had cut off about three inches, one inch at a time. When Angel straightened up I saw that his hair was just above his shoulders, about the way it had been when we met. I next cut a few layers into the sides so that his hair would feather back from his face, then had Angel turn to face me and cut his bangs in a similar fashion, to about an inch above his thick eyebrows, and parted his hair on the left.

When I was finished I put away the scissors and got a hand mirror out of the same drawer so Angel could see how he looked. He broke into a wide grin and exclaimed, "Looking good!" I had to say I agreed.

After I cleaned out the tub and helped Angel get into some sweatpants and a T-shirt, I fixed our breakfast while he did his first workout of the day. The new medication seemed to help him overcome the pain enough to take more walks between the parallel bars, but I noticed that his hands were shaky even as he gripped them, and he was sweating profusely though he went very slowly. Over breakfast I noticed he had trouble holding his knife and fork and dripped coffee as he raised the cup to his lips. Finally I asked, "Why are your hands shaking so much?"

Angel shook his head, "I wish I knew, querida!" He mopped his forehead with a napkin and continued, "I wish I knew why I was sweating like this, too!" I walked over his side of the table and touched Angel's cheek; it was cold.

"Maybe it's the flu," I ventured, "should I call the doctor?"

Angel shook his head, "Nah, just help me back to bed--I think I overdid it yesterday."

I bent to look him in the eye and corrected, "Or maybe last night?" We both giggled and Angel put his arms around my waist, pulling me into his lap.

"Yeah, maybe that was it!" he exclaimed, "I always get worn out the first time I exert myself in a new way!"

I kissed him quickly and replied, "Yeah, me too!" It was comforting to find out, even in jest, that Angel and I both had been virgins before we made love. I could tell from the sensuously serious look he was giving me just then that he was having the same thought, so I leaned in to kiss him, deeply this time. Then I helped him back to bed, wishing as he laid back and I removed his sweatpants that we could do it all again. But Angel looked so pale and exhausted, I had to let him sleep.

He slept almost all that day, waking briefly every once in a while because he was shaking so badly. I brought warm washcloths to mop his cold, clammy forehead and cheeks, and eventually ran out of sheets and blankets trying to keep the rest of him warm. When I could think of nothing better to do, I would lie beside him and just watch him thrash and moan, clutching my pink rosary and praying that whatever illness was causing this would soon pass. Around dinnertime he woke long enough and was hungry enough to eat some soup and crackers and drink a soda. I brought him the food on a tray I had used when Mom was too sick or depressed to get up, and I fed him the soup like I sometimes had her as well. It was oddly comforting to me to be doing this, since I held myself at least partly responsible for Angel's condition, and he seemed to be grateful for my care. Perhaps I was atoning for my guilt.

The next day Angel was due to go to work at the garage again, but he had tossed so much during the night that I was sure he wouldn't be able to go. However, Angel was insistent that his boss and Father Rodriguez deserved better. "They have taken a chance on a poor crippled hombre like me," he said, "I can't let them down!" He smiled weakly and sat up against the headboard. His skin still looked gray, but I decided that could be due to the two days growth of beard covering it.

I stroked his cheek and wrinkled my nose as I observed, "You need a shave so bad!"

Angel was himself enough to cast his seductive sideways glance at me and ask, "Then why don't you do it for me, right here in the bed?" His smile told the rest of the story about what he really wanted, but for now a shave would have to be all. I got a small bowl from the kitchen and filled it with warm water in the bathroom, after which I got the shave cream and razor. Then I got on the bed and straddled Angel.

He immediately reached behind me and grabbed my rear, and I hated to have to say it, but I admonished him, "You need to get to work, babe--we don't have time for that!" Angel looked disappointed and removed his hands, settling them instead on my knees and brightening as I dabbed shave cream on his face and began to glide the razor over it. I had done about half his face when I noticed a strange look in Angel's eyes.

"Dolly, let me up!" he cried. I moved as fast as I could, spilling the bowl of water on the floor as Angel bolted for the bathroom. He went so fast that he didn't have time to get his cane, so he stumbled and nearly fell several times in the short distance. Angel tried to close the door, but it remained slightly ajar, and I could see him bending over the toilet. I went to the kitchen to get rid of the bowl and find a dishtowel to clean up the water. As I returned to the bedroom I heard retching noises. Angel must be getting worse, I thought.

I went to the bathroom door and called, "Do you need help?"

It was a few moments before I heard Angel reply, "No, that's OK." Then I heard the toilet flush and the lid being closed. I figured it was now safe to enter, so I pushed the door open and found Angel sitting on top of the toilet, looking drained.

"Are you alright now?" I asked hesitantly. Angel nodded and tried to stand up. I helped him back into the bed and covered him up, then sat beside him. When I touched his face this time--half of it still covered with shave cream--he seemed to be burning up. "You feel like you might have a fever. Let me take your temperature." I got the thermometer and waited while it registered his temperature, then read it. "One hundred and three degrees!? I am calling the doctor NOW!" Before he had time to protest I was on the phone with Dr. Montez's nurse, describing Angel's symptoms.

She put me on hold to get his chart and when she returned her first question was, "Was Mr. Furst taking morphine in large doses?"

I cringed but answered honestly, "Yes."

The nurse sighed and continued, "That would explain his condition--he is going through withdrawal." I nearly screamed, but collected myself enough to ask, "What can I do for him?"

I was crying by the time I finished the sentence, and the nurse replied gently, "Just keep him comfortable and make sure he eats as much as he can tolerate. If he can't eat, be sure he is taking liquids, especially if he continues to vomit, which he probably will."

I thanked her and hung up, returning to the bedroom slowly to give myself time to figure out how to explain this to Angel. He lay there looking like the expression my mother used to use to describe how she felt, "Like death warmed over." I went straight into the bathroom first to get a washcloth and some warm water, then came and sat on the bed next to Angel and touched his shoulder.

"Do you want me to finish the shave?" I began, still stalling. He nodded and I picked the razor off the floor where I had dropped it and shaved his other cheek without straddling him this time.

As I was wiping away the last of the shave cream, Angel asked, "So how bad is it?" I was genuinely unsure of what he was talking about--at first I thought he meant the shave, but then I realized he wanted to know what the doctor had said.

"The nurse I talked to checked your chart," I began, still afraid of saying the words I knew I had to, "and saw that you had been taking too much morphine." I stopped, beginning to cry, and Angel reached up to brush the tears from my face.

"So this is withdrawal, is it?" he asked. All I could do was nod and throw myself against his chest, sobbing. After a moment Angel's arms went around me and I could feel him shaking, this time with tears of his own. "Ay, Munequita, I am so very sorry to do this to you!" I looked up at him in disbelief--Angel was apologizing to me?

"Don't say that!" I exclaimed into his fine hair of his chest, "This is not your fault! It is all mine for causing the accident that made you need the morphine!" I just cried and cried, and Angel just stroked my back and hair. There was no more to be said or done--we simply had to live through this together.

Angel was in the same condition the next day, so I called his boss at the garage and did my best to lie about the reason he wouldn't be at work. Then I went back into the bedroom and sat cross-legged beside Angel, who was asleep but shaking and sweating the way he had been since the withdrawal started. I could do little besides try to get him to eat, but he had refused everything apart from a few sips of water and soda. Over the two days that followed, however, his appetite improved and the symptoms became steadily less and less. The pain in his legs was another problem, though--he hadn't been able to take his medication, so any movement was torturous. I had to help him to the bathroom, even to the extent of putting him on and taking him off the toilet. Angel constantly apologized for all of this, and I simply shook my head and said nothing. He knew--I loved him with everything I was or ever would be, and I would gladly do anything for him.

Four days after it began, the withdrawal seemed to be over. Angel woke that morning begging for his medicine as he had all along, but this time he was able to swallow it and keep it down. After the pain in his legs subsided, he was desperate for a bath, and I of course obliged. This time, though, after I helped him into the water and washed his hair and back, Angel crooked his index finger at me and said, "Come here to me, bebe!" I burst out laughing--he wanted me to get into the tub with him? Angel chuckled and continued to wag his finger, so I dropped my robe and pulled my nightgown over my head. He whistled softly as I stepped in and settled into the water facing him. The index finger that had been wagging now made a circular motion that indicated he wanted me to turn around, so I did. Angel picked up the pitcher and poured water over my head, then rubbed shampoo all through my hair. I leaned my head back and luxuriated in the feeling of his gentle hands massaging it. After a few minutes Angel took the washcloth and scrubbed my back, shoulders, and arms. Next he pulled me back against him and washed my neck, chest, and belly. Then he put the washcloth aside and, with soap-slippery hands, caressed my breasts as he kissed the back of my neck. Angel's hands travelled over my belly and under the water to my most secret place, neither of them leaving there until my pleasure was complete. I lay against Angel's chest for a long time, clean, sated, and happier than I had been since we first kissed. But when the bath was finished and we stood drying each other off, I discovered he was not yet as happy as I was. When I bent down to dry Angel's legs, he put his hand on the top of my head and would not let me stand back up. I had no choice but to go to my knees as Angel sat on the edge of the tub. Taking his hand from my head, he used it to hold against my lips the part of him that had taken my innocence just a few nights before. I took it tenderly in my mouth and showed how much I loved not only it for the pleasure it had given me, but every part of my beautiful husband for all the ways he loved me

Angel was able to return to work just a few days later, and one day when I picked him up I was able to tell him that the tuxedo shop had called and the one we wanted was available. Now we had to really concentrate on putting together our church wedding, before someone else chose to rent that tux.

But when I said this to Angel, he responded by walking me over to the window and pointing to the new motorhome which had been sitting in the parking lot for weeks.

"You see that camper out there--brand new, never been used?" I nodded and Angel went on, "After what I have just been through..." His voice trailed off and I thought he meant his recovery from our accident until he continued, " and what I just put you through..." He was talking about the withdrawal--he still blamed himself! "I don't want to wait any longer for us to go away somewhere together. Let's just throw some stuff into our duffel bags and take off!" I backed away and looked at Angel--his eyes had never left the motorhome. Obviously wanderlust had struck him hard, and I had always promised I wouldn't hold him back, but I didn't think we should wander very far so soon after Angel had endured such trauma. So I took his chin in my hand and turned him to face me.

"You know where I would like to go?" I asked. Angel arched an eyebrow in a questioning look. "Back to the campground where you took me when we were starting out."

Angel just nodded, and I stood on tiptoe to kiss his lips, then helped him back to the couch. We sat holding each other and talking about how such a trip could help us remember how perfect life seems when love is just coming upon you. We agreed we needed to be reminded of that right now, before we stood before the altar to celebrate the fact that it would be staying in spite of everything. So the next morning Angel called his boss and told him our plans. He was agreeable, so we packed and were ready to go in a very short time.

As we were getting into the motorhome, a thought occurred to me. "Querido, before we head out I think we should stop at the church."

Angel looked up from buckling his seatbelt and asked, "To thank God for my recovery, you mean?" That hadn't actually been my reason, but I nodded because it was a good one.

"And also," I continued, "because I think I should be prepared to say my vows in Spanish. We should go and get a copy of them from Father Rodriguez so I can study them while we're away." Angel's eyes were glistening as he unbuckled the seatbelt and knelt in the aisle to give me a kiss.

"Gracias, mi amor," he whispered, "you have no idea how much that would mean to me!" When we stopped at the church, the first thing we did was kneel at the altar rail and pray as Angel had suggested. I listened enraptured as he addressed God in Spanish, "Me agradezco a Usted, Dios mio, que Usted amablemente me ha estirado apoyo de la vicio antes yo cai en el hoyo. Oro que Usted continue ayudar en mi recuperacion del accidente y de la morfina. Estoy especialmente agradecido que Usted me ha dado una eposa carinosa y fiel, y yo pido que su sea bendecir sobre nuestra Misa nupcial. Por favor la ayuda Dolores para aprender quela promete en el honor de nuestro amor y mi herencia. En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo, Amen."

The words sounded so beautiful I almost forgot to ask Angel what they meant. I didn't have to, because he was already telling me, "I was thanking God for graciously pulling me back from the pit of addiction, and asked Him to help me continue to recover from the accident and the drugs." My eyes were already filling with tears, but when Angel continued to explain, I felt the tears rolling down my cheeks. "But I especially thanked Him for giving me you, my loving and faithful wife, and asked him to bless our church wedding. Then I asked God to help you in your study of the Spanish for our vows, because I know you want to honor both our love and my heritage."

Angel took me in his arms and let me cry until I was able to ask, "How would I just say, 'Thank you, God'?"

Angel replied, "Me agradezco a Usted, Dios mio." I blessed myself and repeated the words as best I could, then we both got up off our knees and went to light a candle for our parents and our future. We went to see Father Rodriguez's secretary about a copy of the Spanish text of the Nuptial Mass. She pulled the file from a nearby cabinet and went into an adjoining room where the copier was. When she returned we asked her to let the priest know what we were planning--a church wedding to be held two weeks from the coming Saturday, after we returned from our camping trip. She congratulated us and wished us a good trip. Then we went back out to our new toy and took off for a week of solitude and study.

I had been fine driving the new motorhome through the city, but once out on the highway I began to have flashbacks of the accident. I had to pull over to the shoulder a couple of times and ask Angel to hold me while I calmed down. His embrace had its usual effect, and once we were off the main road and maneuvering through the foothills I seemed to be fine. As we pulled into the campground where Angel had taken me when we first met, the owner just happened to be out watering the flowers in front of the office. Angel got out and sauntered up to him, leaning on his cane, greeting him heartily with a handshake and a broad grin. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but it was obviously animated, and after a time Angel gestured in the direction of our new motorhome and they came walking over, the owner leading Angel by the arm. I rolled down my window and smiled. "Welcome back, Mrs. Furst!" the owner said brightly. Evidently Angel had told him that we were married now. "Thank you, Mr....Mr..." I realized I had never learned his name. "Clemmons, Dave Clemmons--call me Dave!" he stuck his hand in the window and I shook it. Angel reached to open the door and Dave helped me down. "Would you like to see the inside?" Angel asked him. He nodded and we all went through the entry door. I sat down on the couch while Angel gave Dave the tour. When that was done, Angel locked the doors and we all went to the office to register. "Would you like the same site?" Dave offered. "Sure," Angel replied, shooting me his sideways glance, "Nice and quiet, just the way we like it!" He winked at me. "We are here so Dolly can study her Spanish in solitude!"

Dave looked up from the form he was filling out with a quizzical look. "She wants to say her wedding vows in Spanish." Angel explained. "But, I thought..." Dave began. "Yeah, we got married while I was in rehab, but Dolly wants a church wedding now that I am on my feet again!" Dave grinned and shook both our hands, "That sounds neat! I hope it’s just a perfect day for you!" Angel took the map Dave held out to him and we turned to leave. Just then I had an inspiration--since this place was where Angel and I had formed our relationship and Dave had been the one to give us the news of my mother’s death, maybe we should invite him to the wedding. I whispered this to Angel and he nodded as if to say, you ask him. So I walked back up to the counter and said, "Dave, would you and your wife like to be our guests at the wedding?" He looked up and smiled, "Why, yes, that would be very nice--thank you both!" He shook my hand again and made a gesture to Angel like, see you later. Angel reciprocated and we went back out to the motorhome and drove to our site.

Our time at the campground was much the same as the first time: walking around the camp-ground morning and evening--though these days we had to walk only on the level paths and not for as long as we had before; staring into a campfire each night, talking about the things that were important to each of us, with me rubbing Angel’s legs. The other differences now were that I spent a couple of hours each day with Angel as my Spanish teacher, and we spent a couple of hours each night teaching each other the ways we wanted to be loved. Both of these things went very slowly, the first because of my ineptitude at languages, but the second because we were so good together. We lingered over every part of each other’s bodies, caressing, kissing and making love until we were exhausted. Consequently, we slept late every morning and sometimes didn’t get out of bed for an hour or so after we awoke, returning to the activities of the night before with renewed vigor.

After breakfast would come one hour of my Spanish lessons, with the second hour being after lunch. First we would go over things that I was interested in learning for our everyday life, then Angel read to me the things that would be said in our wedding ceremony. He told me Father Rodriguez would read some scriptures and say a few words of his own about marriage, specifically ours. Then he would ask us some questions regarding our intention to marry: "First, he will talk about why we have come to the church--to seal our and strengthen our love before him and the community. Then he will bless us and explain about marriage being a sacrament, like baptism. He will tell us we are to assume the duties of marriage with fidelity, and will ask us to state our intention to do so. It will sound like this: ‘Ustedes ha venido junto en esta iglesia para que el Senor podido sellar y intensificar su amor en la presencia del ministro y esta comunidad. Cristo bendice abundantemente este amor. El ya lo ha consagrado en bautismo y ahora el enriquece y lo refuerza por un sacramento especial para que usted pueda asumir los deberes del casamiento en fidelidad mutua y duradera. En la presencia de la iglesia, pido ustedes expresar sus intenciones.’" As beautiful as the words were, I often came close to forgetting what Angel was saying in my fascination with watching his full, moist lips forming the words. Many times I interrupted our lessons to plant a kiss on them. "Dolores!" Angel would exclaim in obvious mock protest, "this is serious and sacred!" Then he would lean toward me and continue the kiss with his usual hunger, tongue exploring my mouth as if each time was the first. And each time I said, as I broke away, "This is serious and sacred too!" Angel would just nod, his eyes welling up and a gentle smile on his beautiful face.

There was another first on this trip, in addition to my Spanish lessons. The campground had horseback riding trails, and Angel told me that he had ridden horses a few times when he had been able to attend a summer camp growing up, which had not been often. We walked one afternoon to the stable adjacent to the campground, intending only to look at the horses, but before I knew what was happening, Angel was asking the man in charge to let us take one of them for a ride. I was terrified--a horse was so large up close, and I had never even ridden a pony at a fair or anything. But Angel assured me that we would be alright: "You and I will ride the same horse, and you can sit in front of me. I will hold you tight, and you won’t fall!" His grin was infectious--how could I say no? The stable hand brought a little set of steps to help me up and then had to help Angel not only by having the steps there but also by boosting him. Once we were settled and the horse was moving I began to feel comfortable with the slow rolling motion, most likely because Angel held the reins and thus his arms were around me the entire time. But when we came to a turn in the trail, the horse seemed to hesitate, and Angel said to me, "You’re gonna have to help me now." I was puzzled, "How?" Angel put both reins in his right hand and tapped my left outer thigh. "The horse doesn’t want to turn for me just by my moving the reins--probably because he doesn’t know us or isn’t used to two riders, whatever. So you will have to squeeze against his left side with your leg. I can’t because I don’t have the strength yet." I did as I was told, and the horse began to move again, taking the turn without any trouble, into the deeper woods that headed up into the foothills. We climbed for a long time before the trail leveled out again, into a small clearing. "Let’s stop here for awhile," Angel suggested. He got the horse to stop, then tried to climb down. "Ay yi yi!" he shrieked, "maybe not!" I turned around to see his face contorted. "Let’s go back!" I insisted, frightened. I didn’t need to ask Angel twice.

When we got back to the stable, it took both the man in charge and me to get Angel down from the horse, and once his feet hit the ground, the rest of him was close behind. He had fainted from the pain. We had to leave him there on the dusty barn floor, and I knelt beside him and cradled his head in my lap while the stable hand got the golf cart he used to cover distances in the campground. When he returned, he grabbed Angel’s feet and I held his head as we struggled to lay his long, lean body across the back seat. I slid in beside him and took his head into my lap once again, stroking his clammy face as the golf cart bounced along the gravel paths back to our motorhome. We then undertook a similar struggle to get Angel inside and onto the bed. I thanked the stable hand and declined his offer of further help, such as calling an ambulance. "No," I assured him, "He will be fine once he has his medicine." The man nodded, got back into the cart and drove off with a wave back at me as I stood in the doorway. Once he was gone I slipped off Angel’s boots, opened his shirt collar, and got a washcloth. I wet it with cold water, placing it gently on Angel’s forehead. His usually bronze skin was so gray that I wondered if I should have let the stable hand call an ambulance. But after several minutes of the cold cloth on his face, Angel began to stir and moan, "Ooooh, que pasa?" He put his hand to his head and felt the washcloth there, "Did I pass out or something?" I nodded as Angel struggled to focus his eyes on me, squinting. He wiped the rest of his face with the cloth and handed it to me as he tried to sit up. "I think you were in so much pain from having your legs wrapped around that horse that you fainted," I told him. "Yeah, I can still feel it," Angel replied, flopping back against the pillow, "Could you please get me one of my pills?"

I did as he asked, bringing him a cup of water as well and holding his head up as he swallowed the pill. Then I sat down on the end of the bed facing Angel and began to rub his legs. "Why don’t you get the wedding ceremony and we can continue with your lessons, since I won’t be going anywhere for a while?" he offered. I got the folder from the cabinet over the dinette and handed it to Angel. "Now where were we?" He thumbed through the pages. "Oh yeah, here we are...Father Rodriguez will next ask each of us some questions--whether we come freely to be married, if we will love and honor each other for the rest of our lives, and if we will accept children and bring them up in the church. Those questions will sound like this: ‘Venis aqui libremente y sin reservacion para darse uno al otro como esposos para el resto de tus vidas? Aceptaras a ninos amar de Dios, y los criaras segun la ley de Cristo y su iglesia?’ Then he will tell us,.since we said ‘yes’ to all these questions..." He shot me one of his sideways glances with a sly smile that seemed to say, "You will, won’t you?", then continued, "that we should join our right hands and declare our consent before God and the church. That sounds like this: "Desde que es tu intencion para entrar en el casamiento, une tus manos derechas y declare tu acuerdo ante Dios y su iglesia."

He then went over the vows we would actually say to one another, "First, Father Rodriguez will ask the questions about whether you take me and I take you, which will sound like this when he asks you: ‘Dolores, tomas a Angel para ser su eposo, para amar, honorar, y permanecer fiel a el, tan largo como vive?’ Then each of us will answer ‘Si.’ Next will come the ‘for better or worse’ part. That sounds like this: ‘Yo lo tomo para ser mi esposo, para mejor, para peor, para mas rico, para mas pobre, en la enfermedad y en la salud hasta que la muerte nos partira.’" I was happier than ever that I had hit a snag in writing my own vows--the Spanish ones were so much more lilting! Once again I was spellbound by listening to Angel roll his beautiful native language over his tongue and watching his sensuous lips go through their motions. I would have gladly let him take me yet again at that moment, but I could see that he was tiring, so I merely laid next to him and let him fall asleep with his head between my breasts. But I wasn’t really tired, and my arm began to go numb, so I soon needed to get up, walk around, and stretch. I went to the couch and sat looking out the window above it, watching children play in the nearby playground. They and the vows we had just practiced made me begin thinking of the family Angel and I would one day have. I hadn’t reflected on this since he was in the hospital and Father Rodriguez had brought us rosaries that Angel had said we could save for our children. I fought back tears as the gravity of all this hit me. I said a silent prayer that we--I in my emotional weakness and Angel in his physical (the effects of which I now understood were not completely resolved)--would be up to the responsibilities.

I then stood up and walked back over to bed, where Angel lay peacefully on his left side facing me. His color was much better now--in fact I noticed that he was even darker from all the time we had been spending outside--and his sweat-dampened hair lay against his face in small curls. I could imagine our children playing like those here in the campground, their usually light golden skin--a combination of Angel’s and mine--turning this color, their wavy dark hair taking on highlights because of the influence of my genes, curling more the longer they ran around. I said a quick prayer that our offspring would inherit their father’s exotic beauty and not my European plainness. Angel stirred and rolled onto his back. His eyes opened slowly and he caught me standing over him, staring. "What are you looking at, querida?" He patted the bed and I sat down against the propped up pillows; rolling over to me he put his head back on my chest and his arms around me. "You, my beautiful Angel!" I replied, giving him a squeeze, "I was just thinking of what our children would look like, and that I hope they look more like you than me." Angel’s voice and touch vibrated all through me as he stroked my arm and said, "Ay Munequita, why don’t you appreciate how beautiful you are? Your skin is pale and smooth like porcelain and your eyes are the color of the sky during a thunderstorm." I thought a storm was an odd thing to compare a person’s eyes to, especially if you were trying to say they were beautiful, but then I remembered how excited Angel had always gotten when he watched rain clouds rolling through--I decided he was trying to say that my eyes changed color with my moods, which I remembered my mother saying. But Angel wasn’t finished describing me, for he reached up to my head and continued, "And your hair is so soft and curly it also reminds me of storm clouds. The color of it is like the sun breaking through them." He tangled his fingers up in it for a while, then ran his hand back down my cheek to my neck and let it rest there. I was beginning to squirm from all this admiration. "But, querido," I tried to insist, "I am soooo skinny, and way too tall for a woman!" Angel moved so that he could look up at me and replied, grinning, "Your figure is perfect to me, mi vida! I like that your body is lean and firm and you don’t have to spend all your time at a gym trying to keep it that way--leaves more time for me to enjoy it!" He winked at me and stretched up to kiss me, chuckling, "And if you were any shorter I would have to lean way down to do that while standing up!" I was sure I could see where this was heading, so I mock protested, "But my breasts are so small!"

Angel took the hint and lifted my T-shirt, reached behind me and unhooked my bra. Just as he lowered his head he looked into my eyes and murmurred, "They are just the right size to fit in my mouth!" I lifted the shirt and bra over my head and tossed them aside, laid down flat and revelled in the feeling of Angel’s voluptuous lips hardening my nipples, his long tongue flicking them and his sensuous fingers tickling around them, until I was afraid I would have an orgasm before he had the chance to make love to me. But I needn’t have worried, for that was exactly what Angel had in mind--he lifted his body across mine after several minutes of these ministrations and whispered in my ear, "Let me make you come just with this, OK, mi amor?" All I could do was moan, and Angel returned to my breasts with both his hands and his mouth until I began to writhe and the moans became louder, then put his hand inside my shorts and brought me to a shuddering climax. Then Angel took off his shirt and gently took hold of first one of my hands, then my head, indicating that he wanted attention in the the same two areas from me. When he had had his climax and I had helped him clean up, we were both tired enough to fall asleep, facing each other with our chests as close as we could manage.. We woke up to total darkness and, as if reading each other’s thoughts, wordlessly stripped off the rest of our clothes and finished what we had started. After satisfying each other completely, we kissed for a long time and fell asleep for the night.

The next day had already been planned as the one on which we would go about ordering flowers and a cake and getting Angel a tuxedo. We didn’t sleep as late as we had been because we had slept so much the afternoon before. We also skipped breakfast and shared the tiny shower, so we were on our way by nine AM. We went to a bakery in the barrio first because we knew they opened early for those people who liked pastries for breakfast. The middle-aged woman behind the counter had obviously enjoyed many of her own creations, and the place smelled incredible, especially since by that time we were starving. The clerk came around to us, saying, "En que le puedo servir?", which I took to mean, "How may I help you?". Angel began to converse with her in Spanish and I picked up a few words here and there, such as, "Puede ayudanos con una torta de boda?"--"Can you help us with a wedding cake?" She smiled broadly and nodded, going into the office at the back of the shop and returning with a large white notebook which contained pictures of the cakes in which the shop specialized. We sat down at one of the little white wrought iron glass-topped tables and began to page through the book. The cakes were all so beautiful that I had a hard time choosing, but when Angel saw the two-tiered one over which cascaded pale green leaves and wildflowers of frosting and on top of which rested bride and groom figures standing in a little plastic grotto by a pool made of blue foil, he drew in a breath. "They even look like us!" he marveled, "His hair is long and dark and hers is curly and light!" I agreed it was lovely, appropriate to our interest in the outdoors, and small enough that we wouldn’t have to worry about having alot left over. The decision made, Angel showed the picture to the clerk and talked over the arrangements with her, turning to me only once to ask what kind of cake we would want. He translated the list as she ran through it in Spanish. When he came to white cake with lemon filling, I stopped him--"Oh, that would be wonderful!" After we made a down payment the clerk gave us two pastries "casa invita (on the house)". I asked what they were and she answered, "Pastels de miel, perfecto para los recien casados!" Then we left the shop with the clerk’s parting "Felicidades! (Congratulations!)" ringing in our ears. I took a bite of the pastry after we were outside. "Mmmm!" I exclaimed, for it was delicious, "What did she say these were called?" Angel chuckled and answered with his mouth full, "Honey cakes, perfect for newlyweds!" We kept laughing as we finished eating and I pulled the motorhome out into traffic.

The next stop was the florist. Again, Angel spoke to the clerk in Spanish, and told me what was available on short notice and how much it would cost. We settled on the traditional stephanotis with a few white roses and carnations for my bouquet and a boutonierre of one rose and stephanotis for Angel. We also decided on garlands of ivy and white carnations to decorate the church. With that accomplished it was on to the tux shop for what I anticipated would be the hardest part of all the planning--getting Angel to agree to the "matador"-style tuxedo I loved. I knew he thought it looked too much like a costume from a bad Rudolph Valentino movie. But I needn’t have worried about talking him into it, though, because when we arrived at the shop we discovered that we had waited too long to come in and rent that tux, and someone else had gotten it instead. "Ay, que lastima! (what a shame)", Angel managed to choke out with a straight face before he burst into giggles and had to hobble outside to compose himself. I stood in the middle of the shop, squirming for a moment in humiliation and willing my feet to move, then finally bursting out the door to confront Angel on the sidewalk. "Why did you have to embarrrass me like that?!" Angel’s face immediately became a mask of seriousness and he reached out to touch me, but I shook him off and turned away, fighting tears. "Bebe, please, forgive me, but I just did not want to wear that tux!" He put his hand under my chin and raised my head so our eyes met. "Por favor, mi vida, no lloras--don’t cry!" I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and Angel held out his arm so I could snuggle against him as we walked back into the shop. As at the other two shops, Angel struck up a conversation in Spanish with the clerk, and he went into a back room to search for whatever Angel had requested. After several minutes, during which Angel settled into the same chair as when we had come here weeks ago and I sat on his lap as I had done then, the clerk emerged with several different styles of tuxedoes, all with one similarity--each one had a dark blue jacket with black satin lapels and black trousers.

Angel and the clerk disappeared into the back again, this time to the fitting rooms. One after the other, Angel modelled the tuxes, but I didn’t entirely like the way he looked in any of them until he came out wearing a double-breasted jacket of velvet in a blue so dark it was almost navy but not quite. "That’s the one!" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet to hug Angel and kiss his cheek. "Ay, Dolly, take it easy! You don’t want to wrinkle the suit!" The clerk joined us in our laughter and Angel explained to him in Spanish that this would be the one we wanted to rent. While they were filling out the order form, I stood back and admired the way the velvet jacket fit my beautiful husband, with his broad shoulders and trim waist--narrowed even further by his recent weight loss (which was resolving but hadn’t entirely yet). Its deep blue perfectly set off his bronze skin, as did the crisp white ruffled shirt, which made him look even more tanned than he already was. Then when Angel removed the jacket and held it out for the clerk to hang up, I saw how the black pleated trousers hugged his firm rear, and when he turned around and I saw the front view I began twitching with anticipation of returning to our motorhome and resuming our favorite activity! As we left the shop, I stopped Angel right there on the sidewalk and kissed him with all the tongue action I could muster, holding him close enough that I could feel that he would be ready for more as soon as we got back to the campground. I was not disappointed. The combination of the last night’s rest and the morning’s excursion--which reminded us of our commitment--made Angel both stronger and more easily aroused than he had even been yesterday. I lost count of how many times that afternoon we made love, and when we had exhausted each other once again we made another early night of it and went to sleep.

The next day was to be our last at the campground. We did one more thing for the first time that day--Angel rented a rowboat and rowed us around the lake in the middle of the grounds. His upper body exercises made him a strong oarsman, and I just sat back and watched with appreciation as his arm and chest muscles rippled under his T-shirt. He was able to row for so long that we missed checkout time and ended up staying one more night. When we went to settle the bill the following morning, Dave again wished us well in our marriage and Angel gave him directions to the church and the time of the wedding--six P. M. the following Saturday. Then we headed back into the city and our apartment. As we were driving Angel was silent for a long time, as if deep in thought, then suddenly remarked, "You know, I do still have an aunt and uncle in Mexico that we should probably invite to the wedding. I should call them as soon as we get home." I replied, "Yes, that would be nice," and my sadness must have shown in my face, for Angel reached over to stroke my hand on the steering wheel and asked, "What’s wrong, mi vida? Isn’t there anyone you want to invite? Is that what’s making you sad?" I just nodded, tears welling in my eyes; my parents were both dead, I had never known any of my other relatives because they all lived back East, and I had really not made any friends in all the time I had worked at Worldwide. I tried not to dwell on that, though, knowing how blessed I was to have Angel. I turned to him at the next traffic light and smiled, then lifted the hand that was still covering mine and kissed it.

As he had said, as soon as we got home Angel placed an international call to Ensenada, Mexico. Evidently his uncle answered the phone, for he exclaimed, "Hola, Tio Mateo! Como estas?" I knew this meant, "Hello, Uncle Matthew, how are you?" but the rest of their conversation was lost on me, apart from words like "boda", which meant wedding, and my name preceded by the word "novia". The call didn’t last long, and when he hung up, Angel was grinning and told me, "Tio Mateo and Tia Lucia will be thrilled to come! They will be here Thursday afternoon!" Angel hugged me, tried to pick me up and spin me around in his excitement, and sent us both crashing onto the couch. We laid next to each other dissolving in giggles for a long time. I was lying against the back of the couch with Angel on the outside, and he took full advantage of the situation once our laughter subsided, pressing his full weight into me and kissing me with unrestrained passion. From there it was only a matter of minutes until we were naked and making love right there where we had landed. I was beginning to wonder if Angel would have anything left for our honeymoon, and when I said as much after we were finished, he just laughed heartily and kissed me quickly before reassuring me, "For you, Munequita, I will always have enough strength!" I laughed too until Angel’s face became serious again and he lifted my chin so that our eyes met. "And do you know why I will always have enough strength?" I shook my head. "Because I know I will always have you, and you have been my strength!" He put his lips to mine again before I could form an answer, but it was just as well--all I could do was lay my head on his warm chest and cry, I was so happy!

Angel had promised his boss that he would return to work early the next day, so promptly at 6:30 AM I was pulling my car into the alley behind the garage. I watched as Angel sauntered inside leaning on his cane, and waited long enough to see all his co-workers slapping him on the back and welcoming him back to work. I had a brief flash of the sadness I had felt the day before at not having anyone to invite to our wedding, and I tried to console myself with the thought that all these new friends of Angel’s probably had wives or girlfriends who could become a circle of support for me. I resolved to call each of them and invite them to the apartment for a shower Friday afternoon. I got out of my car and went in to ask Angel to get the phone numbers of all his co-workers, or their girlfriends if that were the case, on the excuse that he might need to call them about a bachelor party or that I might want one of the wives or girlfriends as an attendant. For once I was glad of the noise in a car repair shop--no one noticed me coming in or heard what we said. When I picked Angel up that afternoon he had been successful in getting all the men’s phone numbers or those of their girlfriends. So I spent much of the next day making phone calls and arranging the food for a party to be held Friday at noon--plenty of time to get the women all out of the apartment before I had to pick Angel up at three. And of course on that day it would also be possible for his Aunt Lucia to attend.

Thursday when Angel got off work we headed straight for the airport to pick up his uncle and aunt. Angel was fairly twitching with anticipation as we sat at the gate waiting for their flight, which had been delayed by a thunderstorm over Arizona. I leaned my head on Angel’s shoulder and was nearly asleep when suddenly he bolted up and ran toward a young Mexican man and woman. They didn’t look old enough to be an aunt and uncle, but Angel was hugging them and rattling on a mile a minute in Spanish as he brought them down the ramp, an arm around each of them, to meet me. "Dolores, I would like you to meet my Uncle Mateo and Aunt Lucia Rubio!" I shook each of their hands and attempted to say "Mucho gusto," the standard Spanish greeting on being introduced--like "Pleased to meet you." I couldn’t get over how young they looked, and Angel seemed to have read my mind as he continued, "Mateo is my mother’s youngest brother, the last of her family." He then translated for them what he had just told me, and their smiles faded as they nodded. I muttered, "Lo siento (I’m sorry)", then excused us as politely as I could in Spanish and whispered to Angel, "Do they speak English?" Angel nodded, making a gesture like "a little", then returned to his aunt and uncle to say something else in Spanish, which seemed to be about the fact that I would prefer to speak English, for from then on they did their best to include me in the conversation. After we retrieved their luggage, Angel suggested that we all go out to eat, and directed me to a tiny Mexican restaurant on the edge of the barrio.

Angel seemed to know the place and its staff well, for the hostess hugged him and he introduced all of us to her. When we were seated, Angel ordered two of his favorite beers for himself and his uncle, and sangria for his aunt and me. After those were brought, he did all the ordering of the food, which came served on huge sizzling platters from which we served ourselves--except that Angel served me, urging me to try everything and grinning as I exclaimed "Mmmm!" over each new dish. At one point, Angel called the waitress over and apparently asked to speak to the owner, for a balding Hispanic man emerged from the kitchen. He and Angel went to a small table near the back, far enough away that I could hear nothing they said, but then I would not have understood anyway. While he was gone, Angel’s Uncle Mateo attempted to engage me in English conversation, asking about my former job, my family, anything he could think of to fill the awkward silence. When Angel returned, he was more animated than ever and began to go on and on in Spanish to his aunt and uncle again. Something told me he had a secret and I knew Angel well enough to let him keep it. We didn’t have room for Angel’s relatives to stay with us, so we had made reservations at a hotel nearby for them. On the way to the hotel I asked his aunt to be ready for me to pick her up at 11:30 the next morning so she could be at my party.

I picked up the party trays I had ordered on the way to pick up Aunt Lucia. She was waiting in the lobby of the hotel when I pulled up its half-circle driveway and came out just as I stopped in front of the entrance. She was carrying three boxes, one quite small, another that looked like a bakery box, and a third the size of a shirt box. I had told everyone there were to be no gifts since Angel and I already had everything, not to mention the fact that I didn’t really know any of these women and wouldn’t want them to feel obligated. Before I was able to say anything, however, Aunt Lucia held a finger to her lips, and I knew better than to protest. Back at my apartment she offered to help me set things up, and I was grateful. The ladies began to arrive right on time, and soon we were getting to know each other quite well. Although they ranged in age from slightly older than my mother to slightly younger than me, they all seemed very friendly, and I was glad I had decided to do this. I could tell I would get along with all of them. After we had eaten and talked for a while, Aunt Lucia stood up and quieted everybody, saying in a halting mixture of Spanish and English, "Dolores, me gusta welcome you to la familia, y ahora, las sorpresas de Angel!" Apparently the boxes she had brought with her were not from her and Uncle Mateo, but from my husband.

Aunt Lucia instructed me to open the small box first. It looked as though it had come from a jewelry store, and I hoped Angel hadn’t bought me something fancy that I would never wear except at the wedding. But I needn’t have worried, for inside the white leather box, nestled in pale blue satin, was the most beautiful rosary I had ever seen. It was made from freshwater pearls, the kind which are irregular in their shape, and had a beautifully detailed silver crucifix and a medal of St. Nicholas of Myra, the patron of brides. I burst into tears and Aunt Lucia came over to comfort me, explaining in broken English that Angel meant for me to carry the rosary at the wedding. I nodded and wiped my eyes with the tissue she offered, then took the other box from her hands, giving her the rosary to return to its box for me. The bigger box was from a very upscale department store, and I once again I had to wonder--what could Angel possibly have found to suit a plain, simple woman like me in a place like that? I untied the wide white ribbon that was wrapped around it and lifted the lid. Under layers of tissue paper that filled most of the inside, I found the scantiest negligee I had ever seen, all white net and lace with matching bikini panties. I could feel myself blushing as every woman in the room began to giggle, then got caught up in the laughter myself and doubled over, dropping the box on the floor. When the laughter had subsided, Aunt Lucia said, "Y ahora, the last sorpresa!"

She went into the kitchen where she had previously left the bakery box and came back out carrying a cake. She showed me the little figure of an angel and the words written in icing on top-- "Siempre Tu Angel", which meant, "Forever Your Angel". I had to run to our bedroom to hide the tears that burst from me this time. Aunt Lucia followed me; putting her arms around me she told me, "Angel say he thought maybe this happen, so he told me say to you he sorry for make you cry, but now on will be nothing but happy!" I turned and put my head on her shoulder, taking tissues from her hand once again, and replied, "I know, I am only crying because I am already so happy!" When I had composed myself we joined the others and I cut cake for each of them. When it was gone, the ladies began to find reasons to leave, and I was glad, because I had to pick up Angel from work. As soon as he got in the car I leaned over and grabbed him in the tightest hug I could manage, then kissed him with my tongue exploring his mouth for a long time. When we finally broke the kiss, Angel was grinning, "I take it you liked your presents?" I nodded as I backed the car out of the alley, asking him as I looked over my shoulder, "When did you have a chance to shop?" Angel laughed, "I didn’t--I told my aunt where to go and what to buy, and she was very successful, don’t you think?" I just nodded again, and Angel continued, "Well then, I have another surprise for you, one that I had my uncle help me with." My curiousity piqued, I asked "What is that?" I couldn’t imagine what more Angel could have done to make this day--and our wedding tomorrow--any more perfect.

"Well, querida," Angel was saying, "This is kind of a long story so bear with me. I have been thinking about this for a long time, and I decided to go ahead and start the paperwork now that I have seen my mother’s relatives." Paperwork? Now I was really puzzled. "So I had Tio Mateo meet me in a cab at work and take me to the registrar’s office." I was stopping at a traffic light, so I turned to Angel and asked, "Babe, what is this about?" Angel gave me his sideways glance, grinning again, "It’s about giving both of us a new last name!" I still had no idea what he was talking about. "Come on already," I said in mock exasperation, "Tell me!" Angel laughed out loud, then turned serious again and went on, "Well, I’ve been thinking how when I was in the hospital and you bought us these crucifixes," he reached inside his work shirt to lift his out, "I told you that the Star of David was part of my old life, and you and this were my new one, remember?" I nodded and Angel continued, "So I figured since your new life as my wife involves taking a new name, my having a new life should also involve a new name--one that is more in keeping with the greater focus I now have on my Mexican heritage--and that we should both take this name."

Angel asked me to take him to the nearest liquor store and then drop him and the two twelve-packs of Mexican beer he bought at the hotel where his aunt and uncle were staying. "Tio Mateo and I are going to have a small bachelor party." I understood Angel wanting to do this, since it is traditional and he hadn’t been able to drink for so long, but I knew from the quantity he bought that he would probably be terribly drunk when he got home--the two beers he was accustomed to having on most days had always made him slightly giddy. Then when we had dinner with his aunt and uncle at the Mexican restaurant, he drank more than that and ended up laughing too loudly and stumbling out despite his cane and the rest of us helping him. "Will any of the guys from the garage be there?" I ventured. "I invited them all but I don’t know--that is why I bought so much beer, just in case!" Angel knew me so well that he understood the concern in my face, and I knew him well enough to realize what his raised eyebrows meant. So I confessed, "Yeah, I was a little worried that so much beer for just you and Uncle Mateo would lead to a couple of huge hangovers tomorrow!" Angel threw his head back and roared with laughter, "Ay, Munequita, you worry too much! The wedding isn’t until six o’clock--I would be stone-cold sober by then no matter how much I drank!" At the next traffic light I turned to him and frowned; Angel touched my cheek, assuring me, "Don’t worry, I will be ready when I need to be, mi vida!" He winked at me, and I wondered if he meant just for the wedding....?

As I left Angel off at the hotel, I saw his Aunt Lucia waiting in the lobby. I couldn’t imagine what we would do with a whole evening together, but she gave me to understand that she needed to buy a dress for the wedding, since back home in Ensenada she had no use for evening wear. During a quick dinner at McDonald’s, I decided to ask Aunt Lucia to be my attendant and she accepted. So next we went to the bridal shop where I had bought my wedding dress. With the help of the same young Hispanic woman who had waited on me then, we quickly found a similarly styled dress in a beautiful royal blue that would perfectly complement Angel’s tuxedo. For a headpiece we chose a wreath of silk flowers in various shades of blue mixed with white. Then, to make sure we had something to occupy us for the rest of the evening, we stopped at a video store and rented several "chick flick" videos--all subtitled in Spanish. Back at the apartment we laughed and cried through all the movies, consumed a ton of popcorn and a gallon of soda, then both fell asleep on the couch. The next thing I knew we were awakened by a commotion in the hallway outside. As I came fully awake I realized it consisted of two men drunkenly harmonizing on "Cielito Lindo" and one of them--Angel--dropping keys and a cane several times on the the linoleum floor. I stood up, stretched, and went to open the door, just in time to see him bending down, keys in hand, as if trying to see the lock more clearly. "Buenos noches, bebe!" Angel slurred as he attempted to straighten up without his cane, thereby losing his balance and falling against Uncle Mateo. Both men went down in a flurry of long legs and arms, Angel ending up sitting in Mateo’s lap as they laughed hysterically. I ran into the hall and grabbed Angel’s flailing arms, my spindly body unequal to the task of pulling my tall, muscular husband any farther than off his uncle’s lap. My legs gave way and I ended up flat on top of Angel on the cold floor, and he immediately began to fondle and kiss me as though we were in bed alone.

As much as I loved Angel and his lovemaking, and although I was used to the smell of beer on his breath, under these circumstances I was becoming angry and sick to my stomach. Squirming out of his arms, I looked down at Angel for a moment before dashing back into the apartment, shutting the door and throwing the deadbolt. Aunt Lucia sat stunned at what had just happened, and in my broken, newly-acquired Spanish, I tried to explain why I was locking our husbands out. "Muy borracho (very drunk)!" was the best I could manage, but she seemed to understand. Her reaction, however, was totally different from mine. She hurried out and got the still-struggling Mateo to his feet, helping him into our apartment as she chattered away in a concerned, loving tone. Shamed, I looked around for Angel and found him sitting propped against the wall, arms around knees and head down, shoulders shaking with sobs. I knelt beside him and cradled his head to my chest, murmurring, "Lo siento mucho, mi vida." Without raising his head, Angel reached up and touched my hair, replying, "Yo tambien, amor mio." I felt the floor for Angel’s cane and when I found it stood up and held it out for him, then took his other arm and steadied him by placing it around my neck.

We entered the apartment to find Mateo and Lucia preparing to leave. Angel spoke to them for a few moments in Spanish, making sure they knew what time they needed to be back here so we could get to the church in time for the wedding tomorrow evening, then we all said our goodnights. After Angel had closed the door behind his aunt and uncle, I went to him and put my arms around his waist from behind, caressing his torso before pulling his shirt out of his jeans and unbuttoning it, pulling it off of him and letting it fall to the floor. Next I reached around and undid his pants, pulled the waistband of his underwear away from him and reached inside. Angel’s head went back as he moaned with pleasure, his luxurious hair brushing my face. As the rest of his body leaned back into mine I could tell his legs would not bear his weight much longer and helped him into the bedroom, where he fell heavily onto the bed. I had to remove his boots and swing his legs up for him. Then I went into the bathroom to take off my clothes and brush my teeth. When I came back to the bed, Angel was snoring loudly. I knew that what I had tried to start would not be finished tonight, so I got a nightgown from the dresser and after putting it on crawled across Angel’s body and laid down beside him. The next thing I knew I was waking up on our wedding day--with the same queasy feeling in my stomach that I had the night before when looking down at my usually sensible husband sprawled on the tile floor of our building’s hallway, completely drunk.

I figured it was just pre-wedding jitters, but I couldn’t understand why I would feel this way when we were already married and this wedding was all for me. Angel had promised me that I would have the white dress, the music, the flowers, and the candles. And not only those trappings, but also him standing beside me and walking me down the aisle after the priest confirmed our union before God and the congregation. What more could I want? Perhaps it was the thought of the church that made me apprehensive. For all the need we had had recently of the support of God’s people, Angel and I had not been to the little storefront church since the first time he had taken me there, except for the time I had gone to pray for Angel’s recovery from addiction. I tried to tell myself I was justified in having let that recovery, coming on the heels of Angel’s condition following the accident, keep me from leaving him to go to services by myself. Besides, I was sure that the congregation had kept us in their prayers all along, as well-loved as Angel had always been there and as quickly as he had recovered. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling that we had no right to stand before that altar and ask God to bless us, when we had ignored the worship of Him that our faith required. I promised Him then that during the Mass this evening I would worship Him with all my heart, because He had done so much for Angel and me, both separately and ever since we had first met.

I was jolted from this train of thought by the sound of Angel moaning beside me. Only this morning the moaning was not like that of pleasure which I had heard last night. This time he was holding his head in his large hands and rolling side to side, mumbling, "Ay yi yi, mi duele mucho la cabeza!" I knew this meant that his head was hurting terribly, and I fought the urge to laugh and say "I told you so!" Instead, I headed for the bathroom intending to bring Angel a cold wet washcloth for his forehead, but as I made my way across the bedroom floor it became increasingly evident that before I could do so I would be getting rid of whatever was unsettling my stomach. With that accomplished I got the washcloth and brought it to Angel, sitting beside him on the bed and brushing his already-damp hair back. He sighed heavily as the washcloth touched his forehead and mumurred, "Gracias, querida, esto me siento mejor (that feels better)." I left the washcloth there and ran my hand down his cheek and neck onto his chest. "De nada, mi vida," I replied, "do you remember what today is?" Angel chuckled ruefully and covered my hand with his, "Must be a special day for me to have gotten so drunk the night before!" I knew he was just playing with me, so I played along, pouting at him as he finally opened his eyes and saying, "You mean to tell me that you don’t remember? Then yes, you were entirely too drunk last night!" I took my hand out from under his and crawled across him to sit propped against the headboard. Angel maneuvered himself to try and lie against my chest, but I squirmed away, continuing the pretense that I was angry. His head hit the headboard with a thud. "Owwww!" he cried, and I couldn’t contain myself anymore; I burst out laughing and told him, "That’s what you get, querido!"

Angel shot me a hurt look, and I stopped my laughing short. I cradled his head and helped him get it onto my lap, putting the washcloth back on his forehead and stroking his hair as Angel grinned up at me and asked, "You didn’t really think I would forget our wedding day, did you?" I just shook my head, and Angel reached up and pulled it down so he could kiss me. But before our lips met, Angel’s expression changed from one of desire to one of queasiness, and I reared back as he grabbed his cane from the floor and headed for the bathroom as fast as it would let him. From behind the closed door I recognized the sounds I had been making just a few minutes earlier. I went to the door, knocked, and called out, laughing, "OK, babe, now we’re even!" Not surprisingly, neither of us felt much like eating breakfast, so we just brushed our teeth and went back to bed. For a long time we just laid there comforting each other from our respective illnesses, but soon this led to a preview of the wedding night we were both so eagerly anticipating. Though we had agreed to save something for that night, we did everything else with our hands and our mouths that our desire dictated. This seemed to help both of us feel much better, so that by lunchtime we were up, showered, dressed, and starving. We were also both too restless and excited to stay in the apartment, so we decided to spend the day just wandering around until it was time to pick up his tux and get ready for the wedding.

I still had to drive so we took my car. Angel directed me, which I found odd since we had supposedly been going nowhere in particular. The area in which I found myself driving was completely unfamiliar, even when Angel told me the church was just a few blocks from it. When we came within sight of a small, rundown bodega, Angel told me to find a place to park. He got out of the car and, looking both ways for oncoming traffic, hobbled as fast as he could into the middle of the street. Terrified, I got out and ran to him, narrowly escaping being hit by a car. By the time I reached him Angel was on his knees and I yelled (more angrily than I had intended), "What the hell are you doing?!" It was obvious from his posture that Angel was praying, and I was too--that the traffic would thin and that the cars that were coming would see me even if they couldn’t see Angel. I stood over him until he blessed himself, indicating that he was finished, then I helped him to his feet and back into my car. When we were both safely inside, I turned to Angel and noticed the tears streaming down his face. Reaching out to hold him, I asked softly, "What was that all about?" Angel sobbed against my neck for a few minutes before answering, "That was the very spot where my mother died!" I gasped, "I had no idea, querido!" He sat up and looked into my eyes, "I know, Munequita, you couldn’t have. But I always promised Mama that on my wedding day I would bring my fiancee here and say a prayer that she would be watching over us. Of course when we were married the first time that was impossible but I had to bring you here today to let my mother know how happy you have made me!" He paused, then added, "And how much I wish she could be here today--I know she would have loved you!"

By this time I was also crying, but I sensed that Angel wanted to talk more about his mother’s death, so I said gently, "If you want to tell me about it, I am listening." Angel broke from my embrace, leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes, as if the scene was playing out in his mind. Sighing heavily, he began, "I was in my next-to-last class of the day, and the principal came to the door and spoke to my teacher in a whisper. The teacher then told me to go with the principal, and I wondered what I had done to get myself in trouble this time!" He chuckled for a second, then went on, "Once I was in the principal’s office and he had shut the door, he told me to sit down and sat behind his desk just looking at me for a minute that seemed like forever. Then he got up and came back around and sat on the desk right in front of me and said, ‘Isaiah, I just got a phone call.’ That was all he said for a long time, but I knew in my heart that something had happened to Mama." Angel stopped to brush the tears from his cheeks, swallowed hard, and continued, "I was already close to tears as I asked him, ‘What happened?’ He reached for my hand as if to shake it, wrapped both of his around it and looked into my eyes. ‘There was an accident.’ He stopped again and I was starting to get angry. I jumped out of the chair and started pacing back and forth. ‘Where, in the factory?’ I asked him. ‘No, in the street just a few blocks from here. Your mother was on her way home from the grocery store and a car hit her as she crossed in the middle of the street.’" Angel was sobbing again, and I again reached to hold him, but this time he shook me off. I knew he was feeling the anger he had felt that day, so I did nothing. "I ran out of his office, out of the school, and I kept running until I was across the street from the bodega. The ambulance was just leaving. I didn’t have a car so I couldn’t follow it, and I didn’t know who I could call for a ride, so I just walked home. It was the middle of the night before the police managed to track me down--to this day I don’t know how--and called me to say that Mama had died on the way to the hospital!" Now Angel fell into my arms and almost screamed with crying, and I felt helpless to comfort him.

The only thing I could think to say was, "I’m so sorry, Angel! Did you want to go to the cemetary and visit her?" Angel reared back as if I had said something terrible, a flash of anger in his red-rimmed dark eyes. "There is no cemetary, querida," he answered, "the hospital made a mistake and had her cremated just before I managed to get there, right after the police called. They didn’t think she had any family since no one had showed up, but even though they were supposed to wait thirty-six hours for someone, they just...." He trailed off, and it hit me like a truckload of bricks that it must have been horribly difficult for Angel to assist me through my own mother’s cremation! I couldn’t say anymore, just patted Angel’s head back onto my shoulder and let him finish crying. As I waited I resolved that once he had had some time to return to our present happiness, I would suggest to Angel that we buy a plot for ourselves in some cemetery and get a headstone for all of us--his mother, him, and me, and perhaps even his father if he wanted. But right now I had to think of a way to get Angel back to that happiness and thoughts of the wedding that was only a few hours away. All I could think of was, "Are you hungry enough now for lunch? I know I am!" Angel pulled some tissues from the box on the floor and nodded as he got himself under control. We decided to get some hot dogs from a street vendor because he was embarrassed by his red eyes and nose. After I got the hot dogs and pop I drove to the park and we sat under the shadiest possible tree. When we had finished, Angel laid down in the grass with his head in my lap and closed his eyes. Evidently the drinking the night before, the hangover of this morning, and the trauma this afternoon of reliving his mother’s death had taken their toll on him, for he was soon asleep. I just sat watching him, lost in thoughts of how our separate unhappy pasts had brought us together for a joyful future.

In spite of this pleasant reverie, I felt compelled to keep checking my watch as Angel slept, fearful of us being late for our own wedding. When it was four o’clock, I shifted my weight slightly, hoping to wake Angel. He didn’t stir, so I began to stroke his hair, and when that didn’t work, I lightly brushed his mustache with my fingers. At this his nose began to twitch, and I had to giggle as he swatted my hand away as though it were a fly. "Oh, it’s only you, Munequita!" he exclaimed as he opened his eyes and grinned. "ONLY me?!" I reared back in mock horror, "And here I was waking you up so that you could marry me! Are you saying I am too insignificant for that?" Angel sat up, laughing, "Ay yi yi, no, but we’re already married," he countered, "I am only doing this church thing for your sake!" I wanted to look hurt, but Angel’s dimples flashed and he winked at me, melting me into a puddle of adoration at his side. I put my arms around his neck and we kissed deeply for several minutes, then headed for the shop where his tux was waiting. After paying the rest of the rental fee, we headed back to the apartment to get dressed. We were expecting Angel’s aunt and uncle to arrive there an hour before the ceremony, so Mateo could drive Angel and I could drive with Lucia and we could have a short rehearsal at the church before the guests arrived. As I struggled to pin on my mantilla after getting into my dress, I thought how glad I would be to have Lucia’s help, but also how much more than ever I would miss my mother tonight. When Angel came out of the bathroom, dressed in his tux except for the jacket which he held draped over his shoulder, he saw me sitting on the bed crying. Sitting beside me, he just took me in his arms--I didn’t have to say a word and my heaven-sent husband knew what was wrong.

We were startled by a knock on the door a few minutes later. Angel grabbed his cane and went to answer it as quickly as he could. Watching him, I was glad we had decided to walk down the aisle together, so he could lean on me and not that damned stick. I heard him greeting Mateo and Lucia in Spanish, and while they were sitting in the living room talking excitedly, I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face to take away the redness, then went to get Lucia to help me with my mantilla. As she inserted the hairpins and smoothed the lace down over my shoulders, she chattered in broken English about how handsome Angel looked and how lovely I looked. Embarrassed, and in spite of trying to treat Angel’s relatives like my own family, in my nervousness I had trouble keeping annoyance out of my voice as I said, "Aunt Lucia, let’s go." She nodded and headed out the bedroom door at a pace that made me think perhaps I had angered her. I heard her say something rapidly to Angel and Mateo in Spanish, and a moment later Angel was in the bedroom questioning me, "What did you say to Tia Lucia?!" Taken aback by the anger in his voice I stammered, "N-nothing, I just told her it was time to go." Angel’s gaze softened and he looked at the floor, shuffling his feet in their unaccustomed patent leather slip-ons. "I’m sorry I snapped at you, Dolly, I guess Titi misunderstood." I walked over and ran my hand over Angel’s cheek. "It’s OK, mi amor, I understand--she’s family." Angel looked up, shocked. "But, querida, I thought you knew you are already a part of my family!?" I nodded, and he took me in his arms, kissing me quickly, then grinned at me and exclaimed, "Now let’s go make it really official!"

Lucia and I took my car, with Mateo and Angel bringing the motorhome because we were leaving for a weekend in San Diego right after the wedding--we had decided we needed a honeymoon, and agreed we should go back to where our life together had almost ended before it started, to make our peace with the place and thank God that we had been given a second chance. We arrived at the church to find all the lights on and Father Rodriguez waiting in one of the folding chairs in the sanctuary. He greeted Angel and me warmly with handshakes and hugs, then Angel introduced him to Mateo and Lucia. The four of them lapsed immediately into Spanish, and I stood there like the fifth wheel until finally Father Rodriguez turned to me and asked, "Is the bride ready to rehearse?" I smiled wanly and nodded, and he directed Angel and me to go to the back of the sanctuary and wait for the pianist to begin playing. I had chosen to have "Ode to Joy" as the processional, and as soon as she began, Angel propped his cane on a chair and took my arm. He leaned heavily upon me as we walked, but we made it to the altar in a reasonable length of time. Mateo stood beside Angel as best man, and Lucia stood beside me and held my bouquet as Father Rodriguez gave us a quick run-down of the ceremony. I was very glad Angel and I had taken the time to study it during our camping trip, or I would have been totally lost in the Spanish. When the priest had finished, Angel and I walked back down the aisle to the usual wedding march, Mateo and Lucia following.

We still had a while until the guests--Angel’s new co-workers and Dave, the owner of the campground--were due to arrive, so we all went to sit in a Sunday School classroom to wait. Right away I spotted Angel’s guitar in the corner of the room, and I wondered if he might be planning to sing in the ceremony. The only singing we had decided on together was for the priest’s secretary--whom Angel said was a wonderful singer--to sing the traditional "Ave Maria" just before the processional. But when I questioned him about it, Angel just said, "Oh, I knew we were going to have some time to kill, so I thought maybe I would sing a couple songs to pass the time--any requests?" Caught off guard, I just said, "You decide," and sat down with Mateo and Lucia to listen to Angel’s soaring tenor as he sang "Annie’s Song." I was in tears by the time he finished, just in time for the secretary to poke her head in the door and tell us she was about to sing, so we had about five more minutes. Mateo and Lucia went out to make their entrances. After putting on his tux jacket, Angel reached into the inside pocket and pulled out the rosary he had sent to my bridal shower. He kissed the crucifix, pressed the beads into my left hand and closed my fingers over them, then raised my hand to his lips and kissed it as well. The composure I had been struggling to regain after listening to him sing gave way, and I fell into Angel’s arms, crying all over his satin lapel. Fortunately, the boutonniere I pinned on it covered the spot.

Mateo knocked on the door and said quietly, "Es el tiempo (It’s time)." I dried my eyes and retrieved my bouquet from a desk. Angel left his cane in the classroom and leaned on me all the way down the hall to the sanctuary. As I heard the final strains of the "Ave Maria" dying away, I said a quick prayer that he would make it down the aisle again, not to mention be able to stand for the entire ceremony. At the back of the now-candlelit church we blessed ourselves and genuflected, and Angel had a hard time getting back up. I helped him as best I could, but it took one of his co-workers to get him the rest of the way into a standing position. We thanked him quietly, then straightened ourselves for the walk itself. I got my first good look at the congregation and almost gasped, for the church was full. I looked at Angel, and he winked. Apparently he had arranged for the entire membership to be invited by means of the Sunday bulletin, and most of them were there. Father Rodriguez stood smiling broadly in full vestments before the altar, and the pianist began playing the processional. We walked somewhat more slowly this time due to the stiffness in Angel’s legs caused by the genuflection, but everyone stood and smiled, looking as proud as if both of us were their own children. At the altar I again handed my bouquet, with my rosary wrapped around the stems, to Lucia. Angel and I joined our right hands. All through the repetition of our vows in Spanish I tried hard to concentrate so that I would know when to respond. It was difficult, however, for in the candle-light Angel’s skin shone like gold, his black hair was touched with silver highlights, and his dark eyes sparkled with tears. The resolve I had made that morning--to spend this time worshipping God--melted a little more every time I stole a glance at the bronze god beside me.

When it was time to exchange rings, the priest turned to the altar and removed only one ring from the small box which lay there. Puzzled, I looked down at my right hand, on which I had earlier put my wedding ring, then up into Angel’s eyes. He winked at me again, let go of my hand, took his ring off his right hand, and placed it on the open Bible. After Father Rodriguez had blessed the rings, Angel took mine and repeated, "Te doy este anillo como un signo de mi amor y mi fidelidad (I give you this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness)," as he slipped it on my finger. I shakily took Angel’s ring off the Bible and did my best to say the same words, but the sight of his full lips forming them had made me think things I shouldn’t have in church. When we knelt to take Communion, those thoughts became more insistent--the way they had been the first time Angel had brought me to this church--as I watched him take the Host on his tongue and a sip of wine from the chalice. Getting up from my knees was more difficult than I had expected, and I was dizzy throughout the rest of the service. Father Rodriguez, mercifully, assisted Angel back to his feet. My head began to swim as I looked at the new ring on my left hand--it was completely surrounded with rectangular diamonds! The priest was saying "Puedes besar a la novia (You may kiss the bride)", and Angel was putting his arms around me and pulling me close. Our lips touched lightly at first, but suddenly Angel pressed harder and I felt the tip of his tongue on my lips. His arms tightened around me and he bent me slightly backward as I opened my mouth and let his tongue explore. I did the same to his mouth as everyone rose and applauded. When we straightened back up (my head spinning even more, so that I nearly fainted), Father Rodriguez quieted the congregation and said as we turned to face them, "Me gusto presentar a ustedes Senor y Senora Isaiah Arturo ‘Angel’ Rubio (I am pleased to present to you Mr. and Mrs....)!"

We walked back down the aisle to the usual wedding march, both of us a bit shaky. When we reached the back of the church this time we made a left turn and headed down the stairs to the basement, where the reception would be held. I hadn’t had anything to do with the arrangements except when Angel and I selected the cake--he had insisted on my letting him handle everything else. I now saw why he had been having that secretive conversation with the owner of the restaurant to which we had taken his aunt and uncle. The long tables spread across the back of the room were laden with every kind of authentic Mexican dish one could think of, and a pitcher of sangria and one of beer (his favorite Mexican import, no doubt!) was on every one of the round tables scattered about. The decorations were all dark blue and silver--balloons and streamers hanging from the ceiling, huge bouquets of flowers in every shade of blue in silver bowls on the tables and silver floor vases in the corners. The cake was on a round table in the center of the room with a small champagne fountain and two glasses, engraved with our names ("Isaiah y Dolores") and the date, next to it. If it hadn’t been my responsibility to support Angel as we walked to the head table, I would really have fainted then. Once we and Mateo and Lucia were seated, the guests began to file past the table and greet us (we had decided against a receiving line since there were only four of us and we knew Angel would need to sit). Father Rodriguez was last, and before sitting down with us he started the stereo which was set up in one corner--some of the music was by Angel’s favorite mariachi bands, some by the artists whose songs he loved to play and sing, like Journey and John Denver. Then it was time to go to the buffet table and help ourselves.

We all ate and drank until we were very sleepy; I in particular felt somewhat queasy. But we had to cut the cake so I had no choice to pull myself together and help Angel walk to the cake table. Mateo went ahead of us and filled the champagne glasses from the fountain, then turned and raised his glass. I couldn’t understand his words, but after we and everyone present had drunk the toast, he faced us and I saw that both he and Angel were in tears. We then took the large knife that lay beside the cake (decorated with white silk flowers and also engraved with our names and the date) and cut two small pieces. Amid gales of laughter we fed each other, Angel ending up with frosting hanging from his mustache, me so choked by the size of the piece in my mouth that I had to wash it down with champagne. The applause and whistles were almost deafening as we kissed, tasting the sweet and pungent combination in each other’s mouths. Just as all the guests were finishing their cake, Mateo got up and left the room. Confused, I watched as he brought Angel’s guitar down from the classroom where we had sat earlier, then dragged a chair around in front of the head table. He helped Angel into the chair, took the guitar from its case and handed it to him. Angel briefly checked to see if it was in tune, then looked at me with the most tender look in his eyes that I had ever seen. "Munequita, esta cancion es para ti--Dolly, this song is for you." These words alone made my eyes misty, but once Angel’s sweet sensual tenor rang out, Lucia had to start handing me tissues. Angel sang in English to make it even more clear that this was for me alone:

"When I had to live my life without you near me,

the days were all so empty, the nights would seem so long.

With you I see forever oh so clearly.

I might have been in love before

but it never felt this strong.

Our dreams are young and we both know

they’ll take us where we want to go.

And nothing will change my love for you.

You will always feel how much I love you.

One thing you can be sure of,

I’ll never ask for more than your love.

But if the road ahead is not so easy,

our love will light the way for us like a guiding star.

I’ll be there for you if you should need me.

You don’t have to change a thing,

I love you just the way you are.

So come with me and share the view,

I’ll help you see forever too.

And nothing will change my love for you.

You will always feel how much I love you.

One thing you can be sure of,

I’ll never ask for more than your love."

By this time I had my head on Lucia’s shoulder and was sobbing as she put her arm around me; Mateo rubbed my back before going to help Angel back to the table. When he was sitting beside me again we put our arms around each other, oblivious to the applause that had begun. We kissed briefly, but I could feel something welling up inside me that was not happiness or love. I broke away abruptly from Angel and turned to Lucia. "Por favor, llevame al excusado (please take me to the restroom)!" I was glad Angel had taught me practical phrases as well as romantic ones as Lucia helped me to stand and we hurried from the room. I barely made it before losing everything I had just had to eat and drink. Bursting into tears, I came out and told Lucia, "No digas esto a Angel (don’t tell Angel about this)!" She nodded and took my arm to help me back to the reception. Angel and Mateo were talking rapidly in Spanish and both looked up with concern on their faces when I sat down. "Are you OK, bebe?" Angel asked. I just nodded as Angel touched my cheek and observed, "But you’re so pale--are you sure?" I didn’t recognize myself in what I did next--I slapped Angel’s hand away and practically yelled at him, "I said I’m OK, now can we just drop it?" He reared back, shocked, but thank God no one else noticed, since the mariachi music was blaring now and many were dancing.

I stood up and held out my hand to Angel, "I’d like to dance--do you think you can?" Angel shook his head, "Not now, querida, maybe to a slow one, OK?" I began to cry again and sank back into my chair and Angel’s arms. "Shhhh," he soothed, stroking my hair, "I promise we will dance the next dance." He let me go briefly to whisper something to Mateo, then took me back in his arms again. I heard Mateo leave the table and the music stopping. Angel took a tissue from Lucia and wiped my face. Then he kissed me, stood up and held out his hand. Now he was leading me--to the corner of the room that had become the dance floor. The guests moved aside and I saw Angel nod to Mateo. He pushed a button on the stereo and I heard Ritchie Valens singing "We Belong Together", the song we had danced to that first night in my apartment. I began to cry again as Angel put his arms around me and we began to sway to the music. When the dance ended, we went back to the head table amid more applause, with me holding Angel up as we walked. For the rest of the evening we just watched the others dance, but both of us felt much better--I was no longer nauseous and Angel now knew he could stand up and walk without his cane.

We excused ourselves from the reception a few minutes later, to head back upstairs and change for the trip to San Diego. But as soon as the door closed behind us, Angel reached for me and began to kiss me with a passion that surprised me, even after all the times I had experienced it. He was pulling my dress down from my shoulders and sinking to his knees as it slid to the floor. Both my breasts received fevered ministrations from his lips and tongues, and even his teeth. After a few minutes he stood back up and started to take off his jacket. Now as frantically excited as he was, I helped him by tearing at the buttons on his shirt and unzipping his pants. With his jacket and shirt on the floor and his pants around his ankles, Angel pushed me gently against the wall. He stroked between my legs long enough to be sure I was ready, and we made love standing up. I was struck by how much more sacred this felt now that we had been joined in the presence of God’s people. I thought Angel felt it too, for both of us moved very slowly, prolonging the ecstasy. When we were satisfied we continued to kiss for a few minutes, then changed into the T-shirts and jeans we had brought. By the time we came back to the reception, the dancing seemed to be over and we went to each table to say good-bye. We went to the head table last to hug Mateo, Lucia, and Father Rodriguez and thank them. As Angel hugged Mateo, I could have sworn Mateo asked in Spanish, "What took you so long?" and winked at his nephew. Angel just winked back and seemed to be blushing. Everyone lined up outside the church and threw birdseed when we came out. That and the darkness outside as we ran to the motorhome down the block disoriented me momentarily. When I could see again, I saw that the motorhome had been festooned with streamers and balloons like the ones in the reception hall, and a sign reading "Recien Casados (Just Married)" had been taped to the back. All of us laughed and there was another round of hugs before we got in and started out for our honeymoon.

I drove until we were outside of Los Angeles, with Angel fidgeting and playing with the radio and tape deck all the way. Suddenly he exclaimed, "After all that walking, standing up and dancing tonight, I feel like I could do anything! Por favor, querida, let me drive!" I had to laugh at his child-like enthusiasm, but I was also guilt-ridden and worried. After all, my impaired driving was what had put him in the condition that had kept him from driving all these months, and Angel was still at least somewhat impaired by that condition and by what he had had to drink at the reception. I didn’t want him to undermine his progress, or worse, get us in another accident. I couldn’t tell him that, of course; I knew all about Angel’s pride and the temper that lurked beneath that handsome, romantic exterior. So I just pulled off into the first rest stop I could find and we switched places. As Angel was settling into the driver’s seat, however, I asked him for one favor: "Please just drive around the rest stop a few times to make sure your legs can handle it." Angel was open to that, so he cautiously backed out of the parking space and drove in slow circles for several minutes. He seemed to be doing fine at first, but then he cried out, "My legs are cramping, I can’t move them!" I screamed involuntarily as I realized the motorhome was going out of control, and tried to get across the aisle and put my foot on the brake. Before I could, the motorhome had jumped onto the sidewalk and hit a small tree. I finally got hold of the key and turned off the engine, then fell back into my seat and gave way to hysterics. Angel sat rubbing his legs for a moment, then clumsily sank to his knees beside me and took me in his arms.

"Ay, querida, lo siento muchisimo (I am so sorry)! I should have realized I had been on my feet too much today to be able to do this!" He began to sob, the tears hot against my neck. I stroked his hair and did my best to comfort him even though I was shaking uncontrollably. "Why don’t you just park the camper again and let’s stay here for a while?" I ventured. Angel lifted his head and nodded as I wiped the tears from his face with my fingers. He managed to park, then went to sit on the couch with his legs across my lap so I could rub them. As if to soothe me, Angel began to sing again the song he had sung to me at the reception, and for some reason the line "I might have been in love before" jumped out at me. Why I cared now that we had just pledged our love for a second time I don’t know, but I felt I had to ask, "Have you really--been in love before I mean?" Angel looked down at me with a puzzled expression, but after a moment he answered, "Well, I guess I thought I was once or twice, but that was back in high school before I took off travelling. On the road I had a few dinners with women, but was never around long enough to form that kind of a bond. I can honestly say that I have never loved anyone the way I love you, Munequita!" With that, Angel kissed me and I knew the subject was forever closed. I broke the kiss and looked deep into Angel’s huge sensual eyes, waiting for him to aske me the same question. Of course he didn’t, and I felt stupid for having asked him. "Lo siento, mi amor," I told him. "For what?" he looked puzzled again. "For asking you such a silly question! Why should it matter now that you have committed totally to me?" Angel smiled gently and touched my cheek, then swung around to sit beside me and hold me. Kissing my hair, he murmured against it, "That’s alright, bebe, I understand--things have happened so fast for us that we have never thought about these things before. Being married doesn’t make them unimportant, it just means that whatever we might have done in the past, the most important thing for us now is our future together." He kissed me again and I knew this was another topic that we would never have to discuss again.

Now completely calm, I went back to the driver’s seat, Angel went to his, and I drove back out onto the highway. We made it the rest of the way to San Diego without incident. Even in the dark we were able to find the very place where we had picnicked that fateful day that seemed so far in the past. I spread a blanket on the sand and we laid down and kissed and fondled each other for a few minutes. When Angel pressed his full length against me I could tell that he was ready to make love again, but I wanted to get another blanket, "Not just for the cold, but in case anyone should happen to walk by!" I told him. Angel chuckled and let me go with a kiss. When I returned I discovered him lying there already naked. "Unlike you, I have no inhibitions!" he laughed. I threw the other blanket over him, then crawled under it and began to take off my clothes. As I pressed against Angel once again, he whispered, "You be on top this time." I struggled to keep the blanket over us as I tried to get on top of Angel, and my maneuvering made him laugh out loud. "Shhh!!!" I tried to silence him with a kiss, but ended up also laughing, against his lips. Somewhere in all the laughter and rolling around, we became hopelessly tangled in the blankets, but I managed to end up on top just as I felt Angel entering me. We both stopped laughing at the same time, and I knew that here under the vastness of the sparkling sky, with the ocean crashing behind us, Angel and I again felt the same sense of the sacred we had felt earlier. He trembled more from emotion than cold and murmured, "En el presencia de Dios, juro que te amare siempre tanto como te amo en este momento!" I understood only that he was saying something about God and love, so I asked Angel to translate. "In the presence of God I swear that I will always love you as much as I do in this moment!" With that, we both reached a climax, and after Angel left me we lay there spent, kissing gently until we fell asleep.

About a month after our honeymoon weekend in San Diego, I woke at four in the morning, which I had never done before in my life. I barely had time to register what my body was feeling before I knew I had to make a dash for the bathroom. This feeling had been coming over me periodically since around the time of our wedding, but this time--in addition to being dizzy and nauseous-- I was so hot and sweaty that I wondered if I had the flu. Sitting there on the cold tile floor as close as I could get to the toilet, I burst into tears. It wasn’t long before I heard soft footsteps and an even softer knock at the door. "Querida, what’s the matter?" Angel whispered. "I’m not sure," I replied weakly, trying to stand up to let him in. Another wave swept me and I felt like I was going to pass out, so I just sat back down on the rug and reached up for the door handle. Angel entered with a look of fearful concern on his sleepy face, running his hand back through his disheveled hair as he sat down next to me. I leaned against him and took several deep breaths before I felt like I could speak again. "I think I’m sick," I finally said, "I thought I had to throw up, and I’m so dizzy I can’t move." Angel patted my head and we just sat there until suddenly I knew for sure I was going to be sick. "You need to go, now!" I cried as I bolted up and leaned over the toilet. He closed the door just in time. Once that was over I felt well enough to drag myself out of the bathroom, but I thought I had better brush my teeth first. Then I crawled exhausted into the bed and fell asleep again.

Later that morning I still felt queasy enough that I couldn’t help Angel with his morning routine or make his breakfast--much less eat any myself. I laid in bed listening to him bang around the bathroom and kitchen, wishing I could do something, anything. When he brought me some toast and tea I just turned my head. Angel took the tray back out to the kitchen and then returned to sit on the bed beside me. He reached over to touch my forehead. "You don’t feel like you have a fever," he said. "No, I just feel like crap," I managed to croak. "Should I call your doctor?" Angel offered. "Yeah, the number’s in the address book in the drawer of the telephone table. Dr. Maxwell." He left the room and I could hear his half of the conversation. "Hi, this is Isaiah Rubio. My wife Dolores is one of Dr. Maxwell’s patients. We think she might have the flu, and she’d like to see him as soon as possible. Yeah, she threw up about four this morning. And she’s dizzy. She might have a fever, I didn’t check but she says she’s very hot. Dolores Marie Rubio--her maiden name was Brezinski. B-R-E-Z-I-N-S-K-I. Yes, we got married about a month ago. Thank you. Two fifteen today? Sure, I’ll have her there. Thank you. Goodbye." Before coming back to sit beside me again he also called his boss at the repair shop to tell him he couldn’t come in to work.

I stayed in bed until it was time to get ready to go to the doctor. I felt like the worst jerk in the world, needing Angel to help me with dressing and especially tying my shoes, but I couldn’t bend down for the dizziness. And when I tried to drive, I didn’t even make it out of the parking space--turning my head to back out was the worst. Angel still didn’t trust his legs, so I went back up to the apartment and called a cab. I lay in the back seat with my head on Angel’s lap and a bucket on the floor just in case. We made it to the doctor without me needing it, however, and left Angel in the waiting room when the nurse called, "Dolores Brezinski....uh, Rubio?" As she was leading me to the examining room, she said, "Congratulations!" I didn’t understand what she was talking about for a second, then it dawned on me that Angel had mentioned our marriage on the phone. "Oh...um...Thank you." I boosted myself onto the exam table. "Was that your husband with you?’ she continued just as she stuck a thermometer in my mouth. I nodded. "He’s very handsome!" I nodded again as she removed it and asked, "He seemed to be limping--what’s wrong with his legs?" I grimaced, then hoped she hadn’t noticed. "Car accident," I replied, lying down as a wave of dizziness came over me. "Oh, I’m sorry," the nurse said as she went to the door, then turned back and said almost as an afterthought, "The doctor will be in shortly." Of course, in a doctor’s office "shortly" is a relative term. I had dozed off by the time the doctor came in. I sat up with difficulty as he looked over my chart. "No fever, that’s good," he remarked without looking at me, "But nausea, vomiting, and dizziness?" I nodded. "Well, let’s get some lab work on you and see if any viruses or bacteria show up." That was it? No examination? "A nurse will be in shortly to draw some blood and give you a cup for a urinalysis." Dr. Maxwell shook my hand and was gone. A few minutes later the nurse came back as promised, and after drawing two vials of blood from my arm she handed me a small plastic cup and directed me to the restroom. When I came back to the waiting room, Angel looked shocked to see me. "That was quick!" he said, smiling. "Yeah, he looked at my chart more than me!" I grumbled as we got into the elevator, "Then the nurse came to get the bodily fluids!" We laughed as we went to the pay phone in the lobby of the medical building to call a cab.

A week later I was still experiencing the same symptoms at about the same time every morning. I did what I could to help Angel when he needed it, still driving him to work and going for walks with him in the afternoon, but he had to take over the cooking--just the smell of food sent me running to the bathroom. So I was relieved when the phone rang one afternoon while Angel was napping after a hard day at the garage and I heard the voice of Dr. Maxwell’s nurse on the other end: "Mrs. Rubio?" I was briefly taken aback--it was the first time I had been called that. "Yes?" I answered. "I have some good news for you, I think." That must mean I wasn’t seriously ill, I thought. "Your lab tests indicate that you are between six and eight weeks pregnant." I nearly dropped the phone. "Oh," was all I could manage, as images of the passion which had made this happen came flooding over me. I was brought back to the present by the nurse saying, "Do you have an obstetrician?" I was jolted out of my reverie by the word. I was one of those women who felt I would not need a gynecologist until I had become sexually active, but even though I now was, Angel’s medical problems had consumed any time I might have had to see one. "No, I don’t." So the nurse offered to set up an appointment in about two weeks with the doctor to whom Dr. Maxwell usually referred his patients; I thanked her and hung up, trembling with excitement. I had to wake Angel and tell him right away!

I tiptoed into the darkened bedroom and sat down next to him on the bed. His back was to me and I touched his hair. "Angel, babe, wake up!" He stirred a bit, but didn’t waken, so I shook his shoulder. "Querido, the doctor’s office just called." At this Angel rolled over, eyes still almost closed. He propped himself up on his fist and muttered, "Yeah, what did they say?" I couldn’t help grinning idiotically as I answered, "Well, they said I’m not sick." Angel now sat up against the headboard, rubbing his face to awaken himself fully. "Then what is it, mi vida?" he asked, looking at me quizzically over the tips of his elegant fingers. I hesitated a second for effect before exclaiming, "I’m pregnant!" For a few seconds Angel said nothing, but his beautiful lips gaped as he continued to stare at me. He clapped a hand over his mouth, moving it quickly to his cheek so he could breathe out, "Ay, Madre de Dios (Mother of God)!" I giggled, "Well, not exactly!" Angel was laughing too as he reached to gather me into his arms. "Bueno, madre de mijo, por lo menos!" I lifted my head to see that Angel’s was thrown back as if looking to heaven. "What did you say?" I asked. When he looked down at me there were tears in his eyes. "I said, ‘Well, mother of my child, at least!" He kept laughing through the tears flowing down his cheeks as he patted my head back down onto his bare chest. When he began rocking me back and forth I told him, "You’d better save that for the baby, Papa!" Later that morning he called Mateo and Lucia, who had gone back to Mexico the day after our wedding, and I could understand him to be telling them in Spanish about the "Madre de Dios" comment, then roaring with laughter.

My first appointment with the obstetrician came just as I was getting over the morning sickness. This was such a relief, and I was so ecstatically happy in general, that I was completely unprepared for what occurred as I was just about to walk out the door that afternoon. I felt as though I had lost control of my bladder, but when I went into the bathroom I discovered that I was bleeding profusely! Angel was still at work and I didn’t know what was really happening--was I going to lose the baby? Using a towel to try to stop the bleeding I hobbled to the phone in the living room, sat on the floor, and dialed the doctor’s office. The receptionist who answered heard the panic in my voice as I almost shouted, "This is Dolores Rubio--I need a nurse!", so she gently asked, "What’s the matter, ma’am?" I struggled not to cry as I said, "I’m pregnant, and I’m bleeding really bad!" She put me right through to a nurse, and when I explained that I was alone she told me she would call an ambulance and have them take me to the hospital. I hung up without thanking her and dialed the number of the garage. Mercifully, Angel was the one who answered. By now I was crying too hard to speak, and Angel asked frantically, "What is it, bebe?" Even through my hysterics I was taken aback by the irony of that endearment, and I replied, "It’s the baby! I am bleeding so bad I think I am having a miscarriage! An ambulance is coming to take me to the hospital!" There was silence on the other end for a moment, then I could hear Angel starting to cry. But he tried his best to keep his voice steady as he said, "OK, Dolly, I’ll have one of the guys drive me and I’ll meet you there." I had all I could do to say, "OK," and hand up the phone. Then I laid on the floor with the now-soaked towel between my legs and sobbed until the paramedics arrived.

In the emergency room--the same one to which Angel had been taken after our accident--I was helped into a gown and given a sterile pad and several towels to sit on. I lay on the gurney answering the usual questions from a clerk with a clipboard, impatience and panic growing by the second. By the time she was finished, Angel had arrived--I heard him arguing with an admitting clerk who wasn’t going to let him in because the doctor hadn’t seen me yet. "I am going in there to be with my wife, and you and your ‘hospital policy’ can go to hell!" With that he stormed into the curtained area where I lay and rapidly exchanged his angry expression for one of concern as he took my hand and kissed it. Stroking my hair with the other hand, he whispered, "What’s going on here, mi vida?" and tried to smile through the tears now glistening in his eyes. "I don’t know," I said weakly, "like the clerk said, the doctor hasn’t even seen me yet!" Angel lowered his head, scuffed the floor with the heel of his boot and chuckled, "You heard all that, huh?" He looked up through his eyelashes as I giggled in spite of my circumstances and nodded. Abashed, he said, "Lo siento, mi amor--I was just so worried about you and...and..." He broke off, patting my belly and starting to cry again. Just then the doctor entered and asked him to leave while she examined me. After the internal exam, Dr. Estevez--to whom Dr. Matthews had referred me--said, "The exam is inconclusive, so I am going to order an ultrasound for you, Mrs. Rubio."

When she was leaving, I shook the hand she offered and replied, "Thank you, doctor--and please, call me Dolores." I saw a brief flash of discomfort on her face, and realized that being Hispanic she would know immediately that my name translated "sorrows". For the second time that afternoon I was struck with the irony of the meaning of a name that was used for me. Angel was allowed back into the room while the ultrasound was being performed. To our disappointment, this too was inconclusive, and the technician said that it was perhaps too early to detect a heartbeat even if one were present. She told us that what was usually done in these cases was that I would contact my doctor for another appointment about a week from now and have another ultrasound in her office at that time. After the technician left a nurse came in to tell me that Dr. Martinez had indeed ordered another appointment to be scheduled in a week, regardless of the results, and that I was to be admitted to the hospital for observation overnight, and not released tomorrow until the bleeding stopped. Angel and I signed the papers agreeing to that plan of treatment, then we were left alone again to wait for an orderly to take me to a room. As we waited, Angel took from his pocket the black rosary Father Rodriguez had given him when he had been in the hospital and began to pray the prayers aloud in Spanish. I began to cry anew at the sight of it, and when Angel had finished praying I pointed out to him, "We always said we would save that rosary and my rose-colored one for our children!" Angel bent down and took me in his arms and we both cried for the child who might never be.

The next week dragged and I walked through it in a fog. The bleeding had stopped late in the afternoon the day after I went to the emergency room, so I was released just in time for Angel to bring a cab straight from work to pick me up. He spent that week at home--there was nothing he could do for me but him being there meant everything to both of us. The day of my next appointment with Dr. Estevez, he felt strong enough after mostly just sitting that I agreed to let him drive my car. He did fine and we went apprehensively into the waiting room. It seemed like days before we were called to go into an ultrasound room, and once that was over it seemed like several more days before we were ushered into the doctor’s private office. The look on her face said it all to me, so that I began to cry quietly right away. Angel, however, seemed afraid to look at her, instead pacing and staring at the floor as she explained, "It appears from the ultrasound that there was no detectable heartbeat. I am very sorry, Mrs. Rubio, but it seems that you have had a miscarriage." As soon as these words were in the air, Angel sank to his knees beside the chair in which I sat and broke down completely. I became hysterical myself, but even so I put my arms around Angel and cradled his head against my breasts. This time I rocked him, knowing that there would be no baby for whom I would be doing these things.

When we thought we had spent all our tears, we looked up to find that the doctor gone and a sheet of instructions for me lay on her desk. I picked it up and read over it as Angel went to the phone on Dr. Estevez’s desk and dialed the operator to place an international call. When the phone on the other end was picked up, I understood Angel to be talking--through renewed sobs--to his uncle Mateo, telling him there wasn’t going to be a baby. After saying this, Angel hit his knees beside the desk and broke down again, but this time I didn’t have the strength to get up and comfort him--seeing words relating to this tragedy in black and white just took everything out of me. Finally Angel hung up and dried his eyes, then came to me and helped me up from the chair. We hugged for what seemed like an hour, then went out a back exit (put there just for this type of situation?, I couldn’t help but wonder). He drove toward home in silence as I read the instructions out loud. The only one to which he reacted was the one that stated, "Refrain from sexual relations for one week after miscarriage." He found the nearest curbside parking space, stopped the car and began to cry again, head on the steering wheel. This made me cry as well, and I rubbed his back in a futile effort to quiet him. After several minutes Angel finally looked up and declared, "One week from today we are going to start trying again to make a baby, do you hear me?!"

True to his word, one week later Angel got up from watching the late news on TV and headed into the bathroom. When he came out he was wearing his dark blue bathrobe and carrying the nightgown he had sent to my bridal shower. I had never yet had a chance to wear it--we always seemed to start foreplay on the couch during the news and ended up making love on the couch half the time. But I knew this night was going to be different. When I went into the bedroom I saw that the bed had dark blue satin sheets on it, and beside it on Angel’s nightstand was a bottle of wine and two glasses. I went into the bathroom and put on the nightgown and its matching bikini, brushed my teeth and put on Angel’s favorite perfume, Raffinee. The name meant "refined" in French, and Angel always said the name as well as the scent reminded him of me. I would just laugh, since the last thing in the world I would think of myself was that I had any refinement! I was startled from my thoughts by a knock on the door. "Hey, querida, I can’t wait much longer!" Angel laughed, and I could hear him going back over to the bed, opening the wine, and pouring it. When I came out he was standing with the glasses in his hands and nothing on but a goofy grin. He looked me up and down lasciviously and whistled softly, "Loooking goood!" We slid under the slippery sheets and I shivered. "These things are cold!" I exclaimed. Angel kissed me quickly and smirked, "Oh, I think we can heat them up!"

He clinked his wineglass against mine and toasted, "To a baby!" I answered, "To a baby!" and we each took a sip, then kissed again. "Mmmmm..." he murmurred against my lips, "you still had wine in your mouth--I love that!" We sipped and kissed like this until we had both had several glasses of wine and were a little giddy. Then Angel took the bottle and glasses back to the kitchen and returned to bed. Once back under the covers, we began a determined effort to make a baby, caressing and kissing every inch of each other until Angel could tell I was ready for him. But apparently the combination of the wine and the pressure he was putting on himself made it impossible for Angel to be ready. I did what I could to help, but there was just no way. Angel began to cry, and when I went to put my arms around him and comfort him, he jerked away. Somehow I knew better than to say anything, so I just turned over and tried to sleep. I couldn’t, however, for Angel kept tossing and turning and crying out in his sleep. By morning he was surly and uncommunicative, and when I tried to kiss him goodbye (he was now driving himself to work in the motorhome), he again avoided me, heading out the door without a word. I spent a lonely, boring morning in the apartment, often just sitting down wherever I happened to be and bursting into tears. Then about lunchtime, Angel’s boss called looking for him. Stunned, I barely managed to say, "As far as I knew he was on his way to work when he left this morning!" After I hung up the phone I immediately began to panic, thinking that maybe Angel had had another accident. I had no idea what to do--the police would probably not be inclined to investigate an accident unless there was some proof that one had actually occurred. I didn’t want to leave the apartment, either, in case there was a phone call regarding such an accident. So I just tried to take my mind off the possibility by getting out my notebook for the first time in a while and writing more of the story of Angel and me that I had begun the day he had started working at the garage. After about an hour of just staring either at the paper or into space, I was worn out from worrry and lack of sleep, so I went to take a nap. Climbing between the beautiful satin sheets alone made me profoundly sad, but I was too tired to cry.

I was roused from sleep by the ringing of the phone. To my relief it was Angel. "Dolly, I need you to come and get me!" His words were slurred and it was obvious he had been drinking. "That is, if you still want me!" I was shocked both by his condition and his words and replied, "What in the world do you mean by that?!" He didn’t answer for a long time, then I heard him starting to cry as he said in a small voice, "I mean, if you still want to be married to a man who isn’t even man enough to give you a child!" He broke down completely and made me cry as well. When I could speak I told him, "Of course I do! I love you more than anyone or anything else in this world! Now just tell me where you are and I will be there as soon as I can." He told me he was at the campground in the foothills. He had sat at the curb in front of the liquor store up the block from the apartment until it had opened at eleven A. M., then bought a case of his favorite Mexican beer. After driving to the campground, he had been drinking ever since. I looked at the clock--it was almost five! I couldn’t imagine how much he must have had to drink, so I admonished him, "You stay right there! Don’t even think about trying to make it home by yourself!"

Angel promised, and after we hung up I went into the bathroom to make myself presentable, then grabbed my keys off the hook by the door, got in my car and pointed myself in the direction of the campground.

When I arrived I found that Angel had not actually rented a campsite, but rather had simply parked the motorhome in the parking lot. I had hoped to be able to question Dave, the owner, as to Angel’s condition before having to face Angel myself but couldn’t see Dave inside the office. So instead I just went up and knocked on the door of the camper. I hardly knew the Angel who answered it--his hair was stringy with sweat, his skin ashen and eyes dull. Stepping inside I realized he hadn’t run the air conditioner, which would explain the sweat. It also explained the terrible smell, which in turn explained the reason for his sickly appearance. He had obviously had enough to drink that he had lost some of it. Angel closed the door and motioned listlessly to the couch. Before sitting, I pushed past him and flipped the switch for the air conditioning. When I was settled on the couch, he went and sat on one of the dinette seats. I decided that was just as well--if he came any closer I might have been sick myself. Neither of us said a word for several minutes, though at one point Angel held out a beer to me and I shot him what I hoped was a horrified look. He opened it and started to drink it, at which point I finally found the inner strength to do something. I got up and grabbed the beer from him and poured it down the sink. Then I took the rest of the case of beer off the table and walked out of the camper. I put the beer in the nearest dumpster, then went back inside the camper. "Hey!" Angel protested, trying to stand up, "I paid good money for that!" He flopped back down onto the seat and stared at the dumpster through the window over the dinette. I couldn’t think of anything else to do or say, so I walked right back out and went to the office and reserved a campsite. I was glad Dave wasn’t around, because I didn’t want to have to explain why I was only reserving it for Angel. I planned to let him sleep it off here and come home the next morning. I returned to the camper and got in the driver’s seat. Angel had apparently passed out, for he didn’t react when the motorhome roared to life and I drove it to the campsite, nor when I stopped and got out. I walked back to my car, put my head on the steering wheel and sobbed.

Through my tears the thought came to me that I should never have driven Angel to the carryout the night before our wedding. On reflection, it now seemed as though since he had kicked the morphine, he had gradually begun to drink more and more. Though on our camping trip before the wedding nothing had changed, at dinner the night his aunt and uncle arrived he had had considerably more than his usual two Mexican beers. Then at the bachelor party, the wedding and last night in bed he seemed to have decided that celebration required excessive drinking. He also had several beers in rapid succession of an evening after work now, to "unwind". All that was bad enough, but now I saw that he was trying to use alcohol to numb emotional pain, the way he had used morphine to mask physical pain. I thought back to the counselor Father Rodriguez had called about Angel’s addiction to morphine. We had never gotten there because Angel had decided he didn’t need anyone but me. Maybe he was right in a way--evidently I needed to be the one to call the counselling center, and I resolved to do so in the morning. Having come to this decision made me feel a little better, so I started the car and headed home. As I pulled into the parking lot of our apartment building, the realization hit me that I would be without Angel in the bed beside me for the first time since he was in the hospital after our accident. It made me have to sit in the car and cry some more. By the time I collected myself again I was so emotionally exhausted that it was all I could do to drag myself up the stairs to our apartment. Once inside I went straight into the bedroom and fell immediately to sleep--alone once again on the blue satin sheets.

The next morning I placed a call to the counselling center, getting us an appointment the following week. Late that afternoon the phone rang--it was Angel. His first words were, "Lo siento muchisimo, Munequita--can I come home, por favor?" He sounded so contrite and so much more like himself that I almost couldn’t resist his sweet soft voice. But I knew I had to think of our long-term future, so I said, "Yes, but only on one condition." Angel asked, "What’s that?" I took a deep breath and told him I wanted him to get some counselling. "OK, bebe, but I have a condition for you too", Angel replied, "That you let me go alone--I realize I have some things from long before I met you that I will need to work out, and I wouldn’t want to scare you away!" I could almost see his mischievous grin. Still, I was worried that if I wasn’t there I wouldn’t truly understand what Angel had been going through. Then I heard his melodious laughter ring out and I somehow knew we would be alright even if I didn’t hear everything first-hand, so I said I would let him go by himself. Feeling more at ease, I then joked in return, "Before you come home, take a shower, wouldya?!" With that we both laughed, said our "Te quiero"’s, and hung up the phone. While I waited I put the flimsy white nightgown on and smoothed out the blue satin sheets. The moment I heard Angel’s key in the door I ran out of the bedroom and threw myself into his arms, legs around his waist. When we kissed I tasted toothpaste, and I smelled cologne on his neck and shampoo from his hair, all of which seemed to heighten my desire. He carried me to the bed and looked hungrily down at me as he quickly stripped off all his clothes. We did everything exactly as we had the night before, except for two things: tonight there was no wine, and Angel had no problem.

A couple of weeks later I was having morning sickness again. Alone in our bathroom with the plastic stick from a home pregnancy test that showed a positive result, I was immediately seized with uncertainty. Counselling had made Angel even more emotionally fragile than he normally was--he told me how he had to relive everything he had told me about his father abandoning him, his mother’s death, his lonely existence on the road, and the loss of our first child. The counsellor said doing this was a good thing, because it meant getting out all the pain. He also explained that the use of relatively benign medications after the accident was the trigger for everything else that followed--including the arguments we had had--which had caused him to look to something other than my love for comfort. But Angel reassured me that this didn’t mean I wasn’t good enough, or that all this was my fault. With or without me, the counsellor had told him, all of this probably could have happened anyway, given his father’s addictions to alcohol and gambling and the severity of the injuries Angel had suffered. Having had all my intuitions validated by an expert, and even with these reassurances, I still berated myself for not realizing that family history and addiction to one drug meant Angel could easily succumb to another, to alcohol. Given all of this, I thought it would be best not to tell him we might be pregnant again until I had been to Dr. Estevez and made sure. I knew that having to keep such an important secret from my closest confidant would be very hard, especially since he was sharing everything about his counselling sessions with me. But in the end the decision was made for me by the doctor’s office--when I called, I was told that office policy was not to attempt to confirm a pregnancy until two weeks after a positive home test.

Angel and I had decided on our honeymoon to go camping every weekend at either the campground in the foothills or the beach at San Diego. But since I wasn’t feeling well (I wasn’t as sick as the first time, so I just put it all down to a sensitive stomach) we stuck close to home the next two weekends. I was almost relieved, because in closer quarters it would have been even more difficult not to tell Angel about the baby. By the second Sunday, however, I was so stir-crazy that after church I blurted out to Angel, "Let’s go to a movie!" He got a copy of the Sunday Los Angeles Times from a sidewalk box and we sat in the car looking in the Entertainment section to see what was playing nearby. The theater about two miles away was showing the new movie about the life of Ritchie Valens, "La Bamba". I clapped my hands like an excited child, "Oh absolutely, we have to go see that!" Angel smiled indulgently and said he wasn’t too sure I could take it, considering how emotional I was since the miscarriage, his drinking and the counselling, because there was a plane crash at the end. But I insisted, and once in the theater I managed to find something else in the movie to focus on besides the tragedy--the actor playing Ritchie’s older half-brother Bob had a name that just jumped out at me: Esai. I thought it was so beautiful, and sounded so much like "Isaiah" without having the potential to cause confusion between father and son, that after the movie was over and we were driving home, I asked Angel, "If we have a baby and it is a boy, do you want it to be ‘Isaiah Junior’?" He shook his head, "Not necessarily, why?" I smiled slyly, "Because I think in the credits of the movie today I found the name I would like to use." Angel shot me a similar look, "And what is that?" I hesitated, afraid he wouldn’t like it, then replied quickly, "Esai!" To my relief, he smiled and said, "Oh, I liked that too--sounds a bit like ‘Isaiah’ but not too much!" We laughed, and it was settled without me revealing my little secret.

That revelation was left until a few days after I had been back to see Dr. Estevez. I had found out that I was very definitely pregnant and the baby was fine. But I held back from telling Angel until the following Sunday, because it just happened to be Father’s Day. I bought him a card with a picture of a chubby, naked little cherub on the front, and in its blank interior I wrote, "Dearest Papa, See you sometime around Mama’s birthday in January! Te amo muchisimo, Esai". When we got home from church that Sunday I slipped it under his plate as I set the table for lunch. After he ate Angel picked the plate up to carry it to the kitchen and saw the envelope. "What’s this?!" he wondered aloud as he tore it open. I pretended not to notice what was going on as I stood in the kitchen running water to do the dishes, and when Angel had read it he came in and slipped his arms around me from behind, patting my belly and nuzzling my neck, his tears of joy on my skin. I reached behind me and caressed his cheek and hair. Angel turned me around and held me close, kissing me as if he wanted to express all his emotions in that one meeting of our lips and tongues. Then he picked me up, soapy hands and all, and carried me into the bedroom. We spent the rest of the day in bed, making love slowly--"So we don’t disturb the bebe," Angel said--and talking about the many ways in which our life together was going to change. Angel was especially concerned as to how we would make room for a child in this tiny apartment. "I grew up in a place that wasn’t much bigger than this, and I know how hard it was for me not to be able to get my energy out or play my music at a volume that I thought was reasonable," he chuckled ruefully, "Plus I didn’t have a yard, and I want our son to be able to play outside anytime he wants!" Early Monday morning he shook me awake and whispered excitedly, "I know what I need to do--I need to ask my boss to put me on full-time so we can use my inheritance to buy a house!"

"A house?!" I sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake now even though the clock on Angel’s nightstand read 3:47. I had to admit that the thought of having a baby in this little apartment had been a concern but taking on a house and everything that went with that worried me even more. "But what about travelling all over the country? We can’t do that with a house and a big yard to take care of!" I patted my belly, working up to something like anger, "And what about this child’s education? Won’t we need your inheritance for that?" Angel switched on the lamp and reached out to hold me close. Stroking and kissing my hair, he shushed me and said softly, "Don’t worry, querida, we will have money for all that--I’ll be working fulltime and I haven’t touched the principle of my inheritance yet!" I wasn’t totally placated by these assurances. "What about getting time off to go camping--we can’t justify the expense of the motorhome if we almost never use it!" By this time Angel was laughing out loud, and I sat up and gave him what I hope was a disgusted look. "Why is this funny?!" I demanded. Angel just held me tighter and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "Munequita, everything has worked out for us up to now, hasn’t it?" I had no choice but to nod my head--we had come through so much and now here we were, expecting a baby and talking over plans for the future. I looked up at Angel to see tears shimmering in his lovely eyes. Mine were misting up too as I said, "Yes, I know, bebe, God has been gracious to us!"

We realized then how tired we still were so we just "spooned" together and went back to sleep until it was time for Angel to get ready for work. I watched him in wonder as he moved somewhat haltingly around the apartment, so grateful that now he was able to get around on his own. My gratitude was not just for him but for myself, since I still got queasy most mornings. As he prepared and ate his breakfast (I stayed as far away as I could, lying on the couch), we discussed how we would go about finding a new, bigger place to live. "One of the guys at the garage, his wife just got her real estate license," Angel remarked, "maybe we should throw some business her way. Do you want to call her or should I?" I was glad Angel always thought to ask me that--he knew me so well that he understood how shy I was of strangers. This woman would not be a total stranger, since all the wives and girlfriends of Angel’s co-workers had come to my hastily arranged bridal shower, but still I thought Angel should be the one to make the arrangements. "You call her, and I will meet with her whenever she has an appointment open," I told him, then joked, "That is, if you trust me to pick out a house for us?" Angel just laughed as he took his plate to the sink, then came over and sat beside me on the couch. "Of course I do, querida!

Our new house should be a place you are comfortable with, since if God continues to provide for us the way He has been, it shouldn’t be necessary for you to work and you will be the one spending the most time there!" With that Angel gave me a quick kiss and went into the bedroom to finish getting ready for work. I put on some clothes, then joined him in the bathroom to brush our teeth, and as we walked together to the door, he told me, "I will get this lady’s phone number from her husband as soon as I get to work, then I will call you." I nodded and we kissed good-bye. As Angel held me, he murmurred, "Hasta luego, mamacita (little mother)!"

Angel called me with the real estate office’s number on his lunch hour (I had gotten out of the habit of taking his lunch to him now that he was becoming self-sufficient again--I even let him make it himself!), and I called the woman. Her name was Laura, and she immediately began to eagerly describe several properties in the suburbs. When I said we were interested in some acreage, she exclaimed, "Oh, I have one a few miles outside of town that would be just perfect, then!" We arranged to meet there in a couple of hours and after lunch I fixed myself up as best I could remember--now that I no longer got dressed up for work every day it wasn’t often that I put on a dress or even really combed my unruly mass of curls. I didn’t know whether it was wise to dress too well to look at a property that might be dusty (and besides, I didn’t want Laura to think we had that much money), so I just put on a denim skirt, a dressy T-shirt, and tennis shoes. The directions she had given me took me into the foothills near the campground Angel and I frequented. That would be wonderful once we had children, I thought--to be able to get away from home on the weekends, but not too far if they didn’t like camping. Laura was waiting for me inside her car on a long dirt lane, far down which I could see a huge wooden gate and yet more dirt lane. After we had introduced ourselves through the open driver-side window, I got in her car and she drove up to the gate, got out and opened it. The house was barely visible from where we parked. "Let’s walk the rest of the way," Laura suggested, "so you can get the full effect of the landscaping." I had to admit the large lot was beautiful, with many cottonwood trees, a real lawn and a gigantic rock garden full of thriving desert plants, but when I saw the house after that long walk I nearly fainted, and not just from my condition and the heat.

It had to have been close to a hundred years old, with peeling paint, loose shutters, and shingles missing. I wondered if Laura knew Angel worked fulltime now and that I was pregnant--there was no way we could fix this place up! "The house has four bedrooms," Laura was chattering away, oblivious to my sweating, huffing and puffing, "a bathroom off the kitchen downstairs and one upstairs. There is a formal dining room and living room, and also a parlor that would be perfect for a den or library." In spite of my misgivings I thought the house sounded big enough, but I couldn’t make the decision without Angel seeing it first, and I told Laura so. "I understand, this is a big decision," she answered as we went around to the back. There I saw something that began to ease my mind about the place--a more recently built swimming pool and guest house. I had always loved to swim, but hadn’t been able to since I had to go to work to support Mom and myself. And the guest house was so large that we and one child could comfortably live there until the main house was renovated. Then the thought struck me--a property with these features would have to be out of our price range. "How much did you say the asking price was?" Laura nodded and smiled, "I know, the improvements back here have stopped quite a few potential buyers right in their tracks!" Not wanting to seem rude, I took a deep breath and ventured to ask, "And how about the condition of the main house?" Laura’s smile faded as she answered, "Well, the sellers were actually planning to tear it down and start over, but the guest house and the swimming pool turned out to be more than they could handle financially after some stocks they owned took a nose dive!" Oh, so that was it! I asked again, and when she quoted me the price, then added, "But the seller is willing to take any reasonable offer at this point, since it has been on the market for quite awhile now," I decided that maybe I should give the place a chance. "Can I see the inside now?" I asked.

Laura grinned as though she knew she had me hooked and led the way up the uneven front porch. Afraid of falling in my condition, I almost changed my mind. But it was worth it, for the interior was not nearly as ramshackle as the exterior had led me to believe. As we toured the large, hardwood-floored rooms, I suddenly saw the potential in the house and became determined to convince Angel that with its location and the guest house and pool, this could be the perfect place for us with a bit of work. It looked as though he and a few of his co-workers could probably fix it up themselves without much trouble. I didn’t say anything to Laura yet, since I didn’t want to appear too eager, and since I still didn’t want to make a commitment without Angel’s seeing the place first. So we silently walked out the back door of the kitchen, this time going around the pool and out behind the guest house. For some reason I hadn’t noticed this part of the property that now made my mind up for me. There at the rear of the guest house was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. It was a gigantic Ponderosa pine that had obviously been there at least twice as long as the original house. As I stood gaping up at it, Laura said quietly, "Yes, it is really something, isn’t it? This was the only tree the owners left standing when they put in the pool and guest house." I lowered my fascinated gaze back to the base of the tree and saw imbedded in the ground, half hidden by the lowest branches, a small bronze plaque. Seized with an unaccountable apprehension, I slowly walked closer and bent down until I could push the branches aside and read the inscription. "Isaac Nathaniel Tannenbaum 1977-1980". Oh my God, I thought--it was a memorial marker for a child who had died! I thought immediately of the child Angel and I had lost, and tears came to my eyes. I knelt and touched the plaque, shaking with sobs.

I struggled to regain my composure after a few minutes, not knowing whether Laura was aware of what had happened to our first pregnancy and would understand. As I tried to stand up, I lost my balance and she was instantly at my side helping me up. When she was that I was crying, she patted my back and said softly, "Yes, I know--Angel told all the other guys at the garage what happened to you. I am so sorry!" I smiled my thanks as I wiped my eyes with the tissues Laura took out of her purse, finally bringing myself under control. "I really wasn’t supposed to tell any potential buyers the whole story, but since you have been through the same sort of thing, I don’t see any harm in telling you..." She went on to say that since 1980, the property had been unoccupied, which was the reason for the disrepair of the exterior. The owners had left it because shortly after the pool and guest house had been built, their three-year-old son had fallen into the pool and drowned. Evidently it had been a point of conflict between the couple whether the pool and guest house should have been added in the first place, given the expense, and after the child’s death the marriage had crumbled. Neither husband nor wife wanted to keep the property, so it had stood abandoned all these years until the husband passed away and the executor of his estate--an adult child of his first marriage--had decided to sell it for the cash.

Even in my vicarious grief for what had happened to the former owners, this last comment leaped out at me: I hadn’t realized until then that payment in full was expected, but I knew Angel probably had enough in his trust fund to handle it, so I said nothing. Instead, I told Laura, "Well, I think Angel and I would be interested, regardless of the history--providing that a fence is installed around the pool." Laura smiled gently and glanced briefly at my just-slightly-rounded belly. "I understand," she replied, "Angel told me the good news when he called to set up the appointment." She took my arm and led me the whole way back to her car, helping me in for the drive down the lane back to mine. She then helped me out and didn’t get back into hers until I had walked between the two and gotten into the driver’s seat. Between Laura’s honesty and kindness and the aura I now sensed around the property--as if the spirit of the departed child would be watching over ours--I was sold, and determined that Angel would be as well. I also knew exactly where we would be memorializing our parents and the child that had left us.