by Jewel E. Ann
I laugh, putting the book back in the drawer. Professor Hunt can’t tie a tie.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Come in. Oh my, you look handsome, Nathaniel. I love that tie.” Professor Albright winks over her shoulder, reaching for a book on the top shelf behind her desk.
“This one?” I point to the faded leather-bound book.
“Please.”
I hand it to her.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Her grin shines with mischief.
“I had a feeling you needed help getting a book down. That’s all. Have a good day.” I walk toward her door.
“Shut the door and sit down.”
I grin. Her curiosity amuses me. It’s the reason I’m here.
“I’m not going to be around forever. You need to tell me about the girl. I won’t sleep well in the afterlife with that unknown weighing heavily on my mind.”
“I thought this is the afterlife.” I shut her door and turn.
“Aw …” She points a finger at me as we both take a seat. “You’ve gone beyond reading my books; you’ve studied them.”
“I have. But I still don’t have a clear understanding of everything.”
“No one does. My words are nothing more than my own studies, observations, and theories. That’s the best explanation anyone has for the future or what happens when we die. Can you prove a Heaven or Hell? Or the existence of a higher power? No. Of course not. No one can.”
“Then what do I believe?”
Dr. Albright laughs. It’s warm and comforting. She’s never condescending. That’s what I remember loving most about her class. She acts like a student with her students. Her style of teaching embraced how to think, not what to think. While my classes are more fact-based than hers, I’ve always tried to maintain that same group-learning mentality versus teaching to the masses.
The mind functions with memory, but flourishes from discovery.
“I’m sure you’ve heard it many times, but you have to discover your own truth.”
“And those books are your truth?”
“Yes.”
“You remember other lives?”
She nods. “I do. But I had help.”
“That’s why I’m here. Your books don’t go into that much detail, but you mention hypnosis.”
“My mentor helped me find the details buried in my unconscious mind by using hypnosis. Your heart is, and always has been, a part of your body. Sometimes you can feel or hear it, but how many people get to see their hearts? Well, some patients who have had open-heart surgery or transplants have been shown pictures or even video of their hearts. It’s incredible, like the first time you see an x-ray of part of your body.”
“Deeper meaning.”
She smiles. “Yes. Involving more senses during the discovery process makes our understanding of something more vivid.”
“Your mentor. Can I meet him?”
“Maybe in another life.” She smiles.
“He died?”
“Three years ago.”
“Can you do hypnosis?”
“What’s this about, Nathaniel?” She leans forward, resting her arms on the desk. “Does your nanny want to be hypnotized?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ah, you’re stuck. She’s told you all she can and you want more.”
“I want her to recognize who she was over twenty years ago, not just who I was at the time. I have questions for her.”
“And by her you’re referring to your friend?”
“Yes. Her death left me with a lot of unanswered questions.”
“Do you not know how she died?”
“She drowned.”
“So what are your questions?”
“I want to know why she was at the lake by herself.”
“You want to bring forth her memory of how she died? Sounds cruel to me.”
I didn’t think of it like that. “She would relive her death?”
“It’s possible. I remembered dying in two other lifetimes. One was quick. The only thing I have from it are a few brief flashes. The other time was a slow death, and I suffered a lot.”
“Do you have nightmares about it?”
“Not anymore. It haunted me for months. So we used hypnosis to suppress those memories. Now I only know what I’ve told you. No details. No pictures in my mind. No feelings.”
My gaze shifts to the humming bird feeder outside of her window. This isn’t what I wanted to hear.
“Some things are best left alone. I learned that the hard way. My curiosity and need to discover more led to unnecessary suffering. Early scientists sacrificed their bodies and sometimes their lives to make new discoveries. I sacrificed my mind, my emotional well-being, because my desire for more took over my natural instinct for self-preservation.”
“Hypnosis is not the answer?”
“I didn’t say that. A tool can create or destroy, depending on the hand that holds it. But we’re not talking about you. We’re talking about a young girl who doesn’t suspect she’s your childhood friend. If she figures this out and wants to go deeper, that’s her choice not yours.”
“Would you hypnotize her if it were her choice? If she asked you?”
“A moot point, young man.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I think it’s unlikely she will make the connection without being hypnotized first, which means someone else would have to convince her that she should do it.”
“And if someone did?”
Hazel wrings her hands and her eyes narrow a fraction. “Enjoy what she can freely give you. I told you before, she’s not your friend—just like your daughter is not you or her mother, no matter how much she looks or acts like you.”
I nod with understanding, but I don’t know if I can accept it yet. “When I got here you thought I was going to tell you Swayze remembered who she was in my life. Am I right?”
A sad smile steals her mouth. “I knew it was unlikely, but … yes, the explorer and the scientist in me hoped for it.”
“Thank you.” I return a similar sad smile as I stand to leave.
*
Pharrell Williams’ “Happy” greets me when I open the door. A few steps more reveal Swayze’s shaking hips and flailing arms. Her back is to me, so I don’t think this greeting is meant for me—like the text I can’t get out of my head.
Just beyond her animated dance performance, there’s a sound that’s … unfamiliar, but I like it. No, I love it.
“She’s giggling.”
“Oh!” Swayze whips around with her hand over her chest. “You scared the living daylights out of me. You can’t sneak up on people like that.”
Morgan, kicking in her swing, giggles some more. Without taking my eyes off my happy baby, I wash my hands and take her out of the swing.
“Are you giggling, sweetie?” I kiss her cheek and neck. She giggles again. I can’t remember the last time my heart felt joy this pure.
Swayze shuts off the music.
“Sorry.” I grin. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I don’t know if her flushed face is from the dancing, the startling, or embarrassment, but it looks good on her. Daisy used to race me to the treehouse or the lake on the abandoned property. I’d press my hands to her warm cheeks and kiss her before she could catch her next breath.
“I’m going to put a bell on you. For such a big guy, you possess some stealth moves.”
“I can set the security alarm to chime.” Easing to my knees, I lay Morgan on her play mat to expend some more of her energy.
“Good idea. I’d like to know when you’re home.”
“In case you’re snooping around?” With a sly grin, I glance at her over my shoulder, expecting her to return an eye roll.
Instead, her eyes widen and her lips part.
“Were you snooping?” I’m not mad, but maybe a little surprised.
“I don’t know, Inspector, was I? Did you skip your luncheon and speech to monitor the
nanny cam?”
Clever girl. Was she snooping? Or is she offended that I asked?
“No.” I chuckle. “I wasn’t watching you today.”
“Besides, you told me to snoop away.”
“This is true. Did you find anything exciting? Spare change in the sofa? The code to my safe? My watch … yeah, did you find my watch? It’s a gray sports watch. I lost it about six months ago. I have no idea what happened to it.”
Swayze laughs. It’s not Morgan’s giggle, but it makes me feel close to the women I have loved and lost. Daisy laughed like laughing was her hobby. Jenna laughed all the time too—usually at me. She also asked me about my day, and in the same breath she said, “Did you make someone smile today?” It was her positivity that shined. I needed to chase that sunrise, the hope for something beyond the love that I’d lost.
“No watch. But I see you still keep nudie girl magazines under your mattress.”
I don’t.
“Your recollection of my past isn’t one hundred percent accurate. The magazines under my bed weren’t nudie girls, they were Sports Illustrated swimsuit editions.”
Morgan giggles. I love this. A smiley, giggling baby brings out the buffoon in even the manliest of men—of which I like to consider myself. I rub my nose on her belly, baby-talking, “No they weren’t. Your daddy did not have nudie girl pictures under his bed. No he did not.”
“Then why hide them under your bed?”
“I didn’t want my dad to see them.”
“But if the women weren’t naked, then why hide them?”
“So he didn’t give me grief for having them.” I give her a look, the one that says, “Do you get it?”
Her eyes narrow a fraction and widen again. “Oh … because you used them to—”
“Thanks for watching Morgan. Drive safely home.”
Laughter bubbles from her chest as she nods several times. “Yeah, let’s not go there.”
There. I’ve made Morgan and Swayze smile today. It eases the frustration that I’ve felt since leaving Dr. Albright’s office. The long list of what ifs makes me uneasy.
What if Swayze never makes the connection on her own?
What if my chance to understand Daisy’s death slips away?
What if Swayze finds a different job?
What if she moves away?
What if I can’t handle losing Daisy a second time?
What if I can’t raise Morgan on my own?
What if I tell her she’s Daisy?
That’s the biggest what if. I want to tell her. It physically hurts to keep this to myself, especially when I see Swayze struggle with her knowledge of me, wondering where it stems from.
What if telling her makes everything better?
What if it doesn’t?
“Where are you?”
I glance up at Swayze as she slips the strap of her bag onto her shoulder.
“You look distracted.”
I shake my head. “Just a long day. That’s all.”
“You should give her a bottle and put her to bed. Maybe relax by reading a book or something.”
“Books don’t relax me. They never have.”
“I know.”
Of course she does. Daisy inhaled two to three books a week. I read on a need-to basis.
“But I thought maybe the gazillion years of school you’ve had may have given you a love for reading or at least a hunger for knowledge. What’s the last book you read that didn’t have anything to do with your job?”
“The instruction manual to the hanging bike rack I assembled last weekend.”
“Really?” She cocks her head to the side.
I sense a bit of disbelief in her tone.
“Huh. Okay.”
“Don’t forget about my conference this weekend. You get her all night.”
“Wait. No.” She shakes her head. “I’m going to a motorcycle rally with Griffin. I told you this … way back.”
“Me or Rachael?”
“You. I think. I don’t know. What does it matter? I requested the time off. Can’t Rachael watch her?”
“She left for school yesterday.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Sorry … what about your parents?”
I don’t mean to sigh so heavily. I feel bad. It’s not my intention to guilt her.
“Can you skip the conference? Or take her with you?”
“I can’t skip it. I’ll figure it out. How long will you be gone?”
“A week.”
“A week?” Again, my emotions slip. “I have classes starting next week.”
“I’m sorry. But what about your parents?”
“They leave for vacation Monday.”
“There has to be someone.”
I shake my head. “There’s not.” Morgan coos. I hate the small percent of me that’s feeling the burden of being a single parent. “But it’s not your problem. I’ll figure it out.”
“Nate, I’m really sorry. But I promised Griffin and—”
“It’s fine. Not your fault.”
Her slow nod accompanies a somber expression. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight.”
“Are you mad?”
I grunt a laugh. “Not at you. It’s fine.”
“You sound upset. I feel really bad.”
“Swayze, I said it’s not your problem. Goodnight.”
“I care for Morgan, so it feels like my problem too. Maybe I could ask my mom if she could watch her.”
“I’m not having a stranger stay overnight with her, no offense to your mother. I’ll see if my parents will stay the night.”
“Do you not trust them?”
“Swayze …” I roll my eyes up at her. “Not. Your. Problem.”
She frowns. “Goodnight.”
I should say something. Stop her from leaving. Reassure her that I’m not upset with her—but I don’t. We’ve had plenty of conversations lately. I’m surprised and a little disappointed she didn’t mention or remind me of this before now.
The front door closes.
“We’re in a real pickle, baby girl.”
Morgan grins again, destined to spend most of her childhood laughing at my mistakes. Her mom sure did.
*
Nate is upset with me. I want to help him, but that would make Griffin mad at me. Every day it gets harder to treat my time with Morgan as just a job. My worry about who will watch Morgan may not be the same as Nate’s, but it’s close.
She’s not just a job. And that little fact could be very bad for me.
“Griff?”
“In the bedroom.”
His house smells like pot roast. My stomach growls in response.
“Hey.”
“Swayz.” He turns from the small pile of neatly folded clothes on his bed, giving me the once-over.
“Griff.” My eyes make the same quick inspection of him.
We both grin. It’s sexy. It’s just … us.
“Tell me about your day.” He turns back to his bed and fills a bag with his folded clothes.
“They scanned my brain early this morning.”
“And?” He glances over his shoulder, concern marring his beautiful face.
“Preliminary results looked good. My doctor called this afternoon to confirm it.”
Griffin’s body melts into relief. I suppose it’s a relief, but it still doesn’t explain how I know Nate so well.
“Morgan giggled for the first time. I felt bad that the professor missed her first giggle, but I think parents who work full time have to expect they’ll miss a lot of firsts. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll shove her down when she takes her first steps or if I’ll let it happen and gloat.”
“You’ll gloat.” He chuckles.
“You think? I don’t know. If Jenna were still alive and they were both working full time to maintain their high standard of living, I might gloat. But Nate’s just trying to survive as a single parent. You know?”
“I suppose. Have you
started packing?”
“You could say that.” I plop down on his bed next to his bag.
He eyes me. “And how would you say it?”
“I have my dirty clothes by the door to take down to wash when I get home.”
“You’re dragging your feet. Do you not want to go?” His lips pull into a tight line like the ones next to his eyes as he focuses on packing.
“I want to go with you.”
“With me?”
“Yes. Anywhere with you.”
“It’s not a cabin in the woods for a romantic weekend. I asked you to ride on the back of a motorcycle for a twelve hour trip to a motorcycle rally.”
“True. You need to work on your romantic getaway ideas.”
“If you don’t want to go—”
“I’m going. What do you want me to say?” Flopping back on his pillow, I cover my face and laugh. “I realize you’re—we’re—going because these guys you met through work invited you. But they are in their forties and fifties. You’re twenty-four.”
“I like riding with them. Age shouldn’t matter.”
“True. But you said you haven’t been to this rally before. So I searched it up online and read some blogs from people who have attended it.”
“You can’t believe everything you read online.”
Lacing my fingers behind my head, I grunt. “I hope not because it sounds like a mix of vulgarity, old people mourning their youth, beer chugging, loud noise, and pole dancing.”
“Then don’t go.”
I sit up. “I’m going even if it’s not my crowd.”
He stills his hands, studying me for a few seconds. “It could be fun.”
It could be, if you’re into pot-bellied men acting like chauvinistic assholes, making crude comments to women in body paint and pasties.
“It could be.” Biting my lips together, I nod. “I smell pot roast.”
“In the oven. My mom dropped off leftovers.”
I leap off the bed. “Did you eat?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, so the rest is mine. Do you have bread?”
“In the freezer.”
“Ugh … that sprouted grain crap?” I grumble on the way to the kitchen.
“It’s pot roast. Why do you need bread?”
I shove a knife through the frozen pieces of sprouted grain crap to break them apart.
