ONCE UPON ANOTHER TIME

by McQuestion, Rosary

  “Overruled,” said the judge.

  I glanced over at the plaintiff. Her smug expressions made me want to get up and bitch-slap her. You’re losing them, I thought as I looked at the working-class woman in the second row of the jury box. The one with the short silvery hair, the conservative A-line cowl neck dress in the color of city smog and the Harrisville address, Mrs. Marie something. She didn’t want to hear that affluent men like my client Ray Peters were prime targets for sexual harassment lawsuits. Or that the soft-spoken plaintiff camouflaged in a Victorian collared buttoned up blouse, black slacks and non-designer shoes was lying about being sexually harassed by a multimillionaire.

  After cross-examination, I circled back to the counsel’s table trying to psych myself back into the trial. However, my concentration kept breaking off into personal areas of my life. Like whether my boyfriend was for sure my dead husband.

  Bizarre as it sounded, it actually made sense. Matt’s spirit wasn’t born into Gavin, it just leapt into him! It explained the abrupt halt of paranormal activity of Matt trying to contact me once I’d met Gavin. It explained why Matt had left me all those clues in that novel directing me toward Gavin. In a not so subtle way, Matt was trying to tell me that the man of my dreams was actually…

  The sudden pounding of the gavel, pulled me from my thoughts. The expressions on the faces of the jurors told me my ship had taken on lots of water, especially with Judge Trudy Lopez at the helm. It was a well-known fact she subscribed to the Loraine Bobbit fan club. And with testimony from two eyewitnesses who testified to seeing my client openly flirt with the plaintiff, I felt doomed.

  As I turned to consult with my client, Melanie entered the back of the courtroom and made a beeline toward me. She was beaming, and I knew it wasn’t because of her freshly Botox-injected lips, which by the way were so large I had imagined one deep inhale could suck in her entire face.

  “How’s it going?” she whispered cheerfully in my ear.

  “Not well.”

  “This might help.” She handed me a file folder.

  I pulled out the documents and scanned the paperwork. The information stated that the plaintiff who claimed my client had forcibly put his hand up her skirt and fondled her vagina, was actually a transgender who hadn’t completed his final surgery. Hence, my client would have been fondling a penis.

  “Are you sure about this?” I glanced at the plaintiff’s attorney, hoping I hadn’t whispered too loudly.

  “One hundred percent.” Melanie smiled from ear to ear--literally.

  “Great job! Remind me to tell Fendworth you need a raise. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. See you back at the office,” Melanie whispered, as she walked away.

  The woman was remarkable. She was like an inexorable computer virus, worming her way through tons of public records on the plaintiff to find the hidden treasure I held in my hand.

  As tension melted away, I said a little prayer.

  Dear God, by some bizarre heavenly intervention did Matt’s spirit get stuck in Gavin on the way up to see you? Was Matt’s theory correct? Was he here all these years? I’m so confused. I just need a sign from you and I don’t expect something huge, just something small to let me know if what I’m thinking is true.

  A hard slam of the gavel startled me from my thoughts, as the witness made a scene and the judge stated, “Order in the court!”

  My eyes shifted toward the ceiling. Was that a yes?

  Twenty-seven

  Tendrils of hair fluttered around my face in the salty September breeze, as I stood by the open patio doors in my kitchen listening to the seagulls call to one another, while they glided on eddying currents against a periwinkle blue sky. The rhythmic, melodic washing of waves against the shore, brought to mind hermit crabs hustling sideways across the sandy beach, while flashing slivery minnows washed to shore in a froth of waves.

  I jerked as all of a sudden I heard the high-pitched beeping of the oven timer. I turned to see Laura swatting a fly away from the slices of lime sitting on the cutting board next to the blender and bottles of tequila, triple sec, blue Curacao, and sour mix.

  “You know,” said Laura, “it's probably not the smartest decision to tell Gavin about all the crazy things that have happened. It’s been a week since we saw Mother Paula and nothing unusual has happened since.” As Laura poured shots of alcohol into the blender, I thought about all the times throughout the years we sat in my kitchen sipping margaritas and hatching a plan for me to find Mr. Right. Now that I have found him, my life is still complicated.

  “I want to be honest,” I said, while slipping my hand into a blue plaid oven mitt. The golden crust bubbled over around the edges of the apple pie as I removed it from the oven and placed it on a metal cooling rack. The aroma of cinnamon and caramelized apple wafting through the kitchen reminded me of Thanksgiving at Grandma's house.

  “So, you really don’t think I should come clean with Gavin? You know, like telling him about Mother Paula, Aunt Millie, and my theory that Matt’s spirit somehow jumped into his body right after he died?”

  “Aubrey, explaining it out loud makes it sound even more insane.”

  “But you’re my witness. You were at the reading with me, and Mother Paula is not wrong about this. There’s some kind of bizarre connectivity between Matt and Gavin.”

  “You know, she was wrong about the birthmark.”

  “Yeah, but she was right about David being dishonest.”

  “True, but she was wrong about Gavin buying an engagement ring for his ex-girlfriend,” said Laura as she pushed the button on the blender.

  It hadn’t dawned on me until that evening that Gavin hadn’t even mentioned Vanessa in all the weeks we’d been dating, not that I minded. However, it seemed a little odd since they were such good friends.

  The long-stemmed, wide-rimmed shallow glasses clinked against the granite countertop as Laura placed them on the kitchen island. “Cheers,” she said, as she raised her glass and took a sip of her margarita.

  “Cheers,” I said, as I took a hefty gulp. The sweet tangy citrus flavor mingled with the salt on the rim of the glass, and tingled on my tongue.

  Laura tipped her nose up and sat back on the barstool. “So, why do you feel compelled to tell Gavin about all the crazy things that have happened? Aren’t you afraid he’ll think you’re a little, you know, cuckoo?”

  “I know what you’re saying. It does sound crazy and honestly, there’s no way I can prove to Gavin that any of what I’d say to him really happened. But the caveat is that I want to be honest.”

  “Hmm,” Laura moaned as she took another sip of her margarita.

  “Never mind, guess I’ll figure it out,” I said.

  Laura’s eyes wandered around the kitchen looking as if she were trying to find something to hold her attention. “This is real exciting,” she said. “A Friday evening with nothing better to do than watch you make apple pies for Gavin’s family reunion tomorrow. What a waste.”

  “A waste? Might I remind you that you’re in charge of the blender to keep the margaritas flowing, which is a very important job. Besides, who would I have to keep me company while Gavin and Nicholas are at the pet store checking out the gerbils and rabbits?”

  “Oh great, I’ve been reduced to your babysitter.” Laura rolled her eyes. “So Nicholas wants an animal for his birthday?”

  “Yeah, another pet for me to take care of. I hope he likes gerbils more than rabbits. At least they can exercise in a cage. I don’t like the thought of a rabbit hopping around the house and leaving disgusting little brown raisins all over the place. Besides, I’d be afraid Buster would think it was a snack.”

  As I wiped the flour off the countertop, I noticed the forlorn look on Laura’s face and knew she hadn’t heard a word I said. I guessed she was thinking about David.

  “Hey, it’s still early, only six. Gavin and Nicholas probably won’t get home before seven thirty. Especially, since they’re stopping
to pick up a pizza for supper. After I clean up you want to go sit on the beach for a while?”

  “What I want is to find a beach where the waves hit so hard they knock the bathing suits right off the men. That’s my first choice in things I’d want to do.”

  Although Laura was back to cracking jokes and was already making out a list of Providence’s most eligible bachelors, she still wasn’t back to her old self. Something told me she never was in love with David, as she never even hinted she was.

  “So, heard anymore from David?”

  “No, and the moronic thing is I want to call him. No, that’s not true. Oh hell, I want to have sex with the man. No, that’s not it either. I think--maybe…” She stopped short of completing the thought to pick at the leftover crumb topping I had made for the Dutch apple pies.

  “I think the truth is you just miss having a warm body next to you,” I said. “Besides, it’s better to be alone than with someone who lies to you. The man is an adulterer. Being alone is not all that bad. Remember, I’m an expert in that area. At least you can count on the fact that alone, for you, means not being in another serious relationship for a month or so. Unlike moi, whose tenure of non serious relationships lasted years.”

  “I guess,” Laura muttered, as she gazed down at her margarita glass. She focused intently into the glass like a fortuneteller reading tea leaves in the bottom of a cup and frowned as if she hadn’t liked what she saw.

  “Hey,” I said, “remember our last year in high school when I was dating Kirk and you asked me why I wanted to be with someone who treated me like dirt? That’s when you thought up true confessions, remember?”

  Laura nodded and smiled weakly. “Yeah, stupid jerk, Kirk. Who knows, you might have married him if I hadn’t made you write down your true confessions.”

  “That’s right. Like going steady with him because he was a jock, and that he had the coolest car of anyone, and that I liked being the envy of the other girls when he’d let me wear his letterman jacket. I know we were just kids, but writing down the truth was pretty eye opening--a paper filled with worthless, stupid, superficial stuff that I’d somehow felt was a good trade off for allowing him to treat me poorly. Hell, I never even liked him,” I said, while washing the countertop with a wet cloth.

  “I know,” Laura said wryly.

  “Okay, true confessions time about David.”

  Laura’s index finger slowly rubbed the salt-covered rim of the margarita glass, while she looked deep in thought. “Okay,” she said as she licked her finger. “My true confession about David is I liked going out with him because he’s rich. He bought me things, and took me to expensive places where I could show off my designer clothes, and he paid lots of attention to me in bed and he has...well, let’s just say his feet are quite large.”

  We broke into a wave of giggles. “See, true confession still works! Love doesn’t even fit into the equation with David.”

  “You’re right,” Laura said, as she flipped her hair off her shoulder. “I’d make you do true confessions about Gavin, but I know you really love him for who he is. Because it certainly isn’t for the truck, and I repeat truck, not BMW, he drives.” Laura snickered. “Hey, that reminds me, I saw Gavin at the mall early this afternoon.”

  “Oh, did you say hi?”

  “No, he didn’t see me. I was getting in my car and he was walking in with some redhead. I gathered it was his friend you told me about, Vanessa, the one with the beautiful hair.”

  Caught by surprise, I knocked into the bag of flour. It tipped and spilled out onto the clean countertop. “Yes, well being a hairstylist at Giorgio’s she probably pampers her hair with those expensive European products they sell. You know, she’s the only woman I’d ever really hated.”

  I’d felt a bit irritated that Gavin never mentioned anything about going to the mall with Vanessa, and I felt jealous of what they were doing together.

  “Hated?” Laura repeated.

  I hastily wiped the flour off the kitchen counter. “Okay, so hate is a strong word, but I really wish she weren’t in love with Gavin.”

  “What! How do you know she’s in love with him?”

  “Puh-lease. The way she acted the night I’d met her at the restaurant, she might as well have screamed, I’m in love with Gavin Donnelly, hands off!”

  “Hmm, I guess that explains why she was leaning into him with her arm laced through his.” Laura’s eyebrow shot up as she looked at me.

  “Well, they were friends long before I came into the picture. Nothing I can do about that,” I said, practically throwing the stainless steel mixing bowl into the dishwasher.

  “Didn’t you tell me they dated for a long time?”

  “Yeah, well whatever!” I slammed the dishwasher closed and had a sudden urge to plow through a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s.

  * * * *

  Over a hundred people showed up for Gavin’s family reunion, held at his uncle’s sprawling brick ranch. While gazing at the great white oaks that served as leafy umbrellas to shade many people from the unusually hot September sun, I asked myself why I hadn’t confronted Gavin about being at the mall with Vanessa. Perhaps I didn’t want to open the door to insecurity, or maybe I didn’t want to shake the cherry tree and have it topple down on me.

  “Slow down,” hollered a young woman, as a group of squealing, rambunctious children chased past her with water balloons. A tossed horseshoe clinked loudly, as it wrapped itself around an iron pin, causing an older crowd to cheer, while whoops and whistles came from a group of teenagers, who volleyed a ball over a net.

  “Mom is it okay if I go play with the other kids?” Nicholas asked, as he playfully tossed a water balloon from one hand to the other, as we made our way across the backyard.

  “Sure honey, but be careful you don’t get anyone wet with that.”

  “But Mom I--”

  “And exactly what would be the point of that?” Gavin asked, with a chuckle.

  “Sorry, partner. It’s Mommy’s automatic OCD reflex answer.”

  “Have fun buddy,” Gavin said, as he playfully tussled the top of Nicholas’s hair.

  “C’mon,” said Gavin as he took my hand, “I want to introduce you to a few people.”

  Gavin’s white T-shirt that he wore with navy cargo shorts glowed against the deep tan of his skin, while a damp lock of black hair fell over his forehead.

  “Okay, let’s go. By the way, where’s your father?”

  “Over there.” Gavin lifted his chin in Jeb’s direction. He had taken a seat at a picnic table surrounded by a group of men his age. They had clearly kept the vintage polyester power look of the seventies alive, but had traded their white patent leather shoes for comfortable Nikes. As Jeb leaned forward to speak, with hands gesturing, his audience looked captivated with mouths agape. Coming within earshot I quickly figured out he was explaining his theory of the Queen Mum--the alien version.

  “You never see her without a hat in the daytime,” Jeb said conspiratorially. “And she usually wears a tiara in the evenings. If she does go without a hat, notice that her hair is puffed out on each side right next to her temples. This is meant to cover up the second set of eyes.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him,” Gavin said, shaking his head.

  “He’s not doing any harm. It’s on the front of the Enquirer. I saw it at the grocery store.”

  “It’s not his storytelling; it’s his Alzheimer’s.”

  “Alzheimer’s? I noticed he’s forgetful, but that comes with old age. That doesn’t mean he has Alzheimer’s.” I said this adamantly, as if I were defending a client.

  “No, he has it. What tipped me off was I went to check on him one afternoon and found him sitting on the next-door neighbor’s porch. I brought him back home and found that he had left the gas burner lit on the stove. Later that evening he didn’t remember any of it. I took him to the doctor and got the test results yesterday. The doctor told me symptoms of the disease will more than lik
ely progress quickly. I haven’t told Dad yet. I guess I’m waiting for the right time.” Gavin looked wistfully at his father as we passed.

  “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Not really. I’m just worried about him. I’ve asked him before to move in with me, but he’s always been so bullheaded and proud. Maybe he’ll change his mind once he finds out he’s got Alzheimer’s.”

  As I gave Gavin’s hand a gentle squeeze, I thought about my grandmother, my father’s mother who lived with us for a short time before she died. By the time she moved in with us, Alzheimer’s had already taken its toll on her. She used to load refrigerated items into the dishwasher and pointed the phone at the TV trying to use it as a remote. Six months later she died. She knew she had the disease but was too embarrassed to talk about it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a thirty-something longhaired guy sidle up to us. His black tank top revealed arms the size of small tree trunks, and skull and crossbones tattooed across his forearm. He had a Tommy Lee sort of grunge look, as he guzzled from a cold bottle of beer.

  “Hi, I’m Troy,” he said, “Gavin’s cousin.”

  Gavin had told me all about him. He was once a lead singer in some repute rock band. I felt an immediate tension between the two of them.

  “Dude, so this is the new woman,” he said tactlessly, while giving me a wink. Gavin moved closer and coiled an around my waist. They stared each other down like two alpha dogs ready for rivalry.

  “You weren't kidding when you told Aunt Lily she was perfect,” Troy said, with a southern sounding drawl. He tried to level his most dangerous gaze at me, while I was giddy with the thought that Gavin had discussed me with his aunt.

  “Her name’s Aubrey McCory,” Gavin said coolly.

  In the distance, high-pitched voices hollered Gavin’s name. Across the lawn, two young teenage girls sprinted toward us. Their tank tops exposed a wide tan stripe of belly above their low-cut shorts, while their ponytails bounced in harmony.

  “Kerstin and Heidi,” Gavin said as they dashed up to us. “This is Aubrey.”