Page 42 of Eyes Like Angel
A breath I held, choked halfway when I darted my eyes downward to her violet nun attire, still wearing a golden embroider, letter “W” worn across her chest, clutching the cleaning supplies with a dipped head and averted eyes and a sheepish smile, which I find it adorable.
“Yeah, she’s here, but she’s taking so long. I’ve been trying to look for her,” I explained without tripping myself to a clumsy fall. I’m pretty sure she could see a faint blush on my face.
“Oh, I see,” she mumbled, clutching and fidgeting the mop stick, setting the black bucket down beside her feet she appeared like a doll that I often see at the department store.
“Would you like to come in?” My hand indicated a gesture for Eva to enter.
After a long silence and drawn stares, she bowed with her head, giving her courtesies. “Thank you.”
WhenI let her enter into my territory, all I could think about was what happened yesterday. Seeing her cleaning up the statues up at the Divine Miracles Church on a ladder, reminded me of Cinderella on how she cleans up the manor, being orderedaround by her stepmother and her stepsisters, demanding each and every last requests that never ends for Cinderella to endure.
I was having a near heart attack when her hand slipped from holding onto the tipping, shaky ladder. Shaky as her hand was, I assumed the way she did was clumsy, a clumsy opportunity for me to chase down and gathered her in my arms.
My throat cleared up, not knowing what I should say? Welcome? Take a seat? Would you like a glass of water or snacks to feed you? I thought of nothing but the previous events I have met her—one at the church, then sneaking in within the same night at the dark attic, to where she slept, slept on the floor without bed, without her a pillow to settle on her head, all soaked and drowned to her sleep.
In a dingy room, she had nothing, but the lying junk around her and a locked door.
Draining as it was to witness, I said nothing but offered her a glass of water. She refused with her head looking down as I was sad to not see her eyes, remembering how her green her eyes were.
“My mom will be here soon,” I said, to end the tension built between us.
She nodded in hesitation. “Okay.”
I nodded in an awkward motion. Talking to girls was easy whereas talking to Eva, the alluringly mysterious nun from the Divine Miracles Church, was numbingly cumbersome. Not that I was complaining, I was happy to see her. To see her alive and well, to a point I wanted to give her nothing but a hug to huddle her over the coldness shrouded in the dark attic.
How I wish I could choke myself! I never get my words directed in accuracy!
How my happiness is contained, happy it was her and not some harlot nanny or scrubby-looking housekeeper, but a girl I first met, I rescued from her unfortunate fall, and the girlappeared in my dreams, was sitting right before me. Suddenly the idea of keeping her around wasn’t a terrible idea.
“Do you like how the house looks?” I asked her, breaking the ice.
More like a lavish estate than a house, but it’s still a house, nonetheless.
She said nothing, but having her pale emerald eyes were roaming around the expensive objects, statues, dramatic set of spiraling staircases, and golden trophies hanging inside the glass. As exaggerated as my family was, I hoped it could be a helpful distraction for the time being.
“Normally, people might be looking at this and be impressed,” I said as I folded my arms, joking.
She said nothing, clutching the cleaning supplies, and the prolonged silence prevailed.
I sighed, my eyes softened at her discomforting features, approaching her closely. “I promise you,” I began. “Nothing’s going to happen while you’re here.”
Her eyes gazed at mine, trying to figure it out if what I said was real or not.
By the time she opened her mouth, about to say her gratitude, my mom entered in her professional attire. Ah, talk about being superficial. Looking like a grown-up, but when no one’s around, she’s trying to appear as a teenaged girl.
Mom gave a disapproving look about how Eva and I sat altogether on the couch. Eva, mostly.
She hated if a non-family member—or anyone who’s considered a lower class—sat on a $10,000 couch.
If I remember correctly, my mom hated her workers sitting down on the couch for a short rest. She caught one maid and threw her downstairs, had the maid’s back dislocated and being sent to the hospital.
“Sister Eva,” Mom said with authority. “You’re here. Come. Let’s get this place cleaned up, shall we?”
With her office heels clacked, she walked in a brisk pace for Eva to keep up.
Wait. Eva? Why did I say Eva? It’s Sister Eva. She’s a nun. A holy nun, who reminded me of a beautiful saint painted on the high-domed ceilings at the museum in Italy during one heated summer. I have to restrain myself.
What's gotten into me?
