by Linda Hawley
“I don’t think that’s very funny. I have a great dislike of that trust-fund baby,” I said seriously.
Paul laughed out loud. “No love lost between you two.”
“Well, the Pressentins think you walk on water.”
“No, they don’t,” he protested loudly.
“Yes, they do. You’re almost part of the family,” I said sarcastically, slapping him on the arm playfully.
Paul grabbed me roughly and forced me hard into him, pulling me right off my stool. He planted a passionate and lingering kiss on my mouth. I felt it throughout my body. He had never been that way with me before. It surprised me.
He pulled away from me abruptly. “Suddenly I’m not feeling very hungry for food,” he said, looking intensely into my eyes.
“Oh no you don’t…” I objected. “Sinéad already replayed the Oyster Bar’s menu—I already know what I’m ordering.”
He was stunned. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who loves food as much as you do,” Paul said, dripping with irritation.
“You can’t tease me with food from a restaurant I’ve never been to and then tell me you’d rather do something else,” I said, winking at him.
At that, he stood, adjusted himself, and turned for the foyer. “Are you coming?” he said, calling out to me over his shoulder.
I laughed, grabbing my bag.
“Stay, Lulu,” I said, giving her the hand gesture. She lay down in her bed.
“I still want you to think about who could have known about Portland,” I said just before Paul opened the front door.
“Okay, I’ll think about it some more,” he agreed.
He held the car door open for me.
“Ooh, I finally get to ride in your car,” I said, acting impressed.
“Now, I know you well enough to guess that you’re not a BMW-girl, so just admit it,” Paul said as he slid into the black leather driver’s seat.
“Okay, I admit it,” I passively agreed.
He looked at me. “Yes, it’s one hundred percent gasoline,” he said, answering a question I never bothered to ask in the first place. He smiled as he pushed the start button, the sports car roaring to life.
“Boys and their toys,” I grinned, looking forward.
“You’d better believe it,” he said proudly, pulling away from the curb.
“Testosterone junkie,” I said, mocking.
“Girl!” he said, trying to cut me.
I laughed wholeheartedly. “That’s woman to you.”
“Yes, you’re right about that…one hundred percent woman,” he said, reaching for my thigh.
Brains, humor, chivalry—all wrapped up in a nice package, I thought, looking at him.
“So…Vicki or Brock?” I asked, getting my mind on something else.
Paul looked over at me with a look I couldn’t make out. “My guess would be Vicki.”
“Why? How would she know where I was going?”
“She has a sister who works for Alaska Air. Maybe she just called her sister and asked her to run a check.”
“Did you get your doctor’s prescription to smoke a little somethin’?” I said sarcastically. “First of all, how would she have any idea that I was flying somewhere, or what airline I was flying?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said reluctantly.
I looked at him with my forehead crinkled. “You might be losing your edge, Paul,” I said to him. “I thought geeks were on all the time,” I said, surprised that he wasn’t thinking clearly.
His rebuttal was quick. “Maybe it’s that kiss in your house that’s steering me off course,” he said with a grin.
I laughed again. “We can talk about that later.”
He smiled. “How was your flight?” he asked.
“Oh man, I forgot to tell you about this crazy flight!” I said, wide-eyed.
“What about it?”
I told Paul the story as he drove Chuckanut Drive like he was racing in the Monte Carlo Rally. I finished just as we pulled into the restaurant’s cliff-side parking.
“You’re a good driver,” I said, exhilarated. The more I learned about him, the more I liked him, especially his driving style, which matched mine.
Dinner was superb, and the conversation was easy between us.
Afterward, I said goodnight to Paul at my front door at his insistence; he said he had an early morning meeting. That surprised me. The front door closed automatically, and then I let Lulu into the backyard.
“Sinéad, play a Michael Gettel mix.”
“Okay, Ann.”
Music filled the living room.
That’s when I saw an envelope on my computer table.
Walking over, I picked up the envelope and quickly saw that there was nothing written on the front.
It’s from GOG.
I picked up the envelope with anticipation and opened it.
Local meeting soon.
Further correspondence to follow.
It was a new meeting with GOG. I was grateful that I’d finally be able to talk to them about my growing paranormal skills. I’d been practicing, and what I was learning surprised even me. I was improving the ability to control my subconscious.
Chapter 5
BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON
The Year 2015
“Ann Torgeson,” I answered my work phone.
“Hi, Ann. It’s Raymond.”
“Hey, Raymond. What’re you up to today?”
“Lunch—with you, I hope.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it on my calendar.”
“Great—Mi Mexico again?”
“That sounds perfect. I’m wild about their seafood enchiladas in green sauce. I’ve got to run an errand before then, so how about I meet you there at twelve thirty?”
“Sounds great.”
When I arrived at the restaurant, Raymond was waiting for me in the Caribbean-themed reception area.
“Raymond,” I called out warmly, smiling, and gave him a hug.
As I pulled back, I asked quietly, “You okay?” sensing something wasn’t quite right.
“Yeah. Let’s eat,” he said with a forced smile, unusual for him.
I could feel something was off, but I knew Raymond well enough to know he’d tell me when he was ready. We approached the host platform in the foyer.
“Hola, Ann.”
“Hola, Javier. How are things going today?” I asked our host.
“Business is good. Shall we find a seat for you and your friend?”
“Yes. Raymond, this is Javier Lopez. He owns Mi Mexico. Javier, this is Raymond Brown. We work together at AlterHydro,” I said, introducing them.
They smiled, shook hands, and exchanged pleasantries. As Javier led us to our seats, I looked around the restaurant, drawn into the vivid colors of Mexico, which included hand-carved chairs with inlaid suns painted in bright green, pink, and orange. The restaurant was cheerful with all its color and natural light coming through the windows, and the staff was always pleasant.
“Thank you, Javier,” I said with a smile as he delivered us to our table.
“You’re welcome, Ann…Señor,” he said, nodding to Raymond and then leaving.
Immediately the waitress brought us a menu.
“Well, Raymond, I’m having the same thing I always have: enchiladas mariscos con salsa verde.”
“What’s that?”
“Seafood enchiladas in green sauce. It’s incredible.”
“That sounds good, but no shellfish for me.”
“What’re you gonna have?”
“I’m thinking about the beef fajitas.”
“Mmm.”
“I’ve never met a woman who loves food more than you,” Raymond said, his generous smile returning for a moment.
“That’s one of the reasons I’m a runner—I can eat whatever I want,” I said, matter of fact.
“It’s working, Ann. It is.”
“Thank you,” I replied, beaming.
Our wai
tress returned and took our order, leaving with a smile.
“So tell me how you are,” I probed him.
“I’m fine.”
“Raymond, we’ve known each other long enough that I can sense when something is a little…off.”
After pausing for a bit and investigating the colors of the table, he finally said, “My mom died.”
“Oh no…when?” I asked, reaching across the table to clasp his hand.
“I got the call last night. She’s been sick since we saw her.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible for you.”
He studied the table again.
“Are you going to go back for the funeral?” I asked softly.
“I don’t know.”
“What?” I said, surprised. Raymond had always been very close to his mom.
“Remember what I told you last time we had lunch—about how I had to go back to court?”
“Yeah. You said that you were trying to decrease the child-support payments to your ex-wife. I think you wanted them to be calculated based upon your current income, right?”
“Yeah. The court decision was yesterday, and I was denied.”
“So no change in the amount you pay?”
“Nope.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Here’s the part that’s making me crazy. I make sixty-one thousand a year, gross. Of that, I take home about seventy percent after taxes. Of course, AlterHydro also deducts three hundred sixty-five dollars per month for my family’s portion of health insurance and benefits. So after that and taxes, I take home about thirty-five hundred dollars per month. That seems like enough for me, my wife, and my two boys to live off of, right?”
The raw energy coming off Raymond was palpable, his dark eyes intense.
“It seems like enough.”
“That’s not the whole story. Of that, I have to pay twelve hundred dollars in child support to my ex-wife for my daughter. So after that, I only have two thousand, three hundred dollars for the four of us to live on. With our eleven-hundred-dollar mortgage, that means we have exactly one thousand, two hundred dollars left per month. With careful budgeting and frugal living, we’ve been able to make that money stretch to pay for utilities, phones, insurance, gas, food, car repairs, clothes, medical co-pays, medicine, and all the other stuff that comes up.”
“Raymond, that’s living very tight,” I said with concern. “I don’t know how you’re even doing it—”
“You’re telling me! It’s harder than you realize…”
The waitress brought our food. She sensed our intense conversation, delivered the entrées, and then left. My mind was already trying to figure out how I could help my friend. As soon as the waitress departed, Raymond continued, clearly agitated.
“Three months ago, I got a letter from the IRS, saying that I owe thirty-two thousand dollars in back taxes and fees, because my ex-wife has been claiming my daughter on her taxes—illegally. Plus, I found out that she sold the house and said I was supposed to pay the taxes on the sale of it. I called the IRS and explained that in our divorce, I had the right to claim our daughter on my taxes and that my ex kept the proceeds from the sale of the house and was responsible for the taxes on it, even though the house was in my name.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That I had to make payments while I appealed my case. When I asked them how long an appeal took, they said it could be up to a year.”
“Oh no,” I said quietly.
“‘Oh no’ is right. The payment they’re demanding is nine hundred dollars per month. If I pay them, my family and I have only three hundred dollars a month to live on.”
“Raymond,” I reached over and put my hand over his again.
“I haven’t paid them a cent.”
“Raymond, do you know that if you don’t pay them, they’ll garnish your wages?”
“Yeah, no kidding. They did. Two weeks ago.”
“Oh, this is bad…”
“Yeah, you’re starting to get the picture,” he said, defeated, looking down at the table again.
Suddenly I wasn’t hungry anymore. I couldn’t think of anything to say, but I kept my hand over his. He looked up with moist eyes, fighting back emotion, and when he had won that battle, he continued talking.
“In my divorce, I have the right to claim Rachel on my taxes, since I pay child support! But the IRS won’t accept a copy of my divorce decree. Instead, I have to follow their bureaucratic appeals process. The really crazy part is that my ex-wife has been living with a guy who’s been supporting them for almost two years—my ex isn’t working—and my ex bragged that the guy makes about four hundred thousand a year. Rachel even calls him Daddy. When I went to court to lower the child support, do you know why they denied my request to lower the support payment?”
“No.”
“Because my ex isn’t working. In their calculations, I’m the only wage earner. The system is screwed up, Ann,” he said angrily.
“You’re right. The system is screwed up, and you’re the one getting screwed.”
“I am. Yes. I am getting screwed. This morning, my wife calls me. Guess what she says?”
“I have no idea.”
“Tax bill. We got our property tax bill for our house. Guess what? Our property tax has gone up three hundred dollars compared to last year, and now we owe fourteen hundred dollars. Our tax bill went up, but the real-estate value went down!”
“Oh, Raymond.”
“I hate the government. I hate the injustice. It’s like I’ve lost all my power. I’m working hard for my family, I’m living a clean life, but I feel like I’m being kicked when I’m down. I am literally worth more dead than I am alive—”
“Don’t say that,” I abruptly stopped him.
“Why not? It’s true,” he said defiantly, boring through my eyes.
“Because you shouldn’t say things like that. It’s bad karma.”
“Karma. You’re gonna talk to me about karma?” he said, laughing rawly.
“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. As your friend, do you want me to help you talk through all of this, to help you come up with solutions? Or just listen?”
“I know you’re a smart woman, Ann, but I’m just as intelligent, and so is my wife—”
“I didn’t mean to insult you. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m just sayin’…my wife and I haven’t been able to come up with a single solution since the court denied my child-support reduction request. If she goes back to work as a teacher, she’ll have to start at the bottom, which means she’ll bring home about seventeen hundred a month. We’ll pay about a thousand in child care, so we’ll only gain seven hundred from her working, and when you consider that we’ll have to buy a second car, gas, and insurance, I don’t see how it will make any difference at all.”
I looked at him, unable to think of anything useful. I felt helpless to come to my friend’s aid.
“On the phone today, my wife said she was going down to the county to apply for food assistance,” he said, looking defeated. “You know, Ann, when I was a kid living on public assistance, I swore that when I grew up and had a family of my own, I would never get help from the government. So I’ve worked hard to support my family, and now look at us.”
“Maybe I can help you.”
“No, no, no…that’s not why I told you,” he said proudly. “I’m not looking for a handout from you. I just needed to talk about it, and I knew you wouldn’t judge me.”
“You’re right. I won’t.”
“With all this financial stress, and now my mom’s passing, it’s just more than one person can deal with.”
“Well, you’re not alone, Raymond.”
“I know that in here,” he said, pointing to his head. “But in here,” he pointed to his heart, “I feel like a single man fighting the entire U.S. government.”
“I understand that, and anyone wo
uld feel that way,” I said, trying anything to comfort him. “Along with you and your wife, let me ponder this, too, and maybe I can help come up with some ideas.”
“You’re very kind, Ann,” he said, looking at me with defeat in his eyes.
“I know we can come up with something, Raymond. Just don’t lose hope. There’s always hope,” I passionately pleaded with him.
He looked at me with eyes that had lost their soul.
Neither Raymond nor I touched much of our lunch. I decided right then to do something to help my friend and his family. Maybe I could do something anonymously, to preserve his dignity. I just had to figure out how.
All day, I couldn’t shake the injustice of what was happening to Raymond and his family. I was very sorrowful on his behalf.
Later that night at home, I got some clay ready to throw on my potter’s wheel, which was always a good idea when I needed to ponder something. I moved the Herkimer diamond hanging from my neck to the inside of my shirt, so that it wouldn’t dangle into the clay. I wore it all the time now, even when sleeping. I believed that it was helping me refine my abilities. As I kneaded the clay, I thought through the facts of Raymond’s situation.
He makes enough at AlterHydro to support his family. The health insurance is expensive, but necessary, with his son’s asthma. That’s an expense they’ll need to keep. The mortgage is a lot, but even if they sell the house, they’ll likely lose money because of the drop in real-estate value. They certainly can’t get into a decent apartment in Bellingham for less than a thousand. It’s down to the child support and the tax garnishment. I could pay for a lawyer to fight the child support, but it’s the law that’s the problem. The biological father has to pay child support, even if there’s a stepfather in the picture. So a lawyer can’t help. What’s left is the taxes. “I can pay his taxes and make that problem go away,” I announced to the clay. “Maybe I can do it anonymously.”
As I finished kneading the clay, I stuck it on the potter’s wheel in a lump and sat down. With the water and sponge next to the wheel, I dripped a stream of water onto it and started the wheel. I forced the clay onto the wheel and smoothed the sides as the wheel whirled.
