Making Angels Laugh Read online

  “I’ll give her your regards.”

  “You passed her shop on the way through town.”

  “I saw it. Petals, Pictures, and More; your party store.”

  “That’s it.”

  Rita was barely inside the shop when she was greeted by a joyful, “Come on back, woman, and let me look at you. I’m back in the kitchen.”

  The voice could only belong to Tanya.

  Rita looked around the shop, and saw Tanya coming out from the back room of the shop. The scent of cooking food made her realize that she hadn’t had lunch.

  Tanya had once been slender and gorgeous. She was still pretty. Tanya wasn’t fat, but she definitely wasn’t as slender as she had been as a girl. Then again, Rita didn’t look like she had in high school, either.

  A young teenager who looked as Rita remembered a younger Tanya stood there beside the older woman. “I’ll get back to the sauce, shall I, Grandma?” the girl asked.

  “No, not yet. Meet my old friend, Rita, Doctor Zornova. She lived across the road from me when I was your age. Rita, this is my granddaughter, Julia.”

  The pleasantries were exchanged before the girl disappeared back into what was clearly a commercial kitchen.

  “So you cook and do flowers?” Rita asked. “I always thought you’d be a professional photographer.”

  “I am. But I have to do a lot of other things in order to make the bills. There’s not a lot of work available in any given field, so I am well diversified. I do party planning, rent formal wear, do alterations and tailoring, as well as custom sewing. I do calligraphy, arrange flowers, rent things for parties—tables, chairs, tents, portable toilets, etc. And I do photography and videography. Then I do catering. Just about anything that anyone needs for a party, any kind of party, I do, from the invitations to the food, music, and flowers, to the set up and the clean-up, to the memories. I have done baptisms, funerals, and everything in between. I even photographed a Bar Mitzvah in St. Louis last year. The business keeps me out of trouble, and in good months, I pay my bills and have something left over to carry me during the bad months.”

  “That’s what that counts... I’ve come for flowers were ordered; something for my father’s grave and a corsage for the dance tonight.”

  She laughed. “So, you came home for the reunion. I would have bet money that you would have never done that.”

  Rita felt herself smile. “Me, too! But, here I am.”

  “And high time, too! You’re looking good. I’m going to be looking around tonight to see all the jaws drop when you walk in and people figure out who you are.”

  “You’re going to be there?”

  “I’m in charge of the flowers, food, music, and videography for the party, such that I can do within the meager budget I was allowed. Don’t expect an evening of glittering elegance. The food will be good, or as good as I could make it considering the committee’s requirements and the budget. But everything else will be borderline chintzy.”

  Rita shook her head. “I’m sure no one expects elegance.”

  “I hope not,” Tanya said on a sigh. “Bob, memory eternal, had a phrase, ‘Good enough for who it’s for’. That phrase keeps everything in balance. Except for a few people, no one from our classes has been overly successful in life. You are an exception. There are several other real successes. Jack Greer was a good doctor, treating whole families after he came back from medical school.”

  “Was?”

  Tanya looked puzzled. “You don’t know?”

  Feeling dread, she asked, “He’s dead?”

  “Seven, no eight, weeks ago, in a car crash. We buried him in the Orthodox cemetery, near your dad. We really miss him.”

  “No one told me he was gone.”

  Tanya sighed. “Doctor Em’s been at sixes and sevens since his death. I’m not surprised that she’s not gotten word out to people. Still, this is life, the good ones always go way too young… But I was telling you about the success stories in the class. Jack’s cousin Kevin is the local Vet. His cousin Jim is very successful as a lawyer in Chicago. Don Jones and Roger Clark both became cops; Don’s with the State Police and Roger is our county Sheriff. The Brown boy, Katie’s twin, Ken, became the local prosecutor. And Mike Flaherty is our US Congressman, and does a good job of it, too. Of course, there’s Peter Quinn. But I don’t count him as anything except proof that sometimes the truly evil people in life have success. Most of the rest of us, we just make a living the best way we can.”

  “Dr. Fisher told me about your losing Bob. I’m sorry.”

  Tanya sighed heavily. “Me, too… I miss him so much… But we move on… Eventually… You here alone?”

  “Yes. I am, like you, a widow.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “As you said, we move on. Dryusha’s been gone for twelve years now. And I still miss him.”

  “I know that feeling,” Tanya replied, her voice heavy. Then she visibly pulled herself out of the momentary sadness. A mischievous twinkle came into Tanya’s eyes. “Only two ways for marriage to end; divorce or death. And I never believed in divorce.”

  Rita felt herself smile. “No, me neither.”

  Tanya stood there smiling at her. “It’s sooo good to see you!”

  “You, too.”

  “Catch me up on your life. You became a cardiologist. Did you have children?”

  “Three sons, and a daughter. Only my sons made it to adulthood… Still, they’ve given me five grandchildren, three girls, two boys, all under the age of four. Another set of twin boys expected any day now.”

  “Bob and I had two sons and a daughter. We have four grandchildren; one girl and three boys. Julia’s the oldest. Life takes us in strange ways. No one’s life ends up as they planned it.”

  “Yours did. You always wanted Bob, to have a family, and to spend your life taking photographs that made people happy.”

  “And that’s what I do. I just do a lot of other things as well in order to afford to do the photography,” Tanya said.

  “I really need to get my flowers and go out to the cemetery. Are they ready?”

  “Sure thing, Rita. It is so good to see you! You look so much like your mother. I can’t believe it.”

  “You’re the second person to say that to me. I don’t see it, but thanks.”

  “Your flowers. Yeah. I have a saddle arrangement in high quality silks for your dad’s tombstone and an orchid corsage for your dress for the dance tonight.”

  “Will you do me a favor?” Rita asked.

  “Anything.”

  She looked at Tanya. “Anything? That’s a lot to promise when you don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

  Tanya laughed. “Honey, if you asked me to grab you the moon, I’d try. I owe you too much not to.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Sure I do. Don’t you remember? You set Bob and me up on our first date. He was getting help from you on some Geometry assignment at lunch one day and you arranged for him to take me to the homecoming dance. I was sitting there waiting for you to help me with Algebra.”

  A small smile of remembrance came. “You had been wanting an introduction to him, and I’d seen how he looked at you. Both of you were so shy and would have never talked to one another if someone hadn’t given you a push.”

  “So, what’s the favor?”

  “Could you see that my father’s grave gets it fresh flowers for his birthday every year? I’ll give you the money now for this year, in advance, and send you money every spring for the next year’s flowers?”

  Puzzlement passed over Tanya’s face. “Hon, I’ve been doing that anyway because your mother asked my mother to do it before you two left town. I already bill her for that. Flowers on his birthday, on Pascha, and at Christmas.”

  Rita sighed. She opened her purse and retrieved a business card, and handed it to Tanya. “Mama and I never discussed it. But send the bills to me from now on, will you?”

  “Of course. I don’t imagine
that you’ve discussed much about your lives here, not with anyone, not even among yourselves. Irina Danielova was never one to look backwards,” Tanya said, her voice soft and sympathetic. “And I can’t blame you. Life here was hell for you, most of the time thanks to the terrible trio and the rest of us who were too scared to stand up to them.”

  “That’s best left in the past. We all had lives after high school.”

  “Yes, but your life took you far from here.”

  “And now, I’m back.

  “But not to stay. You’ll go back to your far more exciting life as a famous doctor.”

  “I’m not that famous. And my life isn’t that exciting.”

  “I’ve read your books. Checked them out of the library.”

  “Those are medical school textbooks.”

  “They were fascinating. I could practically hear you talking as I read the books. It was amazing. It was like having you in the room with me.”

  Rita laughed. “Did you understand what I was talking about?”

  “With the help of a medical dictionary, sure. You write, as you always did, clearly, to be understood. You ought to do a popular health book, explaining heart health to the public.”

  “It’s coming out for Christmas,” Rita said. “Just in time for the first of the year diet and fitness rush.”

  Tanya smiled broadly. “That will be good publicity for your clinic and should be a good seller. I’ll certainly buy a copy.”

  “I’ll send you one, autographed.”

  Tanya laughed. “That would be lovely. Thank you. Now, let me get the flowers for you.”

  “Do you have some flowers I could take to put on Jack’s grave as well?”

  The cemetery was on the east side of town. There were actually four cemeteries together there; the town’s cemetery, flanked by the Catholic cemetery to the east, the Lutheran cemetery to the south, and the Orthodox cemetery to the north. But all the burial grounds were now maintained by the town, according to the sign as she entered the cemetery. She stopped the car on the nearest graveled drive to her father’s grave. She walked, carrying the lovely silk arrangements.

  The stone on her father’s grave had been set since the last time she was here which had been on their way out of town on the day they’d moved away. This was the first time she’d actually seen the marker. Gray marble, simply cut with his name in Cyrillic letters, Aleksandr Sergeyovich Melnikov, his birth and death dates, and a cross. She knelt down beside the stone, leaned on it and cried as she had never let herself cry for her father. After a long time, Rita was able to bring herself under some resemblance of control. Then she placed the flowers on the stone, stood, and stepped back. She opened her purse and removed her prayerbook and opened it to the service of Panikhida, memorial prayers, omitting the clergy parts. She chanted the service.

  She snapped a photo of her father’s grave on her smartphone. Passing Jack’s grave, she stopped, put flowers on his stone, and prayed the same memorial service she had just prayed at her father’s grave. She didn’t want to believe he was gone. But the tombstone engraved with his name and birth and death dates said differently. Why hadn’t Em called her? But then again, that friendship had faded away years ago to the point that they merely exchanged Christmas cards, now. Why should Em have called her?

  While walking to her car, she sent the photo of her father’s grave to her mother and sons.

  Within seconds, her phone rang. She hadn’t even gotten the car key out of her purse. She looked at the display and saw that it was her mother calling.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “The stone and the flowers look very pretty,” Irina Danielova said, speaking to her daughter in Russian.

  “They do. You could have told me that you are paying for flowers to be placed on Papa’s grave three times a year.”

  “Did you think I would forget my Sasha?”

  “No, Mama. I just didn’t think about flowers for him. And I feel bad about it.”

  “Don’t. Only one of us had to think of it. How are you, my dear? I hear tears in your voice.”

  “I’m fine. This was emotional. But I’m fine.”

  “Truly?”

  “You know I don’t want to be here… And I just found out that Jack is dead.”

  “Oh… I’m sorry. I know he meant a lot to you, once.”

  “He was a good friend in my childhood and young womanhood. And I was his godmother, standing with him when he became Orthodox. I wish Em had let me know that he was gone.”

  “Would you have traveled there for the funeral?” her mother asked.

  “I don’t know. Probably. I came to this reunion, didn’t I? Even though I swore that I would never set foot in this town again.”

  “How is the town?”

  “Smaller and much poorer than it used to be. They don’t even have a school here anymore. But, Principal Fisher sends his regards.”

  “How is Henry Fisher?”

  “He seems the same. Older. But he and Sally seem to be well. Their hair is grey and thin. A few more lines on their faces. A slight stoop to their backs. But they’re the same people. They’ve converted their house to a bed and breakfast. I’m staying with them. Hank passed away. They’re raising his daughters. Doctor Fisher is still teaching music out of their home.”

  “I suspect he will do so as long as he lives. Some people cannot retire.”

  “Says the pot calling the kettle black,” Rita quipped in English.

  “Da,” Irina agreed with a small chuckle. “What are you to do now?”

  Rita removed the car key from her purse. “I’m going to drive out to Russian Hill and look around.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will be. By the way, Tatiana Antonina did the flowers.”

  “How is Tanya?”

  “Seems well enough. She is a widow. She makes her living planning parties, catering events, doing flowers, and taking photos.”

  “Her mother always was a good cook. I suspect she is as well. And Tanya always did have an eye for photography. Remember that Anton and Nadia set up a darkroom for her in the basement of their home, in what had once been the coal room? That child used to take the most amazing photos.”

  “I do recall that. I hope she’s a good cook, as she’s catering the dinner tonight for the reunion. If the smells in her shop were any indication, the food may be very good.”

  “My plane will be boarding in a few minutes, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow. Your sons, their wives, and I will meet you at the airport. Then the cruise line will take us to the ship in a coach.”

  “Travel safely, Mama.”

  “Thank you for taking the flowers to your father.”

  “Least I could do, Mama.”

  “Tomorrow, darling girl.”

  “Tomorrow, Mama.”

  As her mother rang off, Rita reflected that good things were always something that would happen tomorrow for her mother. “Tomorrow” always stood out as a wonderful beacon of hope for Irina Danielova. Everything would always be better tomorrow. Perpetual optimism and gratitude for all of the good things in her life were among her mother’s greatest character traits.

  Russian Hill had once been a thriving community. Now, standing before the ruins of her family’s old home, she couldn’t help but feel sad. Their old house had fallen in on itself some time ago, judging by the trees that were growing up through the remnants of the roof. The rest of the houses were in no better shape. How this got this bad was beyond her. She made her way back to the car.

  Then she drove the short distance to where the church, Saint Konstantin’s, had once stood.

  Again, this was overgrown, neglected. She stood there, crossed herself, and said a prayer while remembering the fire that had been set by the terrible trio. The memories of that day came flooding back…

  She had been alone in the Church, two weeks after her father’s funeral, on a Saturday. She had taken her final undergraduate exam the day before. They’d be leaving here on Thursday
for her commencement exercises, and after the graduation, they would drive to California where her mother would work as an emergency room physician and she would both go to medical school and work on her Master’s in Mathematics.

  She’d decided to take a few minutes there in the semi-darkness of the Church on this cloudy day, after she finished cleaning the building, to pray, prostrate, before the “royal doors” of the iconostasis, which put her on her hands and knees, with her forehead touching the ground. The altar sat behind of those doors. Jesus, under the forms of consecrated bread and wine, was reserved in the tabernacle on the altar. Relics of saints were in the altar and in the antimens, a holy altar cloth signed by the bishop that served as the sign of the bishop’s blessing for the divine liturgy to be celebrated among them.

  Her silent prayers were interrupted by Peter, Greg, and Tim coming into the Church, laughing loudly, clearly drunk, disorderly. Two of the three of them were hell-bent on vandalism.

  Tim said, nervously, “Come on, guys, we don’t want to do this. We really don’t want to do this.”

  Greg replied, his words slurred, “Stop being a wuss, Tim. We’re doing the Ruskies a favor. This place will close anyway since the families won’t have work and will have to move away once the mine officially closes next week. This is just one more nudge to rid the area of them. We’ll all be better off without them here. And they’ll be better off going someplace else.”

  Peter said, obviously equally drunk, “Let’s do it and go home. Open the gas cans and dump them out, not in puddles, but in a constant stream. Be careful not to get any of it on yourself. We’ll turn this place into ashes. But none of us needs to get burned.”

  Afraid for her life, quietly and quickly, she rose to her feet and began to make her way out of the church through the deacon’s doors of the iconostasis into the altar area, intending then to go out the “clergy” door of the church.

  “Someone’s here,” Tim said as she entered the altar area.

  “Let’s get this done, then,” Greg dismissed. “Before someone comes to stop us.”

  She’d never been in the altar before. As a female, that was one area she was not allowed to be in. Knowing that the building was going to burn, she grabbed what she could easily take from the altar; a folded bundle of cloth, the Iliton containing the antimens, and the Gospel book that was on top of that carefully folded cloth. Normally, no one but clergy was allowed to touch any of these consecrated things, and then only when clerics were properly vested. Still, this wasn’t a normal situation. If she didn’t save it, now, it would be burned to ashes. The important things had to be saved. She also grabbed the brass tabernacle from the altar.