Luca followed me, placing the tips of his fingers on the thick sweatshirt covering my arm. “One of them left a handprint. It’s burned into the stone,” he said, begging me to believe him.
I refused to make eye contact, I refused to listen to him. He was crazy, exactly like his mom before him. It was a horrible thought, but I didn’t care.
I stormed up the hill. He stayed behind, watching me from his hiding place beside the chicken coop—as he always did.
Nineteen
Everyone stared as I entered the kitchen. I felt like screaming in frustration or anger or fear. I wasn’t sure which, it was all I could do to calm down enough to walk across the kitchen to where my father was dishing up meatloaf, his apron smudged with ketchup.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
My body shook as if I was cold, but I wasn’t. I was freaked out, completely freaked out, and I was grateful to be in my home, surrounded by my family—away from Luca.
“Yes,” I said, steadying my voice. “Just hungry and a little chilly.”
“You were out there a long time,” Avi said, carrying her plate of meatloaf to the table.
They must have gotten her to eat something. She’d returned to her normal self.
“I ran into Luca outside,” I said, deciding not to lie.
“Why was he there?” Dad asked, holding out a plate of meatloaf for me.
I took the plate. How could I even begin to explain the truth? “I’m not sure. He’s kind of weird.”
“Let’s say grace,” Dad said, passing behind me as we joined the rest of the family at the table.
We all bowed our heads and recited, “Bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”
Dad crossed himself and placed his napkin on his lap. “I agree he’s weird, but what about his behavior tonight makes you say that?” he asked.
“Because he’s totally weird,” I said, feeling sick at the thought of dead people in my yard. It was gross.
“That’s not a very good explanation,” Lisieux said.
“I’ve always liked Luca,” Avi added. “He’s quiet but nice, and I like him.”
“I definitely like him better than Thomas,” Lisieux added.
“One has nothing to do with the other,” Dad said.
I focused on my food, hoping they’d forget I hadn’t actually answered Dad’s question. How could I explain it? I could never tell them that Luca stands outside our house every night, watching for his dead mother.
“What did he do?” Gigi asked, her eyes unwavering.
I swallowed. “He said something weird, that’s all,” I said, trying to calm my feelings. I didn’t want to get him in trouble. It wasn’t his fault he was messed up.
“What did he say?” Gigi asked, putting her napkin on her lap. She wasn’t going to let this go.
I slowly chewed and swallowed to give me time to think. “He talked about how his mom wasn’t good,” I said.
Dad coughed. “That’s not a kind thing to say.”
“Sometimes,” Gigi said, “the truth and kindness are not always perceived to be the same. Samantha told me the same thing about her sister. She said she was very gifted in many ways, but chose not to use those gifts in the best ways.”
Dad set his fork on his plate. “That isn’t Luca’s fault,” he said. “Knowing that makes me want to be more patient with him. His grief must be so complicated.”
“What do you mean?” Avi asked.
“Think of how much you miss Mom,” he said to her. “And there is nothing complicated about your feelings for her. You love her, you miss her, we all do ….” His voice trailed off for a moment. “Now imagine what it would be like to love and miss her, and also be angry or hurt by her or the memories of her. It makes grief—which is already really hard—that much more difficult.”
“You’re right,” I said too enthusiastically, and everyone stared at me.
I put another forkful of food in my mouth, now understanding it was this complicated grief that drove his mind to make up the dead people. I felt sorry for him, but no longer angry or afraid.
“You seem awfully happy about that,” Lisieux said as they all focused on me.
“I’m not happy about his grief,” I said. “I’m happy he has a reason to be a little …”—I hesitated—“off.”
“Of course,” Dad added thoughtfully, “we didn’t know him before. His behavior tonight might have nothing to do with grief. He may have always been odd and still is.”
“That’s rude,” Avi said, defending Luca.
“No, Avila, it’s the truth,” Dad countered. “It would be unwise for your sister to dismiss his behavior as simply due to grief, when none of us knew him before his grief began.”
“Sam knew him,” Avi said.
“Not well,” Gigi said, placing her fork on her plate. “And she never spoke to me about him.”
“Luca said Sam lived with him and his mom until she moved up here,” I said.
“Really?” Gigi said, “I had no idea.”
“I thought you two are friends,” Lisieux said.
“There are some hurts too painful to discuss, even with your dearest friends,” Gigi said with great sadness.
There was silence for many minutes, until Dad spoke. “I think it would be nice if we all said some special prayers for Luca and his mom tonight.”
“Yes,” Gigi said, with a nod. “That would be nice.”
After several more minutes of silence, Avi brought up the fun of yesterday’s festival, of the friends she got to play with, and the crafts they helped the little kids make. Dad spoke of the great number of people who came and how he was sure all the vendors did well. Helping small family businesses was one of the things we were all proudest of.
After dinner I went with Gigi, Avi, and my dad into his office.
“Are you joining us?” Dad asked, pleased at my presence. It wasn’t that I never joined them, just not most nights.
“I feel like praying,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t make a big deal about it. And hoping I wasn’t lying about feeling like praying. I did want to pray, but more than that, I didn’t want to be alone.
“That’s wonderful,” he said.
Nothing made him happier than when we all joined him for prayers, like we used to do when we were younger.
I sat beside Gigi, on one of the leather couches, a children’s Bible on the coffee table in front of us. Avi handed it to Dad to read. He began the story about Jesus walking through the stone tombs where there was a man who was raving like a lunatic. Jesus took pity on him and drove demons from him. The demons then entered a herd of pigs. The demons killed the pigs by making them jump from a cliff, into the sea. All of them drowned.
“That’s a happy story,” Lisieux said sarcastically as she came and sat on the other side of Gigi. She wiped at her pants, her hands still damp from doing the dishes, and picked up her rosary.
“It is happy for the man who was possessed,” Gigi said.
“It’s strange how they thought mental illness was possession,” I said, thinking of how misunderstood things were in the times of Jesus.
“I don’t think Jesus made mistakes,” Gigi said. “The man he healed was not psychotic, he was possessed. There’s a difference. Even today, we understand that.”
“Possessions aren’t real,” Lisieux said dismissively, glancing at Dad for backup.
Dad picked up his rosary and the little book that went along with it. “Possessions are real,” he said matter-of-factly. “My Rosary intentions are for Luca and the healing of the hurt he feels towards his mother.”
Gigi said, “Mine are for his mother, that she may be at peace with our heavenly father.”
“Any others?” Dad asked, scanning our faces.
“For Mom,” Avi said softly. This was her intention every night.
“Yes, for Mom,” Dad said as Avi snuggled into him.
In truth, the Rosar
y was always for Mom. My parents had prayed this prayer together every day before she died, something he had supported and she had insisted on. My father continued it now out of his love for her. Like my knitting—this was his way of being close to her.
I took my rosary from the ceramic bowl on the table, the tips of my fingers grazing the uneven surface of the bowl my parents created together on their first date. It had been his idea to go to a pottery studio, a suggestion that made him stand out from the others, she told me every time I asked about their first date.
I made the sign of the cross as the Rosary began around me. My mind drifted in and out during the prayer, as it always did. The Rosary was long and repetitive; it was made for meditation, which ordinarily I enjoyed. Though when my mind couldn’t be still or quiet, I became frustrated. Not at the prayer, but at my own thoughts. When that happened, I tried to acknowledge the wanderings of my mind and bring it back to the mystery we were meditating on. Tonight I could think only of Luca.
“Hail, holy queen, mother of mercy …”
These were the words that sparked my awareness, telling me the Rosary was coming to a close. I spoke aloud the final prayers, concluding with: “May the divine mercy remain always with us and may the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.”
At these words, my mind became alert. I held the miniature silver crucifix surrounded by beads tight in my hands. The others blessed themselves and began to put their rosaries away. I stared at the wall, the place where Luca said the dead came and stood outside of our house.
“Are you okay?” Dad asked as the others began to rise while I remained unmoving.
“What do we mean when we say souls of the faithful departed?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as frightened as I felt.
Lisieux answered, “The souls in purgatory.”
I swallowed. “What is purgatory?”
“Seriously?” Avi said in a scolding tone. “How do you not know this?”
“Avila!” Dad reprimanded. “Siena, it is a place of purification.”
“A place souls choose to go to get closer to being worthy of being in God’s glorious presence,” Gigi added kindly.
“Where is it?” I asked, the rosary tight in my sweating hands.
“I’m not sure it’s a place as much as a spiritual state,” Dad answered.
“I believe it depends a bit on what sins you need to be cleansed of,” Gigi added.
I started pacing because my body was too tense to sit. All of them watched me uneasily—I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t sit or stand or do anything else. What if Luca was right? What if souls came here? As I paced I crossed the room, forgetting for a moment to keep some distance from the outside wall. When I reached it I jumped back like a scared cat, my pulse racing as I tried to catch my breath.
“What is wrong with you?” Avi asked harshly.
I expected Dad or Gigi to hush her, but they didn’t. They must have been wondering the same thing.
I leaned my hands against the back of the couch, the action grounding me, reminding me of the physical world around me. My pulse slowed, allowing my voice to return. “Is it possible to see a soul who is in purgatory?”
“See a soul?” Dad repeated.
“You mean, like a ghost?” Avi said, bouncing on the couch with excitement.
My breath caught as I looked at her, her eyes gleaming. What must mine look like? Certainly not excited. Terrified, perhaps, but not excited.
“Yes,” I said.
Dad and Gigi glanced at one another. Even Gigi, who was completely comfortable with conversations of the bizarre, was uncomfortable right now, though not because of the topic … because of me. My skin felt too tight. I ran my fingers through my hair.
“Some saints have reported being able to see holy souls,” Dad answered slowly, watching me the entire time.
I inhaled and exhaled; I had to calm down. I’d never had a panic attack before, yet somehow I knew this was what it felt like. Like my heart was going to explode and I was going to die right here. Would Luca then watch my soul stand in my yard?
Dad stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Sweetie, are you all right?”
His words were so gentle.
“Sit down,” Gigi said. “You’ll feel better, or at least I will.”
A memory flashed. “I can’t,” I said, “I just thought of something.”
I sprinted from the room.
One of them left a handprint, he’d said. He was wrong. He was lying; he must be. This could not be happening. My yard could not abound every night with the dead. I took the flashlight from the kitchen drawer.
“Where are you going?” Dad said, following me into the kitchen, the others at his heels.
“I need to check something,” I said, running from my house.
The crisp evening air was gone. In its place was cold darkness. It felt good; it felt grounding. I inhaled the frigid air, my lungs burning, my head and mind slowing.
I flashed the light to where Luca had been at twilight. He wasn’t there. “Of course not, the dead people are gone,” I muttered softly to myself. I went to the side of the house. I was shivering, though not from the cold. I hesitated as I neared the outside wall of my dad’s office. I used the light to scan the stones.
“Nothing there,” I whispered, trying to encourage myself. “Of course there’s nothing there. This whole thing is ridiculous. Then why are you too scared to take another step?”
I shook my head. “Now I’m talking to myself.” I took a step, then another, and another, until I stood facing the wall of my house. I shone the light at my feet. “Nothing except weeds.” I shone the light at the gray stones. Nothing there. I exhaled deeply. I continued moving the light up the wall. “Nothing,” I said out loud.
My body started to relax. I continued to search the stones; the light hit something. I focused on it and took a step closer.
My hand went toward it. There were brown and black marks.
“It can’t be,” I said, partly in my mind and partly out loud. My fingers trembled as I moved them closer, my eyes unwavering, my heart racing so fast I could hear nothing except the blood pulsing through my veins. My fingers hovered, shaking above the stone. I forced them to move closer to the dark outline on the gray stone.
I felt pressure against my arm and screamed louder than I had ever screamed before.
I fell to the ground, cowering, terrified, crying. The flashlight was gone from my hands; I held my arms above my head.
“What on earth is going on?” Gigi said.
I moved my arms and opened my eyes.
She bent to pick up the flashlight. “What is the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.
She thought I’d lost my mind. I didn’t blame her. I thought the same thing.
“You startled me,” I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks—my heart still racing far too fast. It was a good thing I was young and a runner. A weaker heart wouldn’t have survived this night.
“Clearly,” she said. “Your dad wanted to check on you, but I convinced him to let me do it.”
“Why?”
“I thought maybe whatever was wrong with you had to do with boys, and as a woman I thought it best for you to speak to me and not him. Now I realize I have no idea what’s going on and I should’ve let him come out into this freezing night.”
I stood. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll go in now.”
My father came running around the corner. “Are you okay? I heard the scream.”
“I’m sure Sam and Jason did too,” Gigi said, irritated. “That was quite a scream.”
“I was startled,” I said, starting to go toward the kitchen.
“What were you looking at?” Gigi asked, shining the light on the wall.
“What do you mean?” I asked, afraid she might notice what I had seen.
“When I came up, you were staring at the wall. Why?” she asked.
“Was I?
” I said, glad the light was not shining on my face. I was awful at lying.
She scanned the wall with the flashlight.
I chewed on my bottom lip, petrified she’d find the mark. Why? Why did I not want her to notice what I saw?
“Is something wrong with the house?” Dad asked.
“No, no,” I said. “It’s cold. I’m going in now, if that’s okay.”
Gigi shone the light at the ground. I exhaled audibly. The two of them followed me.
“Sorry I was acting so weird,” I said. “I think I’m getting sick or something. I’m going to go upstairs and start a fire. My room will be cold tonight.”
They both looked at me and then at each other.
Dad stepped forward. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“And me,” Gigi said.
“We love you and we understand sometimes it can seem like the world is ending, it isn’t. We can always help you through whatever is going on,” Dad said with a concerned expression.
I figured he must still think this had something to do with Luca, which I supposed it did, but not in the way he thought.
“We are also pretty tough,” Gigi said. “Whatever it is that had you so terrified outside,”—I felt myself blush—“we can handle it. Don’t try and deal with life on your own. God gave you a family for a reason.”
“I’m okay, really. Just feeling a little under the weather. Nothing a warm fire won’t solve,” I said, and sped up the stairs.
Twenty
At the far end of my hearth I lifted the lid of the pink slatted box. My mom had made the box for me, to hold the wood for my fireplace. The layers of paint were thick and uneven on the sides I had painted and smooth on those done by my mother. We painted it together, right before Avi was born, before this became my room. It was one of the many ways she made my moving into this room feel so special.
I removed a few of the remaining pieces of splintered wood and stacked them onto the iron grate. This was wood from last season. Wood Jason had cut, not Luca. I wasn’t cold, or at least I didn’t think I was. I didn’t feel anything at all. I said I’d light a fire and I appreciated having something concrete to focus on.
Awakening Page 15
