by Erin Huss
“Ira—”
“The answer is yes to all of it,” I interrupt, and proceed to tell him the story of what happened—about Instagram, Tagalicious, the cleat prints, cigarettes, white truck, and the shed. Poor Brian looks quite distraught.
“I’m glad Penelope is alive, but how did you know she was missing before anyone else?”
I shrug but offer no explanation.
“That’s why you left in a hurry this morning?” he asks.
“Yes. Thank you for covering for me. I wouldn’t have been able to find Penelope if it weren’t for your help.”
Brian rubs his face and blows out a breath. “I’m not sure what I did, but I’m happy she was found alive.”
Me, too.
Brian leans back on his desk, still looking green. It seems unfair that he’s now without a car while I get to drive away in mine.
“I really am sorry about your car. Can I give you a ride?”
He shakes his head. “Vanessa is going to pick me up.”
That’s right, Va-ness-a. Ugh. Her name on his lips crushes my heart. He knows it too … wait a second. He knows it. Aha! I can feel it. I feel Brian’s feelings! He’s sorry for not letting me know about Va-ness-a. He suspects that I like him, though he assumes it’s more an infatuation than anything serious, but he’s … torn.
Brian is torn.
Torn!
Ha-ha!
I try not to appear as excited as I feel. First, I’ve never been able to feel Brian’s feelings before. Second, he’s torn! Sure, that could be deemed a bad thing, but I’m choosing to see it as he’s torn between Va-ness-a and me. I’m mentally doing backflips.
“About Vanessa—” he starts to say, and I place a finger to my lips to stop him.
“You don’t need to explain anything.” I smile, what I hope is a choose-me-love-me-dump-her type of smile. Best not to come off too eager at this point. Not while I’m ahead … I mean, I guess I’m not technically ahead. But I’m tired, and sore, and I’ve been arrested, and crashed into, and accused of murder, and chased, and if I want to believe that I’m ahead, then dammit, I’m ahead!
I’ll deal with reality tomorrow.
“I’m going to the hospital to check on Penelope.” I back up toward the door.
Brian pushes his brows together. “O-okay. Will you let me know how she’s doing?”
“You’ve got it.” I make two finger pistols and fire them with a click or my tongue and a wink of my eye.
Whhhyyy did I just do that? Oh, geez. Why do I have to get so weird?
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” I chant as I walk to my car. “You’ve got it. Real smooth, Zoe. Real smooth. Honestly.” I get in my car and realize that I can’t let Brian know how Penelope is doing because I don’t have a phone, nor do I have a wallet or a driver's license.
It’s illegal to drive without a license.
I get out, walk back to The Gazette, tap on Brian’s door, and hold up my keys. “Would you like to take her for a spin? You can see how Penelope is doing.”
Brian has no idea what to make of me. He juts his jaw and studies me with an intense gaze. I feel my cheeks go red. He’s still torn … but in spite of himself, he says, “No.”
So I go ahead and break the law and drive myself to Trucker Community Hospital without a license. Rejection sucks, but it is nice to be reunited with horsepower.
The waiting room is filled with concerned Fernn Valley residents. Mr. and Mrs. Batch, Rosa, the Clarks, along with several other familiar faces. Sitting in the corner are Mr. and Mrs. Muffin. I’m overcome with guilt upon seeing their grief-stricken faces. How could I ever think they would do this to Penelope?
I approach them slowly, not sure how they’ll react. Mr. Muffin’s mouth goes to a line. He stands with the aid of the chair. “Zoe Lane. What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on Penelope.”
Mrs. Muffin wipes her red nose with a wadded-up tissue and peers up at me with wet eyes. She beckons me using her finger to come closer, and I bend down. Before I can say anything, she throws her arms around my neck. I fall to my knees and struggle for a bit before I realize she’s not trying to kill me; she’s trying to hug me.
“You saved our girl,” Mrs. Muffin mumbles into my shoulder.
Mr. Muffin hugs me from behind. I’m in a Muffin sandwich. It’s uncomfortable, and I can’t quite breathe. My right rib pops, but I’m overwhelmed with relief.
“Have a seat,” Mr. Muffin says once I’m released. “Right here.” He pats the chair beside him.
I sit down. “How is she?”
“She’s in surgery now. They had to give her a blood transfusion, and they’re going to have to remove her spleen. But they think she’s going to pull through. Thanks to you.”
Mrs. Muffin dabs her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’d get up to give you a real hug, but I hurt my leg at Tae Kwon Do.”
The star pitcher and Tae Kwon Do? Remind me never to cross Mrs. Muffin.
“How’d you walk to your house from Butter with a hurt leg, though?” Obviously she didn’t attempt to kill Penelope, but curiosity forces me to ask anyway.
“When your kid is hurt, nothing else matters.”
Fair enough.
Mr. Muffin looks straight ahead. “I only wish we’d listened to you sooner. I had a feeling something was off before you even said anything. That sick lunatic of a coward showed up at the bakery first thing this morning to buy donuts. He looked me right in the eye and asked how Penelope was doing. But he was shaky and a little pale. My gut told me something wasn’t right, but I ignored it. I told myself he was sick from drinking too much last night.”
Mrs. Muffin rests her hand on top of her husband’s. “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”
“Did they say what happened?” I ask.
Mrs. Muffin nods. “But I don’t have the energy to talk about it right now.”
“Me neither,” adds Mr. Muffin.
Understandable. I know the gist of the situation anyway, but I would like a few more details, for example the weapon, was Ira on my computer, why did he create the Tag account, where is Penelope’s stuff … basically everything. I want to know everything.
The automatic doors part, and in walks Quinn and Jack. Quinn gives his grandparents Mr. and Mrs. Clark, a hug, while Jack comes straight to the Muffins. “How is she?”
Mr. Muffin gives her the same update he gave me.
Jack is hysterical. “I-I-I didn’t know she’d get hurt. I shouldn’t have kicked her out last night. I just want her to be okay. I-I-I—”
“Shhhhh.” Mrs. Muffin hands Jack a clean tissue. “It’s not your fault. Heaven knows my last words with Penelope weren’t exactly pleasant. This is just a reminder of how precious life is.”
Jack blows her nose and looks at me. “I didn’t know you’d be here, J—”
“Hey-yo,” I interrupt, for lack of better things to say.
Quinn walks up behind her.
I have a mild panic attack. Before he can open his mouth, I bolt upright. “Hello, again. So glad you two are here.” My voice is abnormally high-pitched and way too cheery for the situation. “Why don’t you take a seat here?” I offer him my chair. “Can I get you water? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Funyuns?”
Funyuns?
Not sure why I suddenly feel the need to play hostess, but my odd behavior only seems to confuse the duo more. Quinn and Jack exchange looks, but neither says anything. I don’t need them telling everyone that I was using different names today. It will only raise questions that I’m in no mood to answer.
I end up fetching coffee, water, and Funyuns for the entire waiting room.
It takes two hours before the surgeon arrives with a smile on his face. “She’s critical but stable,” he says. Which sounds like an oxymoron to me, but at least she has a pulse. “We don’t see any reason why she shouldn’t make a full recovery.”
The room erupts in cheers. Everyone is hugging. Except for me. I’m standing outside the group, doing this
weird fist pump thing with my arms, because awkward is my specialty.
Chapter Twelve
I'm home by eleven. Jabba, my cat, rubs his body up against my leg as a welcome home. I bend down to pet him, and he bites my hand, which about sums up our relationship.
Both Mom and Dad are asleep on the couch. I cover them each with a blanket and turn off the television, not wanting to wake them. They had a hard a day too. We all need rest.
I go to my room, peeling my shirt off as I walk, and deposit it on the floor. I’ll throw it away tomorrow. It smells like car accident and is stained with grass and sweat. Plus I’m tired of being accused of dressing like a grandma. I kick off my shoes, take off my pants, slip into a nightgown, and crawl into bed. I’m too tired for personal hygiene. That will all have to wait until tomorrow.
Jabba jumps onto my bed and curls up on my face. “There’s seriously like half a bed worth of space to sleep on, cat.” He doesn’t move. Instead he hisses.
Ugh. I just want to sleep!
I plug my ears, but Jabba’s hisses persist.
Fine!
I sit up to see what he’s so upset about, but I don’t see anything. I do, however, feel the same female spirit as before.
“I know you’re here. What is it that I can do for you?”
The spirit doesn’t reply. But I have the strangest prompting to get a hold of Tabitha Corner, the medium. She never did call me back. Granted, I don’t have my phone. She could have called after the car accident. “I’ll do it tomorrow,” I say out loud. “I’ll buy a new phone. It’s about time I have a cell that has the ability to connect to a Bluetooth anyway. Reaching the Other Side is in my briefcase. I don’t remember Tabitha’s number.”
But the spirit does.
Ten numbers enter my head, and even though I want to sleep, I throw the covers off. The cordless phone is in the kitchen. I bring it back to my room and check the time. It’s almost midnight. Tabitha is probably sleeping, but I feel the need to call her now.
So I do.
The phone rings in my ear. I feel stupid calling this late, but if anyone is going to understand, she will.
“Zoe Lane,” a shaky voice answers. I’m momentarily awestruck that Tabitha knew it was me before I said anything. Then I remembered every phone this side of 2000 has caller ID.
“I’m sorry to bother you so late,” I say, pulling the blanket over my legs and lying back.
“No bother. I’ve been expecting your call. Tell me how I can help you, Zoe.”
“Actually, I don’t need help anymore. I had a spirit that turned out to be alive still, sort of how you described in chapter fifteen of your book.”
“You’ve read my book? Reaching the Other Side?”
“Yes, I love it. It’s helped me tremendously.”
Jabba jumps up on my lap and folds his paws, eyeing the door.
“You sound so young. How old are you?”
The cynic in me wants to say, shouldn’t you know this since you're psychic? But that would be rude. Obviously, psychics do exist. “I’m twenty-three.”
“I’m curious, how did you happen upon a copy of my book, Zoe?”
“The library.”
There’s silence on the other end.
“Hello?” I ask. “Are you still there?”
“I am,” she says at last. “I wrote Reaching the Other Side many years ago. No publisher was interested in what a medium had to say at the time. This was before all those reality shows. I ended up self-publishing the book, but I only sold a handful of copies.”
I’m not sure what to say. Sorry? That’s a bummer? Better luck next time?
“Where do you live?” she asks.
“In a small Northern California town called Fernn Valley.”
“That’s interesting.”
“It’s really not that interesting of a place, but it’s pretty.”
“No, it’s interesting that you found my book in your library. Someone would have had to ask your librarian to order the book. I’m not sure how else it would have wound up there. Reaching the Other Side went out of print in two thousand and four.”
My mind works hard to grasp the relevancy of this comment, and why the spirit wanted me to know this. My dad had read the book when we visited the library, but that was a few years ago. I’m almost positive he didn’t request it. Rosa did say I was the only person to ever check it out. But the book could have been there for years. That would mean …
“Yes, Zoe Lane,” Tabitha says, answering my internal question. “There’s a very good chance that you’re not the only medium in Fernn Valley.”
Well, I’ll be damned.
Chapter Thirteen
I’m at the library by eight o’clock the next morning. It was hard to sleep after my conversation with Tabitha last night. I couldn’t stop thinking about who could have requested Reaching the Other Side from the library all those years ago. Perhaps there is another medium in Fernn Valley, someone who has hidden his or her gift all these years, someone who has been waiting around for a person like me to arrive.
I’m not going to lie, I picture us connecting, sitting at Butter Bakery, sharing a croissant, and chatting about the spirits we’ve helped. I picture us getting our nails done. I picture us going shopping together (okay, in my head the medium is my age, hip, with a modern sense of style, but that’s only because I have no friends or life).
The prospect of having someone else that understands what I’m going through is exciting. Which is why when Rosa unlocks the library door, I push right in.
“You’re up early this morning,” she says. “How are you doing?”
I follow Rosa to her desk. “I’m doing okay. Have you heard anything about Penelope?”
“Just that she did well overnight, and they’re expecting her to wake up this morning.”
We take a moment to appreciate the gravity of the situation …
That’s long enough.
“I need to know who asked you to order the copy of Reaching the Other Side.”
Rosa gives a short, uncomfortable laugh. “Oh. Sure … I might be able to find that out.”
“You don’t remember ordering it?”
Rosa takes a seat and slips on her readers. “I think I can be counted on to remember when someone asks me to order a book about connecting with the dead. It’s been here since I took over the library. The only people to show interest are your father and you.” Her mouth curves into a smile. “I have theories about you, Zoe Lane.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I play coy.
“Sure you don’t.” She winks. “Okay, let’s see.” She checks the computer. “It doesn’t say. Let me do a little more digging and see if I can figure it out for you.”
I try not to look as disappointed as I feel. I wanted instant gratification.
Oh, well.
I should have known better. Life isn’t about instant gratification. The only way I’ll get that is from a donut.
I leave Rosa and walk over to Butter Bakery. The sign on the door says they’re closed. I should have guessed as much. Of course, the Muffins are with Penelope, plus there’s that whole food poisoning business I need to clear up.
I settle for a Twinkie from the gas station. It doesn’t have the same instant gratification as a donut, but it will have to do. I’m feeling tired, ragged, and sore, but push myself to check off a few housekeeping items before I head back to the hospital. First, I go to the bank to withdraw cash and order a new debit card. Then I head over to JoAnne’s Boutique to buy a purse. It’s not nearly as functional as my briefcase, but it’s all she has. While I’m there, I purchase a lime green shirt and tan blazer. JoAnne says I look adorable. I’m not so sure about the combination, but she works in fashion and I don’t. Next stop, the tech store. Mr. Lewis talks me into a phone I can’t afford.
“It has over sixty-four gigabytes of storage,” he says.
I don’t fully appreciate how much storage that is, but when he offers m
e his employee discount, I hand him my temporary debit card. Praying it doesn’t decline.
Accepted!
Welcome to the twenty-first century, Zoe.
I’m feeling quite proud of myself, and step outside to enjoy the sunlight. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning. Mr. Clark, Mr. Sanders, and Mr. Ishmael are already on their bench, watching the street.
I ignore the whispers and sideways glances as I walk through town with my purchases and go straight to Earl Park. I take a seat in the gazebo and pull out my new phone. Mr. Lewis did the basic setup for me, but I still need to transfer the numbers from my flip phone—assuming it survived the crash.
I’m able to download Instagram, and I set up my account. When it’s time to select a username, I pause. The obvious choice would be Zoe Lane. But I can’t help myself and type in Sane Lane. Ha. Penelope will get a kick out of that.
Assuming she remembers me.
I lift my chin, soaking in the vitamin D. It feels good to be alone with my own thoughts and feelings. I’m enjoying the peace when suddenly I feel someone take a seat beside me. It’s Mrs. Batch, with a goofy grin on her face.
“Hello,” I say.
Mrs. Batch wiggles around until she’s facing me. “My sweetheart died in Vietnam.”
“I’m sorry?”
“We were young and in love when he was drafted. I told him I’d wait, and I did. But he didn’t make it.”
I’m not sure why she decided to sit down and tell me this depressing story … oh, no.
“The darnedest thing happened to me yesterday,” she says. “I was driving into town when I heard Penelope Muffin's voice in my head, telling me to run a red light.”
Oh geez.
“Terrified me to pieces, and I drove off the road, and, well, I’m sure you heard the story.”
I nod, scared at where she’s going with this story.
“So I got to thinking about that experience and what happened to poor Penelope yesterday.” She pauses to cross herself. “His name was Peter.”
I’m not following. “Huh?”
“My sweetheart who went to Vietnam. Peter Xavier. You can tell him its Darlene Valentine. That’s my maiden name.”
