The morning Peter Paradise died, they were coming back from Boston where they had spent the evening and eventually the night celebrating Emma’s birthday. The three of them - Emma, Lucy and Gabriel - had gotten a ride at 6.00 a.m. with a traveling salesman in his way to Cape Cod. The Angel had sat in front with the man and pretended to listen to the fine nuances between three different kinds of cheese crackers while the girls were fast asleep on the back seat.

The cracker salesman dropped them off in town, just a short walk from Margaret Stewart’s home. It was mid June and there was still a little chill in the air, but the day promised to be beautiful and warm. They walked in relative silence, the girls seemingly half asleep and Gabriel still half drunk. Their slow steps had led them to the Stewarts’ home, where they knew Margaret got up early and would never refuse food and shelter to three hungry souls.

Ten minutes later they were sitting in her kitchen, the three of them around the large wooden table, a bit lost between sleep, drunkenness, and fatigue, their only link to reality the soft voice of BBC World Service on short waves and the crackling and popping sound of bacon gently frying in the pan. And the aroma that was starting to fill the room and brought a smile onto their tired faces.

Mrs. Stewart turned around to face them, holding the large frying pan in one hand. On the table in front of them were three yellow plates where they had carefully laid thick slices of fresh white bread, covered in rich salted butter.

Bacon sandwiches at Mrs. Stewart’s had almost become a religious experience for them. The bread was ready, the extra crisp bacon was carefully laid on top and always, the HP brown sauce waited next to their plates. Margaret Stewart had it shipped especially from Britain, and kept a permanent stock of glass bottles - she maintained that the sauce tasted differently in the new squeezable plastic ones. Lucy had tried with ketchup and other sauces, but only the one that Margaret used did the trick. Actually, her and the Angel were convinced that the sauce made the bacon sandwich. Emma only knew she liked the bacon sandwich.

They had to forgo the coffee, and replace it with tea, but they didn’t mind that much. As always, only Gabriel would have a cup of white sugary tea with their hostess, the girls opting instead for a glass of fresh orange juice. It would never fail though; Margaret would always asked them, and always, they would politely turn her down.

Emma would stare for a few seconds at her finished sandwich like if it were a piece of art, like she was afraid it would disappear. The Angel noticed she always did that and wondered if it was a prayer she was actually saying. The fact was that after a few seconds, she would pick up the sandwich from her plate and bite in it as if it were her last meal, and would not say a word until it was entirely consumed and she had licked the brown sauce off her hand with the satisfied expression of a full-tummy kitten.

They left Margaret Stewart’s house an hour later with full stomachs and slightly clearer heads, and set off to walk to the Paradises’ home - also nicknamed “Heaven” by Emma and Lucy. Gabriel would then have a quick shower to wake him up completely and drive the girls back home, or talk one of his parents into giving them a ride, in which case he would send one of the said girls to ask themselves - because they all knew they would stand a much better chance. Of course, some days, they simply collapsed in the lounge and hang out there for a few hours, fall asleep on the couch until Julia or Peter would shake them up and volunteered to take Lucy and Emma home.

That day, of course, none of this happened. They entered the house through the back door, knowing the front one wouldn’t be open yet. They stepped inside and the smell of fresh coffee welcomed them. Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Home at last," she mumbled and made a beeline for the coffee machine that must have been recently switched off. The pot was half full and still steaming. With a weary eye, Lucy followed her and watched her take possession of what had already become her kitchen.

Gabriel was quite happy with the tea he’d gotten from Mrs. Stewart, and he walked out of the kitchen and stepped into the hall. After that day, he had always told himself that maybe he should have known, he should have sensed something was wrong. But the fact was, he didn’t. One second he was in the kitchen, breathing the aroma of hot coffee and freshly cooked breakfast, and the next he was stepping into the worst moment of his life. And nothing had prepared him for that.

The first thing he noticed was the dark liquid on the hard wood floor that was too black for cat pee and too thin for blood. And then the plates and the cups shattered on the floor, the tray that had been dropped with all its contents, included a beautiful red rose that lay in a pool of cooling coffee. A rose? And then his father’s large hand shaking rhythmically on the floor and the noise his wedding band would do when hitting the wood repeatedly. Peter’s whole body was shaking, his son noticed, and the sound of the ring on the floor was the only one he could hear. Why is he shaking? He had thought, and he even remembered frowning at the thought. And then he looked up, and saw the reason why his father’s body was shaking like that. Later, he had not been sure that it was the way he actually saw it, but that was how he remembered it - as a close shot scene from a movie, where he could only see details and not the whole picture until it was actually shown to him.

And then he looked up and saw his mother. Hovering above Peter, pushing hard on his chest with both her hands, time and time again, pressing his heart so hard he thought she was going to break his ribcage. He saw the tension in her forearms as she pushed, and as he looked up, her bangs jumping rhythmically on her forehead, her head bent down on her task.

"Oh my God." It was Emma’s voice behind him. She had not shouted, she sounded shocked but there was no panic in her voice. Gabriel was still standing there, very still, as he saw his mother look up to them. "Call 911", Julia said in a breathless voice, glancing quickly at Emma, before returning her attention to her husband.

Emma turned back and met Lucy’s eyes. The other girl had just stepped out of the kitchen, a mug of hot coffee in her hand, and was staring at the scene, her mouth slightly open. She caught Emma’s look and stepped back, instinctively reaching for the phone hanging on the wall, at the entrance of the kitchen.

Gabriel still hadn’t moved. He looked on, as Emma took two steps forward and knelt next to Peter, facing Julia. Without any words being exchanged between them, Emma took over the CPR and Julia moved up her husband body to lift his head up and start mouth to mouth. Behind them, on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, Pillow was sitting, her tail neatly folded around her legs, her ears slightly moving to the sounds around her. On the phone, Lucy repeated word for word to the emergency services what Doctor Paradise was telling her to say and what the patient’s condition appeared to be. Without all the fancy medical jargon around it, Gabriel understood the basics: Peter had had a heart attack and needed to go to the hospital as soon as possible.

However he did not seem able to move. From where he was standing, he glanced quickly to Lucy who was on the phone, halfway in the kitchen and halfway in the hall, then looked back to his father’s still body on the floor. His eyes shifted quickly, and caught a glimpse of his mother’s skin where her dressing gown was spilt open on her bare thigh. He realized the gown was the only piece of clothing she was wearing. Peter, on the floor, was dressed in an old pair khakis and a faded red T-shirt. He was barefoot. He probably had just slipped on those clothes before coming downstairs and making breakfast for his wife.

Again and again, Julia was blowing air in her husband’s lungs, as small moans escaped from Emma’s lips with the effort. When Gabriel realized he was thinking his parents must have been having sex less than an hour before, he looked away, ashamed. His gaze caught Lucy’s who was now standing not too far from him. "They’re on their way", she said in a very quiet voice, in the silence of the hallway.

The rest was a blur. The next thing Gabriel remembered was seeing Lucy coming down the stairs with some clothes in her hands, just as the paramedics were wheeling his father out of the house on a gurney. The clothes were for his mother who later got dressed as they waited at the hospital. Peter was officially declared deceased forty-five minutes after his wife had found him unconscious in the hall of their house.

Emma now stood in the same hall, at the bottom of the same stairs, three years later, her laptop case on her shoulder, and a large leather bag on the hardwood floor at her feet. She had driven from New York in the rain, and upon arrival, parked the car in the front of the house, leaving most of her things inside, and only grabbing the basics before rushing into the house. It was late March and the air was humid, but not cold, although a bit chillier than in New York.

Emma was subletting her apartment in Manhattan to a friend still living with his parents in Connecticut who had appreciated the opportunity to move to town for cheap and however long she decided to stay on her sabbatical. Phil had agreed to let her take some time off under the condition that she would do some work for him from time to time from home. In exchange, he had given her up to a year off the job in town.

So she had packed her stuff, cleaned the apartment the best she could and stuffed her luggage and other invaluable junk into the old Toyota her father had given her during her senior year in college. She rarely drove it in New York, preferring the subway or cabs to the headache of finding parking spaces in Manhattan. Most of the year, the car stayed in the underground parking lot of the apartment building and the perspective of such a drive had made her all giddy. When she arrived in her hometown in Mass, she played for a minute with the idea of going to see her parents first, but as she reached their street, she conveniently changed her mind and carried on all the way to the coast and Newbould Lane.

As expected, the first occupant of the house to greet her was Pillow, who, upon hearing noise in the hall, came strolling from the lounge where she had been snoozing, just to check if someone might be inclined to feed her - again.

"Well, hello Miss Pillow", Emma said softly as the young cat interrupted her musings. She put her laptop on the floor next to her bag and waited for Pillow to come to her and start rubbing her head on her legs before leaning down to pick her up. "Long time no see", she said again, swiftly flipping the cat over and cradling her in her arms, tummy up and exposed in a very smooth motion. This was the touch of a pro, Pillow recognized it, and when Emma started to scratch her furry stomach, the feline approved with a loud purr. "Are you the whole welcome committee, girl? You'd think I made enough noise out there slamming the car doors and all, that they would hear it, dontcha?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I would", answered a clear voice. Emma stared at the purring cat for a split second, then looked up towards the stairs.

"Lucy", she said dryly, "I thought for a minute that all the fresh fish and first grade chicken you've been feeding this cat had finally paid off, and I was gonna make a fortune."

Lucy chose not to answer and simply smiled. She was carrying a large plastic basket full of clothes, and was slowly coming down the stairs, one step at a time. She nudged with her chin towards Pillow still cuddled in Emma's arms. "Funny, she doesn't like strangers too much usually", she drawled, with a little smirk, stopping one the last step and a few inches above Emma.

That was not true, of course, and she knew it, just as she knew Emma knew Pillow would make friends with anybody who knew how to scratch her tummy right or was likely to give her any kind of food.

Emma snorted. "I'm hardly a stranger, Luce", she said, and then released Pillow who dropped on the hard wood floor with a thump. "I was here just last…" and then she left the sentence hanging, realizing how long it had been since she last came to the Paradises' house.

Lucy saw her blush slightly and her smile softened. "It's been a while, Em", she said, more gently than she had expected.

Emma watch Pillow rub her face against her leg a few seconds, then jump on the step Lucy was still standing on. She looked up, with a little sheepish smile. "I hope you guys didn't go through any trouble because of me," she said.

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. "Nah, not at all. Just a few things here and there, ya know… changing furniture, painting walls, the usual." Lucy's tone was light and casual, but Emma knew the Angel well enough to know that this might not be a joke, and it made her slightly uncomfortable. She then suddenly realized that she had not cleaned her boots on the doormat when she came in through the front door and had probably brought mud and rain with her in the otherwise immaculate hall. She quickly glanced at her feet to confirm that fact, not daring apologizing for the grime she brought inside, but also resenting the fact that Lucy often made her feel like she was a five-year old been caught and reprimanded by her mother after doing something bad. The Paradises home was always impeccable and Emma knew that in was largely due to Lucy who did take her job very seriously and was able to make you feel ashamed for not changing the toilet paper roll or not resealing the toothpaste tube after use.

"Well, look who's here!" a cheery voice claimed from above them. Emma and Lucy both looked up and watched Dan walk down the stairs, carrying easily a large stepladder in his left hand. He reached the bottom and jumped the last two steps, landing loudly in the hall, with a grin to Lucy, as if he was waiting for her to tell him off for his performance. She didn't. He turned to Emma and enfolded her in a bear but single-armed hug, still holding the ladder in one hand. "Welcome home, Em!" he said, and Emma returned his hug. Before she had time to wreck her brain for friendly and concerned questions to ask him and before she had time to be embarrassed because she couldn't think of any apart from 'How are you', he stepped back and grinned. "Sorry, Em, I'll see you later. Shannon's waiting for me, I'm already late. We're having supper at her folks' tonight."

Then he went through the kitchen door, still carrying his ladder, and got out of the house through the back door, not before shouting a very last and very loud collective "I'm going!" to the entire house. And with that, he was gone.

There was a silence in the hall, and Emma found Lucy's gaze again without really seeking it. She shrugged. "I can't believe he's still dating Shannon", she chuckled, shaking her head slowly.

Lucy stared at her for a second, and then raised her eyebrows, nodding. "Well, they have been married for nine months now", she said with an almost sorry look on her face. And Emma soon realized that this look was meant for her.

She didn't admit defeat though. "You're kidding, right?" she snorted.

Lucy shook her head.

"Kidding about what?" Gabriel asked, coming down the stairs. He was wearing an old pair of jeans that had gone almost white on the thighs and still held the stigmata of several summer of house painting, and a shapeless T-shirt from his college days. Carrying his father's large toolbox, the very same he and Emma were not allowed to touch when they were little, he came down the stairs, a smile on his face.

Emma looked up and shrugged her shoulders. "Danny - that he and Shannon got married last year", she said, still in disbelief.

Gabriel did not jump the last stairs but slowly climbed them down, until he was standing next to his friends. He looked at Emma then glanced at Lucy who sighed almost inaudibly and turned around, carrying her basket to the laundry room in the back of the kitchen. The Angel put the toolbox on the floor with a sharp metallic noise, and looked back at Emma with a little sad smile. "They did get married last year, Emma. Back in June." Then he hugged her tight before she had time to answer. "Welcome home", he said reassuringly, and although she felt utterly stupid and felt herself blush of embarrassment, she also felt like everything was forgiven at the same time.

Gabriel let her go and looked down at her with a warm smile on his lips. "Did you come straight here?" he asked simply, and Emma almost did not see him coming.

She nodded. "Yep."

He shook his head slightly. "Didn't stop to say hi to your parents?"

She frowned, feeling the trap closing on her. "Nope."

His smile fell to be replaced with a look of pure distress. "Emma…"

"Oh, no. Don't you start with me, Angel." She stepped back and looked down at her shoes. "I'll go later. When I'm ready", she said, with conviction.

"When is that?" he asked softly.

She avoided his glance. "Later."

He sighed, and she thought he recognized defeat when he saw it. She thought wrong. "You know your mom is away for a few days," he said again. "I saw Patrick yesterday… he said she won't be back before Thursday."

There was a silence in the room, only interrupted by the noise of Lucy in the kitchen who was about to put another load of clothes to wash.

Emma looked down and sighed. "I'll go and see Dad… tomorrow," she mumbled like a stubborn teenager, and then raised her eyes expectantly to the Angel who had a warm smile on his face. "I think he'd like that," he said gently. Then, after a second, and a little more cheerfully. "Right. Shall we unload the truck-full of crap you brought with you?" he said and stepped towards the front door.

Emma didn't answer for a moment, shaking her head in disbelief. Then she followed him, smiling. "I haven't been five minutes in your house, and you've already managed to make me agree with you. Admittedly, Angel, even for you, it's a record."

He opened the front door and turned back to her with a knowing smirk. "Thank you," he said. "It's nothing, really. I've had lots of practice with Lucy. She's a worthy adversary." And then he stepped outside onto the porch.

Emma quickly turned to the kitchen, her lips pursed. "Yeah," she said under her breath. "I bet she is." Before joining the Angel who had already reached the car and was groaning in mock desperation at the amount of stuff Emma had managed to squeeze into her old Toyota.

[To be continued]