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By the grace of God--or, as someone would say, years and years from now, the grace of Clark Gable--Oscar was sober for his mother's death. She had been slipping away for days, for months, for so long that Oscar couldn't remember anything else, couldn't remember her happy and healthy. He buried himself in drugs and he couldn't remember, couldn't remember anything anymore, but--
He was here now. And his mother was only barely his mother anymore. She hadn't moved for hours and he sat there, hating himself for all the moments he missed with her and hating himself all the more because he could see her pills right there on the bedside table and he wouldn't even have to lean forward to grab them, just reach out--
"Oscar."
It had been so long since he'd heard her voice that he startled to hear it. She opened her eyes and looked at him.
"You'll meet her in a church," his mother said. And Oscar wanted to ask her what the hell he'd be doing in church and who he was supposed to meet, but his mother continued speaking.
"You'll know her right away because she'll glow like an angel."
And Oscar couldn't help himself. He could see it. He'd walk into a church and there she would be.
His mother laughed a little. "She'll be a little odd, but she'll feel like family."
"Mum." He wanted to ask her a million more questions. What did she mean and when would this happen and most of all why couldn't she stay to see it herself?
His mum closed her eyes and--
That was the last thing his mother ever said.
+
He should hate those bloody twins, for as much as Dianna talked about them, but all he could think about was his mum and how little he'd ever given her to brag about. So he sat in the church with her, day after day, and imagined that someday, somewhere, someone out there would brag about him like that.
"Jude thinks I hate her, but oh, just you wait. You'll meet her and you'll fall in love and that will be it for both of you." She turned suddenly in the pew. "And that's why you must absolutely avoid her until you've been sober for three years."
Oscar kept taking pictures, sometimes turning to capture Dianna, sometimes taking a picture of the stained windows. Noah and the ark, which was always good to get Dianna going about her twins.
When he put the camera down, Dianna reached for it and flipped through the pictures he'd taken, humming her approval.
Oscar leaned back. "Three years? I can wait three more years for the love of my life."
He reached out to take the camera from her, but she pulled it away and pointed a finger at him. "Oh no. Three years sober and she has to be at least twenty-five."
Oscar shook his head. "Sounds like far too long to wait and--I'm waiting for an angel."
Dianna laughed. "The only thing angelic about Jude is her hair."
A shaft of light fell on her and, right then, Dianna looked like an angel herself. Oscar grabbed his camera back from her, but when he put the camera to his eyes, the moment was gone.
+
His mother was right and her mother was right.
She glowed like an angel and . . . that was it.
For both of them.
+
"You see, I owe her the sun," Noah said. He'd woken up Oscar early that morning, paint brush already in his hands.
"A few more things, too, as I remember," Oscar said "And couldn't you have thought about this earlier?"
Noah had dragged him outside, positioned him in a bed of flowers--these are hers, he had explained.
"I didn't know until today." Noah pushed back his hair, streaking it with color. But he'd had the easel and paints ready when they'd come outside and Oscar imagined he meant "today" as in at the stroke of midnight, Noah sat bolt upright in bed and rushed out here to prepare, only waiting for that all important sun before waking Oscar.
"And she's getting me," Oscar said. "In only a few hours."
It was the day after Jude and Noah's twenty-fifth birthday. Jude said since they'd already disobeyed her mother's wishes, they could at least wait until then to get married. And they couldn't get married on her birthday because that wouldn't be fair to Noah.
So now the twins were twenty-five and a day and Oscar was getting married. If his future brother-in-law ever stopped painting him.
"What are you doing?" Jude floated out to them, her hair swirling around her, and sat on Oscar's lap.
"He's giving you back the sun," Oscar said, as Noah dropped another painting on the ground.
"Go away," Noah said. "You're ruining the portrait."
He didn't say it was bad luck. Jude had thoroughly and completely abandoned the concept of luck. She hunted for black cats and ladders and, luckily for Oscar, sought out her fiance on their wedding day.
"I don't want the sun," Jude said. "It was a fair trade."
"But I ripped him up," Noah said.
Oscar thought about pointing out that he was right here, not torn apart at all, but he stayed silent. It might be his wedding day, but this wasn't his moment.
Jude walked over to Noah, her hair clinging to Oscar, breaking free slowly, leaving him with the golden strands that had covered his life for the past nine years.
"What if the world was never ours to divide?" Jude asked. "What if there was always enough for both of us? For all of us?"
Noah turned to his easel and began painting again.
Much later, after I do's, and wedding cake, Noah handed Oscar the painting. In it, the sun was bursting out of Jude's body, the glow enveloping Oscar, Noah, and everyone they loved.
"Maybe she's right," Noah said. "But someone should get the sun today."
"Not sure I'm bloody worthy, mate."
"What if we were always worthy?"
Jude came up behind Oscar and wrapped her arms around him.
And maybe, just, maybe, all three of them were glowing.