Though Joe was Jewish, he had agreed to get married at Our Lady of Sorrows, the Catholic church where Sarah had been baptized, received her First Communion, and made her Confirmation. She’d been so happy back then. Though she didn’t like to admit it—and she would never tell Joe this—sometimes, she thought the divorce might have been a huge mistake, especially since they were in business together again. But there was still the question of children.
“You going to be okay?” he said, taking her hand. Though they were rough, she loved the feel of his calloused fingers.
“I don’t know.”
“Want me to stay over? I promise I’ll confine myself to the sofa.”
She wanted to but she didn’t. Technically, it would be a sin if they had sex again. She should know. Since the divorce, they’d found each other in her bed—or his—more times than she cared to remember. And each time in Confession, she promised Fr. Brian it wouldn’t happen again.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he said, and dug out his keys.
“Wait.” She took both his hands in hers and rolled her eyes at what she was about to say. “I’d feel better if I wasn’t alone tonight.”
“Okay.”
And that was that.
As she swung open the front door, Sarah found Gary in the foyer, sitting on the hardwood floor and maowing. Sometimes, it irked her that the cat seemed to love Joe more than her. And it didn’t help that the guy immediately picked up the purring animal, scratching him behind his ears as Gary kneaded his paws in the air.
“Next time his litter box is full, you can change it,” she said, walking off.
Joe set the cat down and stepped into the kitchen. He knew where Sarah kept the scotch and brought it out along with two whiskey glasses. They both needed something to counteract the caffeine, he reasoned. He could hear her opening a closet and guessed she was taking out the extra bedding. Winking at the cat, he poured out two drinks and brought them into the living room where he found his ex-wife arranging the pillow and comforter on the sofa.
“I’d put you in the guest bedroom, but I’m using it for storage.”
“It’s fine.”
As she turned around, he offered her a glass.
“Hey, I was saving that,” she said, snatching the glass from him.
“I can always buy you more.”
“So, when did you become Mr. Moneybags?”
“It’s a write-off.”
“I don’t think Rachel will see it that way.”
“It’s no problem. I’ll bury it in some construction costs. Your sister will never know.”
“Like hell.”
She shoved the comforter aside. They sat and, clinking their glasses once, tried the whiskey. Its warmth relaxed Sarah. She grabbed her phone and fired up some straight-ahead jazz.
“John Coltrane?” he said.
“Sonny Rollins. When are you going to learn?”
“I told you, I like country and western.”
“You do not,” she said, laughing.
Like an old married couple, Joe put his arm around his ex-wife as she laid her head on his chest and, playing with his ear, listened to Sonny pouring his heart out on “You Do Something to Me.”
“You need a girlfriend,” she said.
“What for?”
“So you can move on. Even though you’re never going to find anyone as sweet as me. And funny. I’ve been told I’m funny.”
“Are you kidding? That’s the only reason I let you hang around the office.”
“Excuse me?” she said, straightening up and fake-punching his shoulder.
“So, how come you haven’t moved on?” He arched his eyebrows, making her snort as she raised her glass.
“I’m…working on it.”
“It’s been two years, Sarah.”
“It has not.”
“The divorce was final in July. Then in September, we talked about doing that annulment thingie.”
“‘Annulment thingie?’”
“This is October. You’re thirty-three, so, two years.”
“Oh shit, you’re right.” She drained her glass and got to her feet. “I need another drink.”
She brought back the bottle and set it on the retro 1950s Italian coffee table she’d found in an antique shop in Ojai. The smooth metallic top was decorated in a series of inlaid gold squiggles that reminded Sarah of lovers embracing, which was why she’d bought it on the spot.
They each had two more scotches. Before Sarah knew it, they were making out on the sofa like a couple of high school kids after the prom. Soon, she was leading him by the hand to her bedroom. Gary was already positioned on the duvet. She gave him the stink eye, and he took off.
It was cold in the house. They undressed and slipped in between the cool sheets. Joe’s body felt so good to her—familiar and strong. As they kissed, she felt his rough hands all over her and no longer thought of the nightmare or the apparition. All she wanted was Joe—her friend, her lover. Her protector.
Afterward, they slept in each other’s arms, warm and dreamless. Tomorrow, Sarah would make the drive to Santa Barbara to see Fr. Brian. It was the loneliness, she would tell him. The awful, soul-crushing loneliness. And being the awesome priest he was, he would forgive her sins once again.
Two
After her morning run, Sarah made the short drive to Our Lady of Sorrows in under ten minutes. Joe had left her house early to shower and change so he could meet with Greene Realty’s construction crew about a new property they were renovating. She recalled that he’d told her very little about the place, and when she pressed him for details, he got all mysterious and quickly changed the subject. Whatever. Let him have his little secret. She’d pry it out of him eventually.
Sarah smiled at the memory of waking up in Joe’s arms. It occurred to her that whenever she was with him, she was never afraid. He was strong, sure, but that wasn’t it. There was something about him—a kind of spirituality. Which was hilarious because Joe was the least spiritual person she knew. He’d barely made it through his bar mitzvah and, to hear his father tell it, always mumbled his way through the prayers during High Holy Days.
Taking the 154 south toward Santa Barbara, Sarah had to pass Resurrection Cemetery, a place she’d avoided since moving to Dos Santos a year ago. Religiously. They’d been burying people there since the Spanish first arrived in California, and she was aware that ghosts regularly haunted the twenty woodsy acres.
The cemetery was the whole reason Sarah had hesitated when Joe asked her to move to Dos Santos and rejoin the real estate firm. Well, that and the fact that she wasn’t sure it was a good idea for them to be working together again, with him handling the construction side of things and her selling houses. She’d been gone a year, and before that had been a co-owner of Greene Realty the whole time they were married.
After five years of marriage, she’d gone off on her own, neglecting to reclaim her maiden name. Had she secretly missed working with Joe? In any case, she had no intention of seeing more spirits than absolutely necessary. Eventually, though, he won her over, and she moved to Dos Santos.
Dark clouds were gathering as she found parking just off Anacapa Street several blocks from the church. Watching them scud across the sky, she thought again about the previous night’s activities. Nightmare. Apparition. Amazing sex. That about summed up her life. Why hadn’t she given up on wanting a normal existence? Because she was normal, she insisted. Prone to paranormal activity, sure, but normal just the same. She wondered if she should mention Alyssa’s appearance. Fr. Brian had always been sympathetic, though he was unclear on how these things worked or what they meant vis-à-vis God’s grand plan.
The first few drops of rain fell as she got out of her car and made her way to Our Lady of Sorrows, walking past Notre Dame School, which she’d attended for eight years. She stopped and stared at the field. Girls in belair plaid skirts, white polos, and navy sweaters were playing soccer on the wet field. Boys in navy pants and ash p
olos were playing basketball on the slick, newly paved courts. Some things never changed.
Several teachers with umbrellas watched from the sidelines. When she looked closer, Sarah thought she saw her fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Lech, standing a ways off from the others. She was wearing knit pants and a sweater and carried no umbrella. She had died of a heart attack when Sarah was in middle school.
When the old woman turned to look at her, Sarah could see that half her face had rotted away, leaving the teeth exposed in a nerve-shattering grin. Breathless, Sarah hurried down the street toward the church.
Walking briskly toward Fr. Donnelly’s office, she stopped when she noticed a little girl with long, dark hair pressed up against a wall as another girl blocked her way. Sarah guessed they were both in second grade. The other girl, who was taller, was saying something to the shorter one. And whatever it was, it was making her victim cry.
Sarah approached them and faced the larger of the two. “Everything okay over here?”
“Fine,” the tall girl said, and walked away.
Sarah faced the smaller one and, crouching down, wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Was that other girl being mean to you?” No response. “Mm-hmm. Well, you have a guardian angel, right?”
“Yes.”
“And so does she. Tell you what. I’m going to have a word with her guardian angel about this. No bullying. That’s the rule.”
The little girl brightened. “You can talk to angels?”
“Well. Sometimes. They don’t always listen, though.” Sarah scrunched her nose. “Too busy with God stuff, I guess. But I’ll try, okay? For you.”
“Okay.”
“What’s your name?”
“Emily.”
“Okay, Emily. Take care now.”
Sarah rose and watched as the little girl skipped away. She stopped abruptly and turned around.
“Hey, what’s your name, anyway?”
“Sarah Greene.”
“Bye!”
As Sarah stepped into the office, the assistant, Mrs. Ivy, recognized her and waved her through. Sarah knocked and stood in the doorway of the small cramped office. She loved this place. The smells of old books, British Sterling cologne, and coffee hung in the air like so many comforting memories. Fr. Donnelly was on the phone, and when he saw her, he motioned for her to come in and take a seat.
“That’s what you said the last time, Neal. No, I— Can you get over here and fix it? I don’t have to tell you how many elderly parishioners we have. I don’t want the Hosts sticking to their tongues during Communion, capiche? Tomorrow morning? Great. See you then.”
He shook his head as he put down his phone and smiled at Sarah.
“Furnace again?” she said, closing the door and taking a seat.
“We can’t afford to replace it.”
“I keep telling you, Joe knows people. He could probably get you a sweet deal.”
“We’ll see. What can I do for you, Sarah? Oh dear, don’t tell me.”
Sarah had known Fr. Brian Donnelly all her life. He had baptized her, given her First Communion, and married Joe and her. It was rare that a priest could remain at the same parish for more than five years, and she sometimes wondered what sort of pull he had with the archdiocese. Nearing seventy, he still had a full head of white hair. And his blue eyes, though intense and penetrating, were kind and full of humor.
“Joe and I…”
“So, do you want to make your Confession here or out in the confessional?”
“Here is fine.”
She felt awful having to do this again so soon. She’d planned to put on a formal defense, attempting to convince the priest—and therefore God—that sex with Joe was the only thing standing between her and the loony bin. But what was the use? It was a sin, period. They were no longer married. She might as well have picked up some loser at a bar in Isla Vista.
“Did something happen to trigger…those feelings?” he said.
“What? Oh…” She sighed and began toying with his desk calendar. “Nothing. I saw my dead friend. And, um, Mrs. Lech a few minutes ago, outside.”
“I haven’t thought about her in years. How did she look?”
“Not so good.”
“Oh. And when these things happen, you take solace in…relations with your ex-husband?”
“I guess.”
“How does he feel about it?” Strange, he’d never asked that before. “I mean, a non-Catholic who isn’t religious.”
“You mean a Jew.”
“Sure.”
“He’s like me. Alone. Works too much. Is there when I need him.”
“A convenience?”
“No, a friend. Someone I trust. Who doesn’t care that I’m this freak who sees dead people all the time.”
“You’re not a freak, Sarah. I’ve told you this. God has seen fit to—”
“Give me a gift. I know. I’ve always wanted to play the piano. Why couldn’t He be a pal and give me that?”
“God is not your pal. He is your Father, and—”
“He knows what’s best for me.” She wiped her tears with a balled-up fist. “I know He does. It’s just that sometimes…”
“Well, why don’t you make your Confession now? I have another appointment.”
She straightened up in her chair, made the Sign of the Cross, and closed her eyes. She could hear the steady ticking of mantle clock on the bookshelf behind the priest.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last Confession. These are my sins. I had sex with a man who isn’t my husband.”
Later, Fr. Donnelly stood outside in the wet cold with Sarah. She dreaded walking past the school again and pretended to look for her car keys.
“I see you’re still wearing the medal I gave you,” he said.
“And I never go anywhere without it.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. We’re having a Catholic singles’ dance in two weeks. I’d like you to come.”
“Why?”
“Because from what I gather, you’re lonely. And call me old-fashioned, but I think you need to meet someone and get married again. Maybe have a couple of kids. You know, a normal life.”
“Where do I sign up?”
“I’m being serious. You need to move on, Sarah.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that?”
“Maybe because it’s true. You’ll never be happy doing what you’re doing. And remember. Ultimately, that’s what God wants, for us to be happy.”
“I’ll think about it, okay?” She looked down at her medal. “Do you think St. Michael could find me a date?”
“Tickets are seventy-five dollars.”
“Seventy-five bucks? Sounds like someone’s trying to buy a new furnace.”
“There’s another gift God gave you,” he said. “You’re funny.”
“Not according to some people.”
He opened his arms and gave her a hug. “Take care, Sarah. Pray for God’s grace.”
“I do, Father. All the time.”
She was grateful he hadn’t brought up the annulment. It was true, she couldn’t receive Communion. But she wasn’t ready to accept that her marriage had never been valid in the first place. As she turned to leave, she did pray, though. This time, it was a silent plea that she wouldn’t see any more dead people between the parish office and her car.
Greene Realty was quiet as Sarah walked in through the front door. Blanca, their receptionist, was on the phone, speaking to someone in Spanish. From what Sarah could gather, it was a family matter concerning one of her grown sons.
Joe was nowhere in sight, and Sarah assumed he was at the mystery house—or maybe the bank. She could see Rachel sitting in her office, working. Joe’s organizational skills were nonexistent, and as part of her agreement to come back, she required that he hire her sister to handle all the paperwork and run the office. He didn’t put
up a fight. Sarah loved seeing Rachel every day and took pains to make her happy.
The office was conveniently located next to The Cracked Pot, where Sarah had stopped to grab three cappuccinos and something for Blanca. Setting down the tray, she left a hot chocolate on the receptionist’s desk. The middle-aged woman with the short, wiry brown hair mouthed Gracias and continued her phone conversation. On her way to her office, Sarah stopped to see Rachel and placed one of the coffees on her desk.
“Thought you could use this.”
“Thanks,” her sister said.
“My pleasure.”
Rachel looked nothing like Sarah. Her skin was much fairer, and her straight, shoulder-length hair had these wonderful blonde streaks in it that Sarah happened to know were real. Not like her own dark, wavy hair. And though Sarah had hazel eyes, Rachel’s were green.
When they were little, Sarah was convinced there had been a mix-up at the hospital and her parents had brought home the wrong baby. She used to tease Rachel about it, making her cry, until her father warned her to lay off or he would send Sarah to military school. Rachel’s daughter, Katy, got her mother’s looks. They were both beautiful women, Sarah felt.
“So, where’ve you been?” Rachel said. “A potential client stopped by earlier. A real looker, if you ask me.”
Sarah had been lingering in the doorway and stepped in, closed the door, and took a seat.
“Joe came over last night.”
“Oh, no, honey. Not again.”
“Afraid so.”
“Well, was it at least…”
“Rachel, it’s always good. That’s the problem.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see why you two ever got divorced. I mean, you apparently love each other. And he seems to be okay with all your paranormal shenanigans. Most men I know wouldn’t put up with that.”
“We’re friends.”
“You’re having sex.”
“Again, as friends.”
“Friends with benefits? No, I’m not buying it.”
The Girl in the Mirror Page 2
