Whose Angel Keyring Read Online Free PDF

James.
    “Knowing her, it will be something wonderful.” James extended his hand, asking for the key. When it was given, he said, “Follow me.”
    The two men walked to the den, then to the fireplace. Standing in front of the chest-high mantel, James inserted the small key into the second keyhole of the clock. “This would not have happened now, if it were not the proper time,” he said. Then he left the room.
    Zackery Calvin stood staring at the clock, listening to its stately tick-tock . His mind began piecing together childhood puzzles. A key for the second hole: years ago, Dad had said it was missing, and now, here it was. A message from the mother who loved him: he always wondered why she’d never left one for him, and now, apparently, she had.
    This key ring, then, was something his mother had chosen. The angel seemed a reminder of how he might have looked to her all those years ago—a golden-haired cherub. And the key itself with its intaglio design was the sort of thing she’d love. The ring that held both pieces together struck him as the most beautiful section of the whole assembly—embossed with a wave pattern, it reminded him of the family’s longtime connection to the sea.
    With an unsteady hand, he turned the golden key, then watched, intrigued, as the base panel of the clock revealed itself to be a little door that opened. Within the dark interior of the hidden compartment, a pale envelope caught a glint of light. Reaching in, Zack withdrew it.
    A rich, antique odor assailed him, a strange combination of must and ancient perfume. Moving back from the crackling fire, and leaving the compartment’s door open, Zack held his fragile treasure and sank into the couch. Breaking the seal on the envelope’s old glue, he slid out a letter. It was typed on crisp, pale blue sheets of personalized stationery. Calma it said across the top in deep, indigo ink. Touching the indentations on the smooth, cool paper, he remembered the sound of her typing.
    “Clack, clack-clack.”
    “ That’s right, darling. Want to try? ” She’d lifted him into her lap, then guided his fingers onto the little square keys.
    The memory arose as a proof of authenticity. Knowing, now, the letter was real, he began to read.

    Calma
    Dearest Zackery,
    By the time you read this, I will be a distant memory, and, I hope, a good one. As I write this, my illness has given me limited time. I have made peace with it, for the most part. My chief regret at leaving this world is in leaving you.
    This is, however, the natural order of things--that a parent should die before a child. It’s something we all must face at some time. It is not the end of the world. By now you have long-since stopped grieving, and this, too, is as it should be. I do not leave you this letter to reopen old wounds, nor to impose a false sense of loyalty that would demand you grieve again.
    I dare to hope I may even have been replaced, and you have had a loving stepmother. If not, it must be because you didn’t need one. Certainly your father has enough love to give you the double affection you deserve.
    I do want to apologize for your parents’ fights. “Arguments,” your father prefers to call them, but I think a good fight clears the air sometimes. It concerns me that, despite our best efforts, you overhear us. Young as you are, I’m afraid you’ll feel our raised voices and heated sentiments mean we don’t love each other. We do. Our issues are our own. They are not for you to solve. They never will be.
    Do we argue about you? Yes. All parents argue over their children. Is this your fault? No. Let our disagreements go. You will have more important battles of your own.
    I will admit to one theme our arguments have included lately. I keep reminding myself that as you read this, you’re sure to be a grown man, and I can speak to you both as a parent and as a friend. We argue, your father and I, over whether to tell you about your adoption.
    I should say when to