Wrestling Angels

“Maggs, did you bring the papers?” “Of course Ro, do you want me to go over them with you before you sign them?” “Heavens no. I doubt I have enough time for all of that. Anyway, I have never found fault with your accuracy in nearly what? Thirty years? I imagine these are just fine.” He reached with boney fingers for the folder Margaret had fished out of her exquisite, wine colored, briefcase and extended toward him. The briefcase had been a gift to her five years ago. It was made from some exotic leather with a wonderful cool-to the-touch, texture. Ronan wouldn’t tell her what kind of hide it had come from, but laughed and assured her it was legal, albeit, rare to find in the United States. She had loved it and he had rarely seen her without it. She sat down gently next to him on the bed, balancing the folder and offering him a pen. He smiled to himself. Another gift he had given her over the years. Part of a pen and pencil set, hand made in Switzerland. Each piece was quite expensive and one of a kind. He grasped the pen, steadied his hand as much as possible, looked to where she pointed, and set his signature to each page. “Thanks, Maggs. Jenny can witness them for you,” He said in a ragged voice. The nurse complied and then Margaret tucked the documents away. Ronan continued, “I know I should have done this long ago. I wish I had time to make everything right, but it appears I’m out of time. You will tell the children?” “Yes.” Another deep shuddering cough gripped Ronan suddenly. The air seemed to vacate his lungs and would not, could not, return. Jenny ran to his side and Margaret sat sad and frozen as his eyes bulged and his face turned white, then gray, then slowly, ever so slowly, back to the jaundiced yellow that was taking over more and more the past few days. The coughing fit subsided and he was grateful it had not been followed by the usual round of nausea. Soon. It would be soon. Jenny reached for his wrist and tried simultaneously to slip a thermometer in his mouth. Ronan pulled his arm back and let the thermometer drop into his lap. “Jenny, I appreciate all your care, but do you really think taking another set of vitals is going to make much difference by the end of this day?” She smiled at him sadly and walked back to her station across the room. Ronan turned to Margaret and grasped her hand with the little strength that remained. She placed her other hand over his, making a mental note of how warm and plump her skin was compared to his frail, cold, boney fingers. “Ah, Maggs. I think I should have married you years ago.” “I don’t think Tom would have cared for that much.” She patted his hand lightly. Tom Strong was Margaret’s husband. They had met while both were in law school, but after graduation he had opted for a career in real estate. She had taken a position with Morris, Stilton, and Crane. She never left. She had worked hard and ten years ago had been made full partner. It was her third year with the firm when she had first met the great Ronan James. And he was impressive - tall, dark, and handsome with deep mossy green eyes. His deep, silky voice had made him rich beyond belief and wooed many a young heart. If she hadn’t already been dating her old classmate, Tom Strong, she might have been tempted by his considerable charms. Back then Ronan’s escapades with women were well known. In fact, dealing with a woman is what had brought him to the firm in the first place. In part, because she seemed to resist him completely, he grew to respect her and after a while, chose to deal with no one else at the firm. Eventually, she turned all her cases to other associates at the firm and Ronan James became Margaret’s sole and very lucrative client. His sigh brought her out of her reverie. “I know, Maggs. Tom is a lucky man. I am positive you would have been good for me, but I doubt I would have been very good for you.” He spoke slower and softer now. Each breath deliberate. “It’s almost time, my dear friend.” He glanced toward Jenny, “Be sure Jenny gets a little something extra when she leaves today. And try to find her another position soon, if you can.” “I will.” “Maggs, I have a lot of regrets. I had fame and fortune. The world was at my feet. I thought I was in control and in charge of everything. I was so wrong. Thank you for telling me about heaven. Thank you for helping me to understand that it wasn’t too late, even for me. I’m sorry I mocked your Christianity all those years. I am so ashamed. I don’t know how you put up with me. But I know you and Tom kept praying for me and it finally got through. I think there must be a special crown for saints like you. I’ll be sure to polish it for you when I get there.” He grew silent for a moment willing his lungs to breathe just a few more times. “The children. They are my deepest regret. Tell the children I’m sorry. Tell them Jesus changed me, but I had to go before I could show them. Guide them if you can, Maggs.” He seemed to drift off for a moment. Finally, he murmured, “I’m so tired, Maggs. My Bible is on the nightstand. Please, read to me for a bit.” “Sure, Ro. Anything in particular?” But he did not answer. His breathing was ever so slow and shallow. She picked up his Bible and turned to the passage where Ronan’s bookmark lay. It was Psalm88. The first three verses were underlined. “O Lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee: Let my prayer come before thee: incline thine ear unto my cry; For my soul is full of troubles: and…” She paused as she heard him sharply inhale, then softly exhale as he smiled and whispered, “Jeee – susss.” Then his whole body relaxed as he passed on to Glory. “…and my life draweth nigh unto the grave.” She finished and closed the Bible and set it gently next to him. Jenny was already at his side, checking for any trace of a pulse, knowing it would not be there. “He’s gone,” She said simply and turned to make the necessary calls. Margaret stood by the luxurious king sized bed that now cradled the frail, lifeless body of Ronan James. “We’ll meet again, my friend.” Her eyes welled with tears. Tears for herself, for her loss of a friend. She knew in her heart that when the tears ran out she would rejoice in the knowledge that after years of prayer and witness, a dear friend was now in the presence of his Savior. She pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand. Ronan James was dead. While in heaven he might be just another beloved saint, here on Earth, there were those who still considered him a superstar, and Margaret still had work to do. First, the children…