“Could you?” Laura asked eagerly.
“Sure, I could do that, but why the sudden departure from the ordinary millionaire?”
“My shrink has convinced me that I’m successful and emotionally independent enough not to have to set the criteria of dating rich men only. Hell, my trust fund alone already makes me rich! Now we’re going to work on the relationship between my father and me, and the connection to why I choose men who can’t commit.”
“Mom,” Nicholas called out, as he slid across the hardwood kitchen floor in his stocking feet, practically skidding into me. “Can I have a dishtowel so I can show Alex how my dinosaur plays tug of war?”
“Look upstairs in the linen closet for a washcloth. And don’t use the guest towels,” I said as the boys bolted from the kitchen. I turned quickly to check on the Jell-O in the refrigerator and bumped right into Gavin.
“Honey, slow down,” he said, as he looked at me adoringly and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. “I’m thinking ten more minutes on the pork roast and it should be done. Do you need me to help with anything?”
Just then, a big commotion came from the living room. Things crashed to the floor.
“Catch him!” I’d heard Nicholas shout.
I turned toward the living room to see a bird glide through the air.
“How in the heck did a bird get in the house?” said Gavin, as we all ran into the living room.
Buster was leaping from chair to couch to coffee table like a gazelle in flight trying to catch the bird, as Jeb sung “Bad boys, bad boys, whacha gonna do, whacha gonna do when they come for you.” Sirens blared from the TV and blue strobe lights flashed, as cop cars chased down a dark road.
I was thankful Buster had eaten not long before and hoped his chase was for sport only. However, his sensitive digestive system wasn’t known to tolerate the combination of food and excitement. It was his projectile vomiting that had led me to discover that one day, while Nicholas chased him around the house right after he’d eaten his kibbles.
The frightened bird took refuge ten feet above on the curtain rod over the window. Buster, who was perched on the back of the sofa beside the window, had a wonky look on his face. With one leap, he launched himself at my Dupioni silk drapes aiming as high as possible, his needle like claws sunk into the fabric. He swung gaily and peered down at us.
“Get down from there!” I shrieked.
When he was a kitten I’d try to find ways to keep him from climbing the drapes, like spraying the curtains with lemon juice, cats hate lemon juice. Not Buster, he loved the condiment and dove at the drapes as if I’d doused them with the scent of Fillet of Sole. So I bought a water pistol to squirt him each time he approached the drapes, cats hate water. Not Buster, he loved the new game. Night after night, he’d sneak towards the drapes and hide behind them. He’d poke his head out and the squirting game would begin. He’d dodge the shots, and make a dash for it. Up he’d go, swinging and dripping and meowing joyfully.
“Here birdie, birdie. C’mon, birdie, birdie.” Jeb waved a piece of bread over his head.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Gavin asked.
“Seagulls are like bottom feeders, they’ll eat anything,” Jeb said, waving the bread at the bird.
“Dad, it’s a sparrow.”
Hanging his eighteen-pound jungle body from the top of the drapes, Buster swatted at the scared little creature. The poor thing tried to escape, doing a sideways tightrope act across the top of the curtain rod. The bird wobbled to and fro like a rocking horse, trying to keep its balance.
“I’ll open the front door,” Mother announced, as my father waved a broom at the bird trying to get it in flight. The bird screeched and took off flying around the room. With all the commotion, Bugs had jumped out of Nicholas’s arms and hit the floor. The bunny skittered sideways, his feet not able to get traction on the slippery hardwood. Once he’d made it to the area rug, he hopped frantically to get away, while bonking his head under the glass coffee table.
Gavin had blocked the bird from the kitchen while Laura jumped up to block the bird from flying into the dining room, while I ran and closed the French doors to the study. My parents looked like the Keystone Cops. Dad had the bird in flight and Mother chased behind him. After three spins around the living room, he finally herded the bird out the front door.
I’d somehow forgotten about Buster until I heard a creaking noise. We all turned to see him still clinging to the drapes, peering down at us with a satirical grin on his furry face. Within seconds, he crashed to the floor. Unfortunately, so did half the drapes, the rod, and swag valance! As he ran from the room, I looked at Laura and wanted to cry.
“It’s okay,” she said, I always found those drapes hideous looking.”
I rolled my eyes and thought I’d heard her say something else, but her lips weren’t moving. I wasn’t aware of any hidden talent she had for ventriloquism. Good God, my mind reading affliction was back!
Laura looked at me quizzically. “Where’s that talking coming from?”
“Um, you hear it too?”
“Yeah, it sounds like me.”
“Bad boys, bad boys,” Jeb mumbled.
We quickly turned to gaze at the TV screen. A fashionably dressed woman, her face blocked out with a ghostly blur, shouted at the top of her lungs, as a series of bleeps blocked every other word. Another woman, her face also wiped clean of any recognizable features, yelped like a wounded puppy as she hopped on one foot, while a policewoman chased her in a circle to cuff her hands.
Everyone stared at the TV set, while Nicholas cocked his head to the side like an inquisitive Springer spaniel pup and said, “Mom, is that you and Auntie Laura?”
Thirty-five
A flock of screeching seagulls circled overhead, as I stood boldly on top of the Mohegan Buffs at Block Island. The roar of the Atlantic’s surf pounded at the rocks one hundred and fifty feet below. The tourists and lively crowds had long left the pristine beaches, leaving behind a long barren stretch of glistening white sand.
It wasn’t but four months before that the emptiness of my surroundings would have reflected my emotional state of mind. Then Matt returned, Gavin came into my life and everything changed.
As the late October winds gusted up behind me, I’d finally felt ready to put closure to the past. Early that afternoon, I drove from Providence to Newport and took the short ferry ride over to the island. I was glad I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Seven years I’d stayed away, but it was important for me to go back to Block Island.
Looking westward, the sun was beginning its descent. As the delicate blue sky was fading and melding into a golden hue, I thought about Matt and that when he died I thought my world had ended. How could I possibly have imagined my spirit husband would be the guiding force that helped me rebuild my life and find a new love? He taught me that relationships do continue after we leave this world and that love never dies and that if you love with all your heart and with every breath, nothing is impossible--ever.
I pulled my red wool sweater tightly around my body to block the chill of the crisp salt-laden winds. As my hair blew forward whipping at my face, I had a feeling Matt was there, standing not far from me. It was as if his spirit was present in the wind as it tossed the waters of the great Atlantic and traveled through the trees, unseeingly flicking the leaves from their limbs.
My brief encounters with Matt’s spirit had been amazing. Just as amazing was the precision it took for it all to come together. Nicholas felt alienated from his friends, Gavin was searching for his soul mate, and I was praying to God for help with my life. There was something very poetic about it all.
On the beach far below, a swirl of sand spiraled across the shoreline. As I looked over the bluff, down to the approximate place on the beach where Matt had fallen, my eyes blurred with heavy emotion. I squeezed them shut. Who’s to say, that God doesn’t grant miracles to help heal the wounded soul, by allowing us to hear a voice from heaven? And who�
��s to say faith can’t move mountains and miracles can’t happen? Surely, my experience was proof of that.
I opened my eyes to a mass of rose-colored skies and clouds lined with gold. Broad streams of golden light beams shot downward through the water, as if they could touch the bottom of the ocean. There was something infinitely peaceful and spiritual about its glorious majestic beauty.
I took one last look at the beach below. “Goodbye Matt, you will forever be in my heart,” I whispered, as I tossed five yellow roses over the bluff. The water rose high with vigor, pulling the roses out into the ocean as the gulls cried and circled above.
As I turned and walked away from the bluffs, I thought back to once upon another time, when two worlds had collided and Matt was for a short time back in my world. But was he really gone or does he live on through Gavin? Only time will tell, I thought. As I walked away through a field of tall grasses headed with silvery plumes, it was as if I could hear Matt’s voice whisper on the winds. It’s okay Aubrey, go live your life. Everything is now all right.
ONCE UPON ANOTHER TIME Page 32
