Messenger

by Carol Lynch Williams

  After two plates of food, JimDaddy leaned back in his chair. Across the room from us the refrigerator hummed, then clicked off. The room fell silent. Even Baby Lucy didn’t say a word. She looked at me and Momma and JimDaddy like she was expecting something too.

  “What is it we need to chat about?” JimDaddy said.

  Momma dabbed at her lips.

  I saw her swallow.

  A knot grew in my throat. I chewed hard. Swallowed the bite almost whole.

  “She knows,” she said.

  “She knows what?” JimDaddy said. There was a long stretch of silence and then, “Oh.”

  JimDaddy looked at his plate.

  I stared at the top of his head, where his hair was so blond and thick I wondered if I’d ever find a gray hair.

  “Oh,” he said again.

  “Oh,” Lucy said. Her mouth made a perfect oval, like she tasted the word.

  So it was true. Something was true.

  “How could you?” I asked. The words trembled from me. For a brief moment I saw Tommie, sitting on my bed, looking at me like she might cry.

  “Excuse me?” JimDaddy said. The words were breathy, hollow.

  “How could you leave her out there like that?”

  “Leave her?” JimDaddy looked like I’d hit him a good one. His face went dark as a storm. He was furious. “Who told you that?” he asked. “Who would say such a thing?”

  Your daughter, I wanted to say, but I didn’t answer. I could be angry too.

  Momma reached for my arm, but I moved away.

  JimDaddy straightened in his chair. Moved around like he was getting ready for a meeting with zoning officials. Not that I have ever seen him talking about breaking ground or anything. But maybe he does it this way, with a shift-shift-shifty move.

  He glanced at Momma.

  Baby Lucy stayed quiet. The whole house stayed quiet. The three of us stared each other around the table, like we played tag with our eyes only.

  “Tell her,” Momma whispered, and her breath seemed to make the candles flicker till two went out. The third gasped and kept burning.

  Fried fish swam in my stomach.

  “Tell me,” I whispered, and the last candle went out.

  JimDaddy grabbed at Baby Lucy, who crawled over the table from Momma and into his arms. When he spoke, he sounded ready to cry. “Now, Evie. You have to know your momma and me, we decided some things were better left unsaid.” He cleared his throat. “Until you asked about them.”

  Momma nodded.

  Fish tried to swim up my gullet, but I swallowed them down.

  “Like you were married before?” My voice sounded hot even to my own ears. I did not look at my mother. A sound came from the back door. Like the doorknob jiggled. Did Tommie try to get inside?

  “Yes, like that.”

  “But,” Momma said, “there’s more to the story.”

  “Much more,” JimDaddy said.

  “Oh,” said Baby Lucy.

  “So tell me,” I said, though I was sure I might scram as soon as the details were revealed.

  JimDaddy pressed his nose into Lucy’s neck. Three tears leaked from his eye. Yes, just one eye. And three tears. Like one for each of us. He looked straight at me. “Here’s what happened, Evie.”

  51

  “I’ve known your momma my whole life.”

  “Yes,” Momma said.

  The doorknob jiggled again. Outside the wind grew from nothing at all to a gust that made the trees bow. Lightning marked up the sky, and the streetlights flickered on.

  “I always had a secret crush on her.”

  Momma smiled.

  “But we went our separate ways and your momma married your daddy and I . . .” JimDaddy took a breath. “I married Cindy Hastings.”

  I waited. Silent. No one said anything for so long I got antsy. I said, “And . . .”

  JimDaddy kissed Lucy, who clutched a bit of fish, like she was nervous too.

  “We were danged happy, me and Cindy. I saw your momma now and again. Knew when you were born, ’cause we had us a daughter a year before. We named her Tommie.”

  Ice water splashed over my head. The doorknob stopped its jiggling. I slapped my hands on the table. “I knew it,” I said.

  JimDaddy took another deep breath. “The two of them were killed three years ago. In a car accident.”

  “You remember the accident, don’t you, Evie?” Momma said. “I told you.”

  “What do you mean killed?” I asked. I couldn’t feel my lips.

  “My first wife and daughter are dead,” JimDaddy said.

  Something sort of stirred in my brain. Something that felt like a million years ago.

  “They were the light of my eye. My wife and I only had the one child. And then they went together.” His voice cracked.

  Now it sounded like the whole of outside became lightning and thunder and birds calling and frogs croaking and mosquitoes buzzing and snakes slithering and cracking voices and my heart? My heart might have stopped.

  Now my head filled up with too much noise. Now I glanced at the doorknob and saw it turn.

  Momma spoke then, and I could hear only parts of what she had to say. Words like, “We didn’t want you to know yet.” And “New furniture for your room that used to be Tommie’s.” And “She would be sixteen.”

  I stood so fast the dining room chair toppled to the floor. My glass of Coke spilled across the table and Baby Lucy said, “Uh-oh.”

  My head swam. I was going to faint. Faint.

  Dead?

  Tommie?

  No!

  No!

  I wouldn’t have it!

  I wouldn’t!

  52

  Gift or no, I was done!

  53

  I stormed down the street in the rain and straight into Aunt Odie’s house without even knocking. The door popped against the entryway hall, and I didn’t even bother to close it.

  Why should I?

  She . . .

  She . . .

  “Aunt Odie?”

  TV noise came from the family room.

  I hurried down the hall and past the kitchen.

  Aunt Odie looked up at me from a huge flat-screen, where she watched a recording of Judge Judy. If there is anything I can say about my aunt, and there is a whole lot, it’s that she is a Judge Judy fan. She never watches cooking shows. “Don’t want to be influenced,” she’s said. “I got a direct line to a spiritual world. No need to mess with the living on this one.”

  But Judge Judy? Aunt Odie loves a woman with spine. Her words. Not mine.

  “Aunt Odie!”

  “Hey, sugar,” Aunt Odie said. She glanced at me, then came to attention in her chair.

  “What? What?” she said.

  “Dead people!” I said. “I see dead people!”

  Aunt Odie picked up the remote and clicked the TV to pause. Right as Judge Judy was saying, “Young lady, you can’t just appear and disappear in people’s lives and not expect consequences of some sort.”

  “And you knew it!”

  Judge Judy’s mouth was stuck open, freeze-frame.

  “I thought someone had died, the way you looked around the eyes.”

  I stomped up to her. To my aunt. Not Judge Judy. “Someone has died. Lots have. Did you hear me? I. See. Dead. ­People.” My hands were fists now.

  Aunt Odie settled. “What are you saying?”

  “You. Knew.” The words were full of accusation.

  The whole house smelled of lemons. What had she been cooking? I didn’t care. I mean, I’d care later. After this war was over. After we’d talked.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “What do you mean, what do I mean?”

  Aunt Odie fanned at herself wit
h a Family Circle magazine. “So it happened.”

  I nodded. In a violent sorta way.

  “Oh no.” Aunt Odie stood, walked around a moment, then moved to the leather sectional. She sat on the sofa, still fanning, then let out a breath. “I wondered when. I wondered when. At first I thought there was a hole in the system. Thought something strange had happened.”

  “Are you kidding? Something strange has happened.” My heart pounded so I could see my shirt moving.

  Where was Tommie right now? Where? Looking in a window? Sitting on a toilet? Jingling a doorknob somewhere? Chills slipped over me like a bodysuit.

  My aunt patted the sofa next to her, shaking her head as though she was the one sad and sorrowful. “You figured it out.”

  I didn’t move. Felt my face go squishy.

  “Hand me a cigarette, will you, honey? My nerves are undone.”

  But I didn’t. I stood there with my hands on my hips. I was furious. Betrayed. I was so angry I could . . . Well, not die. I’d never say that again.

  “You are a little bent out of shape, now, aren’t ya?” Aunt Odie blinked several times like she had pepper in her eyes. “I see that.”

  I jabbed a finger at Aunt Odie. My eyes filled with tears. “Paulie told you, didn’t he? The other day, he said . . .” I couldn’t keep talking.

  She nodded. “He said you have a rare gift.”

  I gawked at her. I mean really gawked. Like it says in books.

  “And you didn’t say anything about it. Nothing! Why?”

  Aunt Odie studied her fingernails, then looked up at me. “Because nothing had happened. And I didn’t want to get you all worked up over something that might prove false. Come on, cinnamon bear. Sit down.”

  I refused to sit. I stood there, towering over Aunt Odie, who looked up at me with a guilty expression on her face.

  “Honey,” she said at long last. “I wasn’t sure Paulie was right. I mean, I get recipes from dreams. My aunt before me could read minds. You should have heard what she said President Roosevelt was thinking. Her aunt before her could grow anything, anything, and then heal people with her herbs. And you know what your momma and aunts can do.”

  I didn’t move.

  Aunt Odie shook her head. “I didn’t know you were going to get the dead-people card. Few are trusted with that.”

  “Cards or not,” I said, “this shouldn’t be happening.”

  “Now wait,” Aunt Odie said.

  “It isn’t fair.”

  My aunt put on her nothing in life is fair look, but to my surprise, she didn’t say that. Instead she stood, pulled me close, and hugged me. Tight. A little too tight. She whispered into my hair. “Some’s more special than others. Prophets aren’t looking for the calling.”

  “I’m not a prophet,” I said into her shoulder. I wanted to pull away, but hugging my aunt was too comfortable. “And what’s Momma gonna say? I have a strong feeling she has an aversion to ghosts.”

  Aunt Odie patted my back. “She knows. I told her what Paulie said.”

  “Oh.” I pushed back from Aunt Odie. “I’ve been seeing one ghost all along and didn’t even know it. For all I know, you’re dead.”

  She put both hands on my shoulders. “Could be, but I’m not. I’ve a feeling we better make us another trip to Cassa­daga.”

  Judge Judy was frozen mid-move—pointing at someone, mouth wide, eyes serious. From the kitchen I heard the timer ding. “Are you cooking something?”

  “I’m always cooking something. Listen. I’ll call Paulie. Let him know you and me are coming out tomorrow morning before school starts. You okay for an early morning trip?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  “And I need you tomorrow. Think you can get rid of this sour mood?” I gave her a look and she hurried on with, “We got to fill a lot of orders.” She went in the kitchen and I heard the oven door open, then shut.

  I stood quiet, a lemon smell swirling around me. “Why is she here?” I said when Aunt Odie eased back into the room.

  “Who?”

  “The girl. JimDaddy’s first child.”

  “Good golly,” Aunt Odie said. She took a breath deep enough to shift her spleen. “That is a sour card, Evie.”

  “I know. What do I do?”

  “You’re gonna have to figure that one out.”

  54

  The sun had set when I walked home (and I only went after Momma called me and said I had to get on back to do homework). The moon was shadowed by clouds. The streets and sidewalks were wet. Lots of people had turned on their indoor lights. Some left their curtains open. Including at Buddy’s place. I stopped on the sidewalk.

  A woman played a huge piano.

  A dog sat near her.

  “That is one big dog,” I said to no one. And where was Buddy? I stretched this way and that, looking through the picture window for him.

  “Hey, Evie.”

  This time I kept my yelp under control.

  “What are you doing out here, Buddy?” I said. Pleased and surprised all at once. He’d come up close and his arm touched mine. I smiled in the darkness. Turned to look up at him.

  Buddy took my hand. “I told you, Evie. I’m coming to kiss you.” His voice was low.

  I grinned even bigger.

  “Good,” I said, feeling brave. “I need the distraction.”

  “I intend to be more than a distraction, Evie Messenger.”

  Buddy pulled me near.

  Bent closer.

  His lips found mine.

  “Mmm,” he said. Buddy’s arms went around me. Pulled me so tight I thought to push away. But no. I needed this. This hot guy kissing me. I needed Tommie out of my head. And Aunt Odie and Paulie and school and JimDaddy and dead wives and new wives and children, gone, gone, gone. The whole kit and kaboodle.

  “Let’s go sit,” Buddy said, and led me across my wet front lawn and onto the porch, where a light flicked on when we got near enough for the sensor to know we were there.

  “Can’t kiss in the light,” I said. I was whispering and my lips tingled. No longer numb. Good. “My momma is waiting for me.” We sat on the swing that was damp under my bottom.

  Tommie. Tommie. In my head. In my room? Waiting for me?

  “I’ve been waiting for you longer, Evie,” Buddy said. He used both his hands to try and tame my hair that had swelled as soon as I walked out of Aunt Odie’s house.

  “Have you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He gave up on my hair (I think) and cupped my face in his hands.

  Ran his finger over my lips.

  “If we don’t move,” he said, “that light might go out. We’re out of range.”

  I took his hand in mine. He was so warm. And he smelled like orange rolls. Had his momma made one of Aunt Odie’s mixes?

  The porch light went out, and just like that Momma opened the door. “Evie,” she said.

  “I’m here, Momma.”

  “Who’re you with?”

  “Buddy from across the way.”

  Momma hesitated. Light spilled out from the house, and she looked dark as a ghoul. Only ghouls aren’t dark. At least not girl ghosts, who aren’t really ghouls at all.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Momma said, and shut the door quick.

  The spotlight stayed off.

  “That’s no time at all,” Buddy said.

  “Then let’s not waste it.”

  How could I do this?

  How could I know how to kiss my across-the-street-­neighbor when I had never kissed anyone before? (Not including Tommy Jones, who in first grade said, “Knock knock,” and I said, “Who’s there?” and he said, “Olive,” and I said, “Olive who?” and he said, “Olive you,” and kissed me half on the mouth and half on the nose, for which I slapped him a good one, and
AJ Moorman in sixth grade, who caught me unawares in the lunchroom right when I was ready to throw my empty lunch bag away. He tasted a lot like mustard.)

  How did I know what to do with my mouth and tongue and teeth? And lips? Can’t forget the lips.

  “Evie,” Buddy said. He sounded breathless. “I’ve never kissed anyone like you.”

  I’m a natural, I wanted to say. Maybe this could be my age fifteen Gift from the other side. Not the ghost thing. But I didn’t say anything at all, just kissed Buddy those few minutes, like I might never do it again.

  “Who have you kissed, Buddy? Lot of girls?” He seemed like a professional.

  “I’ve had plenty of girlfriends,” he said. He rested his forehead on mine. “But none kissed me like that.”

  Was that a line? I didn’t even care.

  “Anyone from school?”

  Why was I asking? It’s not like we were going out. Were we? Were we? But that kissing mouth of mine made me ask.

  He was so nice to look at.

  Was it because it was dark out?

  Because the whole place smelled of ocean?

  “I’ve only had one serious girlfriend,” he said. Buddy pulled away from me.

  I rested in his arms.

  “We were young. And knew it.”

  He swallowed. Twice. I heard him.

  “She was killed . . .”

  Wait!

  “. . . killed . . .”

  No!

  “. . . in a car accident a few years back.”

  Don’t say it!

  “Justin?” My voice came out a whisper. “Are you Justin?”

  “She lived right here in this house. Off and on.”

  Are. You. Kidding. Me?

  “Her name was . . .”

  “Tommie,” we said together.

  55

  “You have got to stop sneaking up on me,” I said before I even turned on my light. I knew Tommie would be in my room when I slammed the door behind me, Buddy—or should I call him Justin—still sitting on the swing saying, “What? I don’t know what I did,” and me saying, “Time’s up. I gotta go in now.”

  Tommie seemed suspended in the air in the corner of the room.