But the image that stands out as I walk down the stairs to meet Dwayne at the fountain is Lillye in her high chair, arms crossed as I try to get her to eat collard greens.
“No, Momma.”
In a flash, she shakes her head and says sternly as if she’s right in front of me now.
“No, Momma!”
I stop at the edge of the fountain and Dwayne greets me with a smug smile.
“I knew you’d come.”
He throws the cigarette on the ground and stamps it with his toe. He zips up his jacket tight and starts off toward the woods.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He stops and looks back at me but since he’s left the penumbra of the porch light all I can see are the whites of his eyes. “To show you how it’s done.”
I cross my arms. “Show me here.”
He cocks his head. “You want to do a crossover here in the middle of the patio where everyone can see, SCANC girl?”
That old thought that’s been roaming around my head returns. “I don’t have anyone to cross over, Dwayne. You’re a SCANC, you show me.”
This derails him a bit; I barely make out his eyes narrowing. “Fine. Let’s go in the woods and do this.”
“Do what?”
Yes, I can really be stubborn when I want.
“You know what.”
“You’re going to suddenly find a ghost in need, have them climb the ladder, and while they’re at it touch the light and that makes you evolve?”
He comes closer and I can now make out his face by the house’s back safety light. He’s impatient with me. “What’s the problem?”
I take a step back. “The problem, Dwayne, is I don’t think you’re a SCANC at all. Just who are you planning to cross over here? And are you going to promise to call their loved ones like that poor girl in Tishomingo and then fail to do so?”
When he reacts to my last statement, I add, “Yes, I know. I called them.”
“What you don’t know, SCANC girl, is I called them after you did.”
He’s lying. He’s tired like the rest of them, full of good food and wine, and was hoping to get this over quickly and his defenses are down. I feel it.
“What’s your specialty, Dwayne?”
He steps closer. “The question is who are you channeling, Vi? Cora? Her dead baby boy? Or one of the slaves? Maybe all of them. What a boon that would be.”
I remember Jacob’s warning from the back of the wagon and Lillye’s voice echoes in my head.
No, Momma.
“I’m not offering anyone to you, Dwayne. And I don’t think I will evolve by stealing other people’s souls as they cross over. In other words, I’m not going in those woods with you.”
Dwayne realizes I’m not moving and he pulls his hands through his dark black hair. He looks around the patio and notices the wedding reception hall off to the right. “Fine, we’ll do it over there.”
For the first time in days, I’m not scared of this man. I step closer. “Do what, Dwayne? What is it exactly you do? And what is your SCANC ability, you never said.”
I can tell he’s getting really impatient with me.
“I showed you your daughter, you ungrateful bitch.”
His language is like an unexpected slap to my face but I sense it’s worse for him. He’s losing control, something he’s not used to.
“Do you want to see her or not?” he asks.
Of course, I do, I think to myself, but I just did. Maybe TB’s right. She’s right here and ready to be with us. All we have to do is ask.
And yet, that black hole emerges when I remember the smell of her petite head, her soft fine hair that was constantly unruly, flying every which way. The sound of her feet as she trotted into our bedroom on Saturday mornings, begging us to rise so she could watch her cartoons. Her laughter watching Sponge Bob. How she smiled even in the worst of her pain.
I close my eyes hoping to stem the darkness about to swallow me whole.
“You see, it’s right there.” Dwayne’s voice is getting closer, its tone soft and seductive. “You have the ability to be with her. Let me show you how.”
No, Momma.
I open my eyes and find Dwayne right in front of me.
“Come with me and you’ll be able to be with your darling Lillye.”
He’s messing with my fears and desires again. How he does this, I’ll never know, but I swallow hard and call forth the greatest mother of all. I ask for strength, feeling my resolve rise from my toes to the top of my head. I straighten my back and stare him straight in the eyes.
“Don’t you ever. Say. Her name. Again.”
And with those final words, I turn and head back toward the house.
“You’re missing out on a great opportunity,” he yells out to me.
“You’re wrong,” I say to the darkness as I head inside. “I already had the greatest opportunity.”
My adrenaline is racing from the experience and I pause at the staircase railing to catch my breath. Once my heart has resumed a steady beat, I head upstairs. But I’m not going to bed. I need answers and it’s time Carmine Kelsey gave them to me.
I don’t just knock on his door, I demand entrance. “Carmine,” I practically yell.
He opens the door dressed in Star Wars pajamas, the kind a kid might wear. Who knew? But I don’t waste time contemplating this.
“I want answers,” I tell him. “And I want them now.”
Carmine quietly closes the door, pulls his robe’s belt tight around his waist and looks at me. After several seconds, he nods. “Okay, but first we need bourbon.”
I make myself comfortable in the nearest chair and watch my friend and mentor pull one of the finest bottles of bourbon from his suitcase.
“Where did you get that? You couldn’t have possibly brought that on the plane.”
“Never you mind.” He throws two ice cubes in a glass and fills it up.
“Water please.”
Carmine places a hand on his chest in astonishment. “Mon dieu. That’s sacrilegious.”
“I don’t care and neither should you. I’m rather pissed at the moment.”
He heads into the bathroom and I hear the water running, then returns with my drink with a sour look on his face. “I thought better of you, being from New Orleans.”
I take a large gulp, savoring the burn on my throat and the warm feeling that’s on the way. Anything to get my heart beating normal again.
“I thought better of you for not leaving me in the dark about that creepy man from Texas.”
“Don’t blame Texas,” Carmine says, sipping his drink.
I lean forward in my chair and look him straight in the eyes. “Forget Texas, what the hell is going on?”
Suddenly, he looks concerned. “Did something happen tonight?”
“Carmine!” I’m so frustrated I could nab one of those frilly pillows and beat him senseless.
He raises a hand in appeasement. “Fine. I’ll tell you everything but you have to have….”
“An open mind, I know.”
He takes another sip and leans back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Remember how I told you there are theories why certain people are psychic.”
Images of vomiting in a bathroom come to mind and my stomach turns. “Right, angels had sex with humans and those with their DNA are psychic.”
“Some people.”
I wait for more but he’s hesitating. “And?”
His face furrows. “Do you believe me?”
“I’ll let you know when you’re finished.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s like when you have a flat tire in the middle of the desert and a nice person comes along and fixes it for you. Or you’re about to get hit by a bus and someone appears in the nick of time and gets you out of the way.”
I nod. “Angels among us. My Aunt Mimi loves that song by Alabama.”
He raises a finger. “Not angels, but their descendants.”
“Trying to be.”
That must be good enough for Carmine for he continues. “There are different types of descendants based upon their paternity. Some people rally for injustices, others are protectors. I’m a messenger, which is why I felt the need to explain how you’re a SCANC when I first met you on that press trip to Eureka Springs. Well, that and your aura.”
“My aura?”
“Descendants can read auras. That’s how we recognize one another.”
I take a long drink and place the empty glass on the table by my side. This is getting good. “You’re saying I’m an angel?”
Carmine sits silent for a beat, then places his own glass down. “No, darlin’. I’m saying TB and I are angel descendants. You’re a witch.”
At this point, I know he’s pulling my leg. I don’t know what angers me more, that he would tell me this cotton-picking story or use this moment when I’m so frazzled to play a joke. I stand and head for the door. “Screw you, Carmine.”
He grabs my hand before I can get far. “Vi, I’m not kidding.”
He says it with such force and certainty, I pause and study his face. I’m waiting for some smug smile to emerge or for him to start laughing, but he’s as sober as a priest on Sunday morning. Besides, Carmine has never been one to play tricks on me. Winnie, maybe, but never Carmine. He was always the serious one, the dad telling us to behave.
“Sit down, Vi,” he says. “Please.”
I head back to my chair and slip my legs under me, get good and comfortable because if he’s for real, I want the whole enchilada.
“When you said you had left your camera behind,” he begins, “I called TB and suggested he bring it up, asked Shelby if TB could join our press trip.”
“I know, because you wanted us to have quality time together.”
“Not at all. Because he’s a descendant and I needed him here to protect you.”
I shake my head. “You’re saying my husband’s an angel?”
“Descendant.”
“And you wanted him to protect me from whom? The devil from Dallas?”
Carmine exhales. “I don’t believe in the devil. I think hell is here on earth.”
“Well, whatever. I assume from that drunken escapade the first night, where you blabbed on and on about fallen angels, that Dwayne’s not one of the good guys.”
“No, he’s not.”
Carmine rises and gets the Woodford Reserve, sits back down and pours us both a glass. He doesn’t add water to mine, but I let it slide. Think I need it straight up at the moment.
“But, you’re one of the good guys.”
Carmine blushes and I nearly fall out of my chair. This is a first. “I’m a messenger. That’s all.”
“And TB?”
Carmine sits back down and gazes at me hard. “He’s a protector and a warrior. Has it on both sides of his family.”
I shake my head and smile. This is too much. “What? No.”
Carmine downs his bourbon much like I did moments ago. “His aura is as bright as lightbulb, Vi. I need sunglasses looking at him.”
“TB?”
“Yes.”
“My husband?”
“Vi, yes.”
“If this is true…,” and I give Carmine the stink eye because if he’s ribbing me I will knock him into the middle of next week looking both ways for Sunday, “…then why hasn’t he ever said anything?”
Carmine pours us another. “He doesn’t know. At least I think he doesn’t. He’s a sweet man, your husband, but he’s a little….”
“Now you’re saying it.”
“Okay, so he’s a little simple-minded. In a good way.”
“But if y’all can read auras…?”
He leans back in his chair, back to sipping his bourbon. “I don’t know, Vi. He’s never mentioned it to me. My way of thinking is to let that dog lie. A man like TB, who offers nothing but unconditional love, it’s probably best not to let him know he has such power.”
“Power?”
“Well, like I said, it depends on paternity. I’m just a messenger, but TB, he’s got some strong stuff going on there.”
Which brings the conversation back to my lack of angel DNA. “So, why isn’t he psychic?”
“Not all descendants are psychic. And maybe TB’s holding back.”
I think of our conversation about Lillye, how he talks to her, feels her presence.
“And me?”
“Like I said, there are two theories here.”
“And one is being a witch?”
I rise and begin pacing the room. I detest labels, and the word witch travels with enormous baggage.
“Please don’t tell me you’re still in the broom closet,” my gay friend says.
I shrug. “I love stones and herbs and the power of nature, and I believe there is much healing to be gotten there, much like my ancestors who were burned at the stake for that word. Which is why I don’t like ‘witch.’” I emphasize witch using fingers for quote marks.
“People today now own that word.”
“Do they?” I send him a sad smile. “So, hags on broomsticks and stirring cauldrons at Halloween are all positive images of our history?”
Carmine reaches out and takes my hand again. “We all have our negative images to overcome. But we have to wave our weird flag proudly.”
I squeeze his hand. “I’m not a witch, Carmine. I don’t know anything about all that. I definitely don’t wear capes and wave wands at witch-a-cons and create altars at home.”
He laughs. “Now you know why I don’t like SCANC gatherings.” He sobers a bit and adds, “But those people are still authentic, Vi, and so are you.”
I think about Aunt Mimi and her herb garden, how people would show up and purchase herbs when she lived in Alabama and I’d visit in summer. She taught me a lot about tinctures, poultices, and brews to heal what ails you, but the word witch was never spoken. Heck, back in those days, we never talked about speaking to the dead either. It wasn’t done. It wasn’t until after Uncle Jake’s death that she came out to me about her psychic abilities.
Then there was Grandma Willow, supposedly the finest soothsayer in Alabama.
I shake my head. “Buying crystals in a store and carrying gris gris bags around for protection doesn’t make me a witch.”
Now, it’s Carmine squeezing my hand. “Honey, your aura is deep green. Trust me, I know who you are.”
I sit back down across from him, and we both sigh.
“What does all of this have to do with Dwayne?” I finally ask.
Carmine looks down at his lap and rubs his hands up and down his thighs. “I never wanted to get you involved in this, Vi. He’s here for me, something we never finished in high school and have been battling ever since.”
“Here for you, how?”
“I don’t know what his plans are, but I have friends like me — descendants — who are hoping to catch him in the act when we get to Natchez. Word on the street is that something’s going down at the Angels on the Bluff event tomorrow night.”
“Wait, the what?”
Carmine smiles. “It’s the name of the annual candlelight tour of the old Natchez Cemetery. I didn’t make it up. It’s a fabulous event, sells out every year. You’ll love it. But we’ve heard Dwayne has something planned.”
I think back on the last few days, the horrific scene at Pepper’s cabin, Kelly’s broken leg, my lack of memory from the night at the creek. Whatever’s coming must involve the group somehow. I share my worries with Carmine, confess my conversations with Dwayne, including tonight’s. He’s not happy with me, but he listens and takes it all in.
“He loves messing with people,” Carmine finally says. “He’s probably trying to keep us all at odds.”
“And the God Light?”
Carmine turns silent and I know there�
�s more to this crossover magic than he’s letting on. I wait to see if he’ll explain but he suddenly looks exhausted.
“Can I help?” I ask.
Carmine looks up as if he’s seeing me for the first time, then shakes his head and smiles. “You can go to bed and stay close to that sweet husband of yours. And for god’s sakes, stay away from Dwayne.”
“Carmine,” I say sternly, “you can’t do this alone.”
He takes my hand and stands, pulling me up with him and leading me to the door. “I’m not alone, sugar. No worries.” He gives me that daddy look. “Keep this to yourself. Not even TB. Especially not TB.”
“But you haven’t told me all.”
We’re already at the door, which I find open. I feel a hand at my back pushing me into the hallway.
“Carmine,” I protest.
“Good-night, Vi.”
With those final words, Carmine closes the door.
“I saw your Star Wars pajamas,” I say to the wood staring me in the face.
I stumble to my room and find TB sitting in bed working feverishly on his laptop. He looks adorable in his reading glasses, a big dollop of blond hair cascading over one eye. I’m flooded with feelings, a warmth that spreads through me like wildfire, something so needed after this crazy night.
And, I must admit, I’m looking for a halo.
“I don’t want to hear about it,” TB says sternly and whatever joy I felt at seeing him disappears.
“It’s not what you think.”
He remains silent, typing away.
“I wasn’t with Dwayne.” I’m reminded of our heated conversation at the patio fountain so I revise, “Well, I was with Dwayne but not for long. The rest of the night I was with Carmine.”
TB glances briefly at me over his glasses. “Are you drunk?”
I kick off my shoes and try to pull off my socks without falling over. “Maybe. Carmine wouldn’t cut my bourbon with water like I asked. He’s such a snob but then he has great taste in alcohol.”
“Carmine?”
I want to explain everything, about my rendezvous with Dwayne and how Lillye’s memory kept me from doing something incredibly stupid, Carmine’s talk of angels, and how something serious is about to happen in a Natchez graveyard tomorrow night. But Carmine insisted I remain quiet so I do.
Trace of a Ghost Page 21
