The Third Angel by Alice Hoffman Page B

the pump attached to Paul were in alternating rhythms, but somehow soothing. Allie removed her shoes, the ones that her mother had picked up for her that morning at The French Sole. She took off her jacket so that she was wearing only a camisole and her skirt, then she climbed onto the bed. Paul was curled up, breathing very slowly.
    â€œShall I tell you the story of the heron and his wife?” Allie whispered.
    â€œI know it by heart.”
    â€œBut you don't know what happened when he left his wife on earth for his heron wife. When he flew into the sky, high above the trees.”
    She tried to put her arms around him, but he moaned from the contact, so she simply stayed close.
    â€œShe glued feathers all over her body. She taught herself to fly. She followed him so that she could see him one last time. Nothing could stop her. She had to say good-bye. She loved him beyond all time and reason even though it was too late.”
    Allie had begun to cry. She didn't want to disturb Rob in the next bed; she didn't want to make a mess. She tried to slow her breathing to match Paul's. Earlier, the doctor had said Paul wouldn't last much longer. How was it that doctors knew things like that? Or was it that the morphine drip was set at such a high level because of his intense pain that no one could survive the amount of chemicals that were being poured into his body?
    â€œI will never let you go,” she said to Paul.
    â€œGo,” she thought she heard him say.
    Allie got as close to Paul as she dared without touching him. They didn't need to touch anymore; they were twined together now. She fell asleep beside him. She dreamed she was in a white dress and that it was her wedding. She could see the marsh and there was mud all over her bare feet. It was time, she knew that, right now.
    She woke up freezing, in the dark. Allie didn't know where she was, but she knew who was beside her. She got out of bed and went around to the other side. She sat on a hard plastic chair. She saw that Paul's wedding ring had fallen off. His eyes were open but unfocused. She didn't even realize that it was happening until it did. There were birds outside, even in the heart of the city. He made a noise in his throat, and the sound went right through Allie in some deep, wrenching way. This was the here and now. This exact moment. Paul opened his mouth and a strange breath came out, as if his spirit was leaving him. Allie reached up to catch it, but it slipped through her fingers. It was so fine, it was like trying to catch light within a pair of clumsy hands or sift running water in the dark.

    T HE CEMETERY WAS a mile down the road from Lilac House. Everyone in the Rice and Lewis families had been buried there. It was possible to see the fields of yellow rapeseed and the low hills where Frieda and her father had walked until the week of his death. Frieda felt comforted that Paul's grave would be right next to his grandfather's. Odd the strange things that could console you.
    â€œListen to that,” Frieda said to Allie, who was now her daughter-in-law. There was the low cooing of doves in the trees. “He would have loved that.”
    Allie was wearing a black dress she'd borrowed from Georgia. She'd lost so much weight she had to pin it together on the inside, along the back seam. Allie and the Rices had agreed upon a small ceremony held at the graveside. Allie stood between her parents. She had told her friends and Paul's not to come up from London and she'd sent a note to Maddy explaining that the ceremony would be private. Paul had been so discreet about his illness; she wanted to give him that still. There was one family friend, Daisy Ridge, along with her companion, a nurse who helped her navigate the hilly ground. Because Mrs. Ridge had no heirs, she'd thought of Paul as her grandchild. It was a terrible day for her; halfway through the service she had to compose herself on a nearby bench.
    â€œWe shouldn't have let Daisy