Heaven or Hell Read online

  After a few minutes, she put down the cleaning fluid and pulled off her gloves. Teresa looked at her teeth in the mirror. Her investment in braces years before had paid off. She touched up her hair and wiped the streaks off her face.

  What could be happening with her father now?

  Shaking away thoughts of the past, Teresa moved to the cupboard in the front of the store and pulled out the Rolodex. Her fingers found the Ks for Kelly’s number (she never used last names because she couldn’t remember them). Kelly, her best part-timer, picked up after a single ring. Yes, she’d gladly open, clean up, and handle the day, “… no problem.”

  As Teresa walked to her car, she stared down the dirty sedan in her parking place, as if it were a live human being who had kidnapped her firstborn. She snapped out of it when she realized how silly she was being. It was just a car. Teresa shook her head and chuckled to herself. “Stop it,” she whispered. The owner of that sedan was probably a patron of Barney’s Pub. The vehicle had most likely spent a night or two in the lot. It was better parked here than driven, though, if its owner had been drinking.

  While Teresa drove toward Sepulveda Boulevard, her past continued to flood through her mind—more of the darkness. The accident that had taken her sister’s life came back like a tidal wave. Teresa’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.

  She bent over her dash and looked up toward the sky. “What is this?” she asked, half expecting the sky to open up and swallow the car, with her in it.

  She rubbed her left leg—remnants from the accident so many years ago. But she couldn’t be too ungrateful because the physical damage Teresa had sustained was minimal compared to Angela’s fate. A hit and run that the police, her mother, her aunt, her uncle, and, annoyingly enough—considering his own fate—her father, agreed had been caused by a drunk driver.

  Witnesses claimed the car weaved in and out of traffic about two minutes before the accident. A dark sedan was the only description the police had to go on, and they never found the person who had run down Teresa and Angela.

  Her entire body trembled while she thought about the past, and she forced herself back into the present. She loosened her grip on the steering wheel as she drove into the small community where her aunt lived. The neighborhood wasn’t as safe as it used to be, or as pleasantly middle class.

  When the homes were built way back in the sixties, the small, three-bedroom bungalows must’ve looked identical or showed some type of continuity. Now, the styles and colors of the homes presented quite a mixed bag. Teresa thought that many of these folks either couldn’t afford the upkeep on their homes, or simply didn’t care. On one side of the street, in front of a house in need of painting, a yellow lawn was overrun with weeds. Next to that home sat a perfectly manicured yard surrounded by a white picket fence—the house displaying a recent addition of bars on the windows.

  At her aunt’s usually perfectly tended place, surprisingly, gardening gloves and tools lay scattered across the well-clipped grass. Teresa parked her car in the driveway and moved quickly up the front steps where Aunt Jessie yanked the door open at Teresa’s first knock.

  “Teresita, honey, come in.” Her aunt had aged well over the years. She power-walked every day and went to the gym a few times a week and it showed.

  “Auntie Jessie, have you been in the garden this morning?” Teresa pointed toward the tools.

  “Oh my. I forgot to bring those in last night. The phone rang and I … Teresa, I’m getting too old to deal with this crap.” She seemed almost on the verge of tears.

  “What’s going on, Auntie?”

  Teresa’s Aunt Jessie marched out to the front yard, her large, blue housecoat floating around her skinny body. She picked up the tools and the gloves and dropped the items in a storage box that posed as a tree stump. Then she gestured to Teresa to follow her back into the house. “Come inside. Let’s have some coffee and talk.”

  Teresa loved the smell of the home’s interior, a cleaning-fluid scent mixed with coffee that her aunt still made in an ancient percolator—a mechanism Teresa’s great-grandmother had passed down. Her aunt often reminded Teresa that one day she’d be the proud owner of this wonderful machine.

  “One day, Teresita, this fine machine will be yours.” Aunt Jessie now rubbed the side of the percolator and winked.

  Teresa laughed. “I was just thinking you’d say that. It smells so good, Auntie. But I’d rather have you in my life.”

  Her aunt set the coffee cups on the table. “Come and sit down. We need to talk.”

  “Okay, what’s so important you called me away from work today? I’m a big girl already, so tell it like it is.” Teresa sat at the familiar round table with the chipped Formica top. She chose the same chair she used to sit in for hours studying for finals and writing papers. Teresa was lucky. Her aunt let her move in after her mother died. All through college and for a while after, they shared the house.

  “That’s right. My mija is in her forties now. I can’t believe it.”

  “What’s going on with Joe Torres, Auntie?” Teresa reached across the table and put her hand on her aunt’s.

  “I got this call last night from a man, a priest. I thought to myself, I don’t know a Father Benjamin.” Aunt Jessie paused and took a sip of her coffee.

  “I had a message from him as well,” Teresa said, surprised.

  “Oh, he’s trying to reach you all right. But I’m glad he didn’t. I’d like to be the one to tell you instead. I’ll just cut to the chase. Your father is dying, and he wants to see you.”

  Teresa swallowed and resisted the urge to jump up and clean the sink.

  “I thought he was dead. In fact, I hoped he was dead after what he did.” A wave of emotions welled up in her throat. “How does a grown man leave his teenage daughter twice, and then disappear forever? First at Angela’s funeral and then mom’s …” She pulled a tissue out of her bag and dabbed at her eyes, shocked at how affected she was by the thought of her father.

  “What about what I want? What about what I needed years ago? What about what you needed?” Teresa’s voice rippled as she tried to maintain control.

  She stared at the coat closet across the living room where the vacuum was stored, fighting her desire to pull out the machine and vacuum the house.

  “Mija, I’m here.” Her aunt put her hand on Teresa’s chin and turned the younger woman’s face toward her—seemingly for the purpose of eye contact. “Take a deep breath,” her aunt advised.

  And then Aunt Jessie stood up and moved to Teresa’s side putting her arm across Teresa’s shoulders and sliding down beside her. Her aunt then squeezed Teresa’s torso and rocked with her gently to the ticking of the clock.

  “You know, my father, your granddad, had the same problem. He drank himself to death,” Aunt Jessie said a minute later.

  “What’s Joe dying of?” Teresa asked, returning to the moment.

  “That’s another thing, Mija, he’s using his first name now, Juan. The priest told me it was symbolic to Joe, your dad—well, I guess, Juan, now. He believes it’s the only way he can stay sober, by using a different name. Sort of like a new identity.” Teresa’s aunt rolled her eyes.

  “Auntie, wasn’t he wonderful before my mom got sick? Or is my memory messed up?” Teresa asked.

  “No, you’ve got it partially right. He was wonderful at times, but Joe had his moments. I guess you could say he was haunted, like his father.” Her aunt moved back to her place at the table, across from Teresa.

  “What?” Teresa sat up straight. “He had a problem before Mom got sick?”

  “Oh, yes. I thought you knew. Your mother and he had split up for a short while when you and Angela were little. She was a strong woman, your mom.” Aunt Jessie took a deep breath. “Your mom’s ultimatum worked, until your dad blew up over the stress of the tragedies.”

  Teresa tried to recall t
hose years, memories she’d worked so hard for so long to erase completely. “Oh God, he must’ve been going to meetings a few times a week. I remember that now.” She put her hand up to her mouth. “He seemed to be so strong back then.”

  “Your mother was the strength behind the man, and he openly admitted it too. His honesty was a part of his charm. Oh, your father had charisma.” Her aunt smiled.

  “Remember the Torres family reunion, when I was twelve or so? Dad had put up streamers in the back yard and flags in the front yard. He manned the grill out in the back of our house. The men and the women, all of them wanted to be around him there. His jokes, his smile.” Teresa felt her jaw loosen as she recalled the earlier days with her father.

  He hadn’t always been a drunk. For years her dad had been a good family man. When Teresa and her sister, Angela, were little, they waited on the front porch for their dad to get home from work. How they both loved their wonderful daddy.

  At one point in her childhood, she did the math with her friends—Teresa’s parents were married the longest and seemed the happiest of all the couples around them. Many of her friends were growing up in single-parent homes, and most of those girls wanted to be at Teresa’s house on weekends. Her dad was the life of the party, and her beautiful mother knew how to cook and always took care of any guest. Teresa’s memories were of a home filled with love, until her mother’s cancer diagnosis. Their lives seemed to unravel from that point forward.

  “Well, his liver’s shot,” Aunt Jessie blurted out, interrupting Teresa’s short stroll down memory lane. “The priest said your father’s years of alcohol abuse have caught up with him.

  “I tried so hard, Auntie, to create a family like the one I thought I had as a child. My version was parents who loved each other, and I wanted a house full of children …” Teresa tore at the tissue in her hand. “I failed miserably, didn’t I?”

  “No, no. Never say that.” Her aunt took her hands. “You’ve raised a wonderful son, who adores you. Mija, look at your store as well. You’re a big success. I don’t want to hear you speak like that anymore.”

  “I swore I’d never let him hurt me, ever again. I’m not sure how to handle this. Did you say five years? He’s been sober …” Teresa’s head pounded. She pushed down the emotions that tried to engulf her, memories of the bleak, lonely time—such a heavy feeling of despair. Teresa squeezed both of her eyes shut.

  “Yes. He’s been living in the maintenance quarters at St. Augustine’s on Third Street for almost the last five years. He’s like a saint to the people there. In fact, the priest had no idea your dad had a family until Joe went into the hospital.”

  Her Aunt Jessie stared in her coffee cup for a couple of seconds and then continued. “The father wants both of us to come by the church first. Before we see your dad … if we see your dad. Though, I don’t know how I’m going to call Joe, Juan.”

  They sat in silence, Teresa’s energy already depleted, yet another sign that Juan Joseph Torres was around if only in spirit. But the past was the past, Teresa reminded herself as she rocked her body back and forth. She looked at the floor and thought about the bucket her aunt kept under the sink, and then she dismissed her irrational desire to mop.

  “Well, Auntie, I’m not sure I want to see my selfish dad. He couldn’t pull it together at the worst possible time when Mama and Angela died. And now that he’s dying he wants his family around him?” Teresa’s cheeks filled with heat.

  “Yes, I know, Mija.” Her aunt touched Teresa’s arm and spoke in a soothing voice. “It doesn’t have to be about him. It could be about you. We’re all hurt over what happened during that time.”

  With no warning or reason, Teresa’s insides suddenly filled with warmth, and her anger fell away. It was a feeling she’d had before, and always at the oddest moments in her life, but never close enough to the surface for her to quite retain the memory. A sensation of overwhelming softness which began in the core of her being and then spread slowly like a glow-light throughout her body.

  It was odd to feel such delight during what seemed to be the most distressing periods of her life. She hoped the sensation was a sign from her mother, but as always, as quickly as the feeling arose, it disappeared. She touched her stomach for a moment, almost forgetting why, and dismissed the warm impression from seconds ago as just her imagination.

  CHAPTER 3

  ANGEL PUT AN ARM AROUND TERESA while she sat with the two women. She hadn’t known Teresa’d had a sister or that her father was still alive. All of these years and no mention of either in the presence of Angel.

  “Sometimes I think Mom is around,” Teresa said.

  “I have to believe she is,” Teresa’s aunt answered.

  “I can feel something, though I can’t really explain it.”

  “I have an idea, Teresita. Why don’t you go with me to see Father Benjamin? No commitment to anything else.” Teresa’s aunt looked hopeful.

  Angel nodded at this idea and wished Teresa could see her sitting right here. She’d encourage Teresa to deal with this unfinished business, which she’d always sensed around the woman. How Angel wanted to be heard by these two women who had no knowledge of her existence.

  “For some odd reason I’m open to that,” answered Teresa. “It’s like something Mom and Angela would’ve wanted. At least test the waters, so to speak. I’ll go with you.”

  Teresa’s aunt jumped up. “I’ll get ready now, and call Father Benjamin.”

  Angel sat with Teresa as she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and dialed the store. “Kelly? Good. I’m glad you made it in. Thank you.”

  Teresa smoothed out her left eyebrow while she spoke. “I might be gone the rest of the day. Call me if you need me. I’m not sure what happened in that back room but I know you’ll take care of it.” Teresa paused for a moment, “All right, we’ll talk later. Thank you, again.”

  Angel had little understanding of her purpose in the living, breathing lives of Teresa and her son, or Teresa’s Aunt Jessie. What she did know was that she’d been watching Teresa and her family for many years. At first, she tried to speak to Teresa and anyone who’d listen. Why she continually came back to see Teresa, with no interaction, day after day, was a mystery she hadn’t resolved. Of course, she’d simply been drawn to do what she did.

  Not a single one of them heard Angel or responded to her. Still, Angel did feel some comfort from being around Teresa, and for a while, she’d prepared to be born into this family. Teresa went through the pregnancy by herself, after Greg had left. Angel believed she’d been sent early to be around her new mother, and she was looking forward to being in the flesh again. Then, JJ arrived.

  After his birth, Angel had no explanation for her way of life. She thought she was some type of ghost or something else non-worldly, since occasionally, when she wasn’t watching over Teresa, but staying up in the clouds, some folks could actually see her. She preferred to keep to herself though, and her only means of back and forth communication continued to be her two pups.

  The pups were a godsend, and perhaps literally. Belle came first. If they’d been alive and breathing, and not the doggie ghosts Angel thought they were, Belle would weigh in at about three pounds and Kail would be about five pounds, tops. Neither looked real, yet both seemed more real than all of Angel’s other surroundings.

  The talking part of her pups’ existence had at first seemed difficult for Angel to accept. The day she met Belle she’d stopped at the park to enjoy the grass. Angel was flat on her back, basking in the sun, when she heard someone speak. Because rarely did anyone talk to her, she ignored the voice. Angel understood at this point she was ‘see through’; she didn’t exist in the world, although some part of her knew that she used to be a part of it all. The longer she remained in this ‘limbo’ state, she realized, the more she forgot about what it was like to be in the flesh. Angel hadn’t determined yet if this was
heaven or hell, though she hoped it was neither.

  “Why do you think they make the dogs stay on leashes?” Angel saw Belle and saw her mouth move, but she dismissed it because she thought the words weren’t meant for her ears.

  “I said, why do you think they make the dogs wear leashes?” Angel heard the question again and looked up. A cream colored, petite Pomeranian, with short hair and an overbite was standing within two inches of her face. Looking her straight in the eye, in fact.

  “Can you see me?” Angel whispered.

  “Yes, I’m talking to you.” The little thing responded.

  “About the leashes?” Angel asked.

  “Yes, I want to know.”

  “So they won’t bite each other, or scare the people in the park. Can you see me?” Angel asked again.

  “Yes. I said I could see you. My name is Belle.”

  “Belle, that’s a nice name. My name is Angel. How are you able to talk?” Angel wasn’t sure why, but this didn’t seem right.

  “Probably for the same reason I can see you,” Belle answered.

  “Where did you come from?” Angel asked.

  “I was following my family until they got another pet. They seem okay now.”

  “Did you die? Are we ghosts?”

  “Well, aren’t you an angel?” Belle asked.

  “I don’t think so,” answered Angel. She thought about it for a while and had considered all the ins and outs. “I have no special powers and I’ve never been to heaven, at least I hope not. I don’t even know who I was when I was on earth. Although, I think I was somebody. The only thing I can figure is that I’m stuck.”

  “I think I am too.” The small dog’s eyebrows lifted in some show of emotion.

  “It’s like I’m in between places,” Angel said. “And I really can’t remember how long I’ve been here. My life now is real, but not really real.”

  “Yes.” Belle nodded.

  From that day forward Angel shared her cloud with pretty little Belle. As soft as a bed, and peacefully away from the world below, the cloud served as their escape.