Angel Song by Sheila Walsh

take what’s been done and do it two steps better.”
    “Two steps better. Definitely.” Ann spit out the words, hardly even knowing what she was agreeing to.
    “I expect no less, even though I understand that you’ve had some, issues , there. I know it’s very difficult, and I know you’re overwhelmed, but this is important.” Margaret paused for a split second, and Ann almost thought she was going to offer condolences. Then she said, “I’ll leave you to get to your work,” and the phone went dead.
    Okay then .
    Ann punched in Beka’s cell number, barely waiting until Beka answered before she said, “Why didn’t you call me?”
    “Oh, honey.” Beka was speaking softly, obviously to keep from being overheard in the office, but also just as obviously choked with emotion. “How could I burden you with this right now? It’s been less than twelve hours since you called to tell me about Sarah. I couldn’t dump this on you too.”
    “That’s what friends are for.”
    “You just take care of yourself, okay? I’d give anything if I could be there; you know that, right?”
    “Yeah, I know.” And she did know. She also knew that she needed to do something for Beka, and she would, no matter what it took.
    Tammy stroked her son’s hair and sang softly long after he’d cried himself to sleep. Only now was he starting to understand the truth—that Sarah was gone and was never coming back. The realization had come slowly, then hit hard. He’d sobbed until his strength failed and he could do nothing but whimper as sleep finally claimed him. “Rest well, my sweet darlin’,” she whispered, then leaned forward to kiss the top of his head. Still, she didn’t leave his bedside.
    How could they go on without Sarah? She had been like the third member of their family, her life so much a part of theirs that things would surely implode without her.
    Tammy thought back to a cold winter’s night just last year. Sarah had poured hot chocolate for the three of them from a beautiful hand-painted cloisonné pitcher. Tammy had run her finger along the graceful curve of the handle. “This is beautiful.”
    “Thanks. It was my great-great-grandmother’s. Her father painted china back in the old country. It was the only thing she brought with her when she moved here.”
    Keith took a sip of his hot chocolate. “It makes good hot chocolate too.”
    Sarah smiled at him. “I think so too, Keith. It makes the best hot chocolate.” She used a napkin to wipe a drip from the spout. “It’s not worth anything really, but I love the history behind it.”
    A moment later Keith stood up from the table, stumbled on the leg of his chair, and knocked the pitcher to the floor with a crash that echoed through the kitchen. Fragments of china lay in a pool of cocoa at his feet. Sarah gasped and threw her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with the horror of it.
    Keith bent over the mess on the floor. “I’m so stupid. So stupid. I ruin everything.”
    Sarah walked over to him, the hint of tears glistening in her eyes. She knelt on the floor beside him and enveloped him in her arms. “Thank you, Keith.”
    He looked up at her, the surprise of her words enough to temporarily stop the meltdown. “What for? It was pretty and special and I broke it.”
    “Well, you’re right about the pretty and special part.” She took a deep breath, and Tammy knew she was fighting for control. “And I’ve been thinking for a long time now that something so beautiful shouldn’t be kept up on a shelf where no one ever sees it except on those rare occasions when we drink hot chocolate. I’ve been thinking about breaking it and taking it to an artist friend of mine who makes mosaic tiles. That way I could put it somewhere that I’d see it all the time. It could make me happy every day.”
    “Really?” Keith wiped his eyes. “Do you mean it?”
    “Absolutely.” Sarah gave a firm nod of the head. Tammy suspected she was trying to convince