by D. C. Brod
I’d half expected Mick to ask me out to dinner, and I would have accepted. I really didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts and my nerves. Between Bix and me the edgy energy would have been unbearable. But when Mick dropped me off at my apartment, he said he’d call me in the morning and let me know where he’d drop off the panel truck. Then he hooked his forearm over the steering wheel and said, “I think that’s it.”
There had to be more. I shook my head. “When do I call Bull?”
He nodded. “Wait for me to call you first. I want to make sure the party has broken up and there aren’t people around when he takes your call.”
“Won’t he be looking for Sassy?”
Mick chuckled. “I doubt he’ll even know the goat is missing until he gets the call.”
That made sense. To Bull, Sassy was a peripheral.
“Okay,” I said. “Then I guess I’ll hear from you tomorrow.” This was where he was supposed to suggest dinner. But he just nodded and leaned back into his seat, watching me with an expression I couldn’t read.
He’d been quiet this whole afternoon, and I just wrote it off to nerves. But, really, what did he have to be nervous about? I was the one doing most of the work. Now he studied me with that unreadable gaze of his. Almost like he was looking through me, but not at anything specific.
“You okay?” I finally asked.
After a moment he said, “Yeah, just got a lot on my mind.”
“Gee,” I said. “So do I.”
“I know.” He shifted in his seat. “You’ll do fine tomorrow. Just get a good night’s sleep.”
“I’ll try,” I said, unfolding myself from the car. At that moment I had the unpleasant and vaguely familiar sensation I used to get when the guy told me he had a great time, but I knew he was never going to call me again. Mick would, of course, call me tomorrow as he promised. But our social foray had ended. That left me feeling used— at some point he’d decided that I was attractive to him only in terms of my usefulness—and also sad. I wondered at what point I had shifted from prospective lover to conspirator. It did little good to tell myself that he may just be the kind of person who didn’t like to mix work and pleasure.
But as I got ready for bed—a good hour ahead of my usual time— my head was jammed with whirling thoughts and images. I knew I’d have trouble sleeping, so I combed through my “medicine drawer” and found a bottle of over-the-counter sleep medication just barely past its expiration date. It did the trick. I was out shortly after my head hit the pillow. However, Morpheus chose to visit, and I spent the night dreaming about the heist and a shadowy figure that kept flitting in and out of my dreamscape. I didn’t remember much upon awakening, except that at some point Sassy began talking to me, and we had a long, interesting discussion on the afterlife.
CHAPTER 15
At ten fifteen the next morning, my mother was waiting for me in the lobby. She seldom did this, preferring to have me call upon her. But I could tell by the way she stood as I walked in and barely gave me time to sign her out that she’d been looking forward to this séance with an eagerness I didn’t often see in her anymore. And sure enough, she was wearing her silk blouse.
On the way over she chatted about the dinner last night, saying that the macaroni and cheese needed salt, but that the rolls were warm. Then she said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. We had a lovely visitor yesterday afternoon. He said he knew you.”
Fortunately, we were at a stop light, so I could turn toward her. “You did?”
“Yes. Now I can’t remember his name, but he knew you. He thought you were to meet him.” Her accusing eyes focused on mine. “But you didn’t.”
“Something came up.” I shifted into gear and moved ahead with the traffic. “Jack Landis.”
“Yes, that was his name.”
“I called him and left a message, but he must not have gotten it.”
“Well, he was delightful. Played guitar and had us singing along.”
I pictured him sitting in the middle of a circle of old people smiling as he strummed and sang. The residents—eighty percent of them women—singing along with the chorus of “Golden Slippers” and drinking in his looks and talent. I would have liked to have seen how he interacted with them.
“It made for a pleasant afternoon.”
“I’ll bet.” And what was I doing at the time? Planning a goat heist.
“You say he’s a friend of yours?”
“Sort of.”
“He’s quite handsome, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I guess he is.”
I could feel her watching me. “He seemed quite interested in you.”
And then, almost as an aside, she added, “Although I can’t imagine how he felt with you standing him up.”
“I’m sure he’s gotten my message by now.”
“Perhaps.” After a moment, she added, “Have you heard from him since?”
“I haven’t been home much,” I said, then leaped on the first subject that came to mind. “The séance. Have you thought about what you’re going to ask the, um, spirit?”
She didn’t answer right away, and so I said, “I think it’s got to be something he can answer with a yes or a no.” Then, I added, not without sarcasm, “Unless, of course, you both know Morse code.”
Glaring, she said, “Why do you take that tone with me?”
“It’s not you, Mom,” I said, sighing. “It’s just that I’m not at all sure this woman is legitimate.”
“Well, then all we’ll be wasting is my money.”
I thought about telling her I’d pay for it, but then decided that at this rate whatever it cost to speak to her late husband wasn’t going to make any difference.
Instead, I asked, “What was his favorite food?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, at the last séance, they had a Whopper and fries because the guy we were trying to contact had been a fan.”
“Hmm.” She seemed to be giving it serious thought. “I don’t recall what he had a special fondness for.”
“That’s okay. Probably doesn’t matter.”
“He did like the smell of gardenias.”
“Gardenias?” This small-time thug had a sensitive side.
I considered stopping at a florist shop, but figured the chances of them having gardenias on hand were slim, and we didn’t have time to waste. If Robert had been a Quarter-pounder guy, it would have been much easier.
Erika stood from her desk and came around to greet us when we arrived, smiling at my mother with a warmth I didn’t think the woman capable of.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Guthrie.” She took my mother’s hands in hers.
This morning she wore a black, gauzy top over a pair of black slacks and a turquoise scarf wrapped around her neck.
I looked around, maybe expecting to see Jack
“It will just be the three of us,” Erika said.
“I thought we needed five,” I countered.
“Five is, of course, ideal, but since this spirit broke into our session, I believe he has something he needs to communicate. I don’t think the number will matter to him.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” I said. Both Erika and my mother gave me rather sharp looks. I could see how my mother recognized the sarcasm, but I didn’t think Erika knew how to read me yet.
She took us into the same small room, with the same table, only this time there were just three chairs around it. Heavy shades were drawn to keep out the light.
We settled into our chairs; Erika had my mother sit to her right. She put on some soft environmental music—birds and wind. She lit the candles and lowered the lights, but instead of holding hands, she turned to my mother and said, “Could we talk for a moment, Mrs. Guthrie?”
My mother’s eyes widened in a look I’d come to know as her don’t-call-on-me look and she dampened her lips with a flick of her tongue.
“Can’t I just talk to Robert?” she said.
“It would h
elp if you first told me a little about your husband. Anything you can tell me may assist me in reaching him on the other side.”
When my mother didn’t respond, Erika asked her, “What did he call you? Did he have a special nickname for you?”
“Elizabeth,” she said, after a moment. “He called me Elizabeth.”
This was news to me. I’d never heard anyone call her Elizabeth except for Wyman when he was annoyed over some minor transgression.
“That’s good,” Erika said, sounding encouraged. “What else can you tell me?”
My mother swallowed. “May I have some water?”
The psychic hesitated. “Of course.” She left the room.
“I don’t want to talk about him,” my mother said to me. “I just want to talk to him.”
“What do you want to ask him?”
“First I want to make sure it’s him.”
“Then ask him a question that proves it. But one he can answer with a yes or no.”
She looked panicky for a second. “Well, I don’t know.”
“Did he give you something that only he would know about?”
“Well, yes, but—”
Erika returned with a round, black tray carrying three water glasses. After serving each of us, she propped the tray against the wall and sat again.
“What is his last name?” Erika asked.
My mother said, “Please. Just call him Robbie.”
“I think—”
“If he’s there, he will answer to Robbie.”
Why “Robbie” all of a sudden? But we were holding hands now, and Erika had begun her chanting, so my question would have to wait.
My mother looked calm at first, but then she became a little agitated, and I could see her lips twitching. (I was making no pretense of closing my eyes. I wanted to see everything.)
And then, like the last time, I saw the curtain flutter. And, again, the window was not open. A few moments later I caught a whiff of something sweet. Flowery.
My mother wrinkled her nose but did not say anything. Her sense of smell has all but deserted her. She clung to my hand with her own—soft, warm and dry.
“... Please walk among us, Robbie.”
The candle flames on the table wavered, and I swear the room darkened. The sarcasm began to seep from my body, making room for a mix of fear and annoyance. I knew there had to be some way she pulled it off but I had no idea how. The alternative—that this was all as real as I was—was just too hard to deal with right now. I figured as long as I kept telling myself this ritual was a fraud, I could keep my nerves in check.
“Robbie, I have someone special who wishes to speak with you.” The breeze had turned cool and now there was a soft thump against the table.
“Robbie?”
Tap.
“Elizabeth is here with me. She wishes to speak with you. Will you talk to us?”
Silence.
“Robbie?” Erika asked.
My mother had opened her eyes and then, perhaps responding to the same squeeze Erika gave my hand, she snapped them shut again. Without turning my head and risking Erika’s scolding, I took in as much of the room as I could. The light was dim, but I could still make things out—the little table beneath the window, the CD player in the corner. I had the strangest feeling that there was something under the table, whatever had made that sound was just inches from my knee. That thought caused an involuntary leg spasm and earned me another squeeze from Erika.
“Robbie,” Erika said, sounding as though the name were awkward for her. “Elizabeth would like to speak with you. Are you here for her?”
The silence pressed into my ears and it was a full ten seconds—I was counting—before the single rap came. Apparently Robbie didn’t need to be coached again on the psychic code—one rap for yes, two for no—because Erika took his response for a yes.
“We welcome you here,” she said.
At that moment I wondered where Jack was, and then I imagined him behind some emerald green curtain—flipping switches that caused custom-made hammers to pound inside the walls.
“Mrs. Guthrie,” Erika said, “you may ask him a question now.”
“How does she know it’s really him?” I asked.
Erika shot me a shivery look, and then said to my mother. “Go ahead and ask him a personal question.”
The tip of my mother’s tongue darted out again, and I imagined she needed some water, but she’d have to let go of Erika’s hand, and I knew there was no way my mother was breaking the circle at this point. “That ring you gave me,” she finally said, her voice strained and scratchy. “Was it shaped like a star?”
No.
“A bow?”
Yes.
I could practically feel the ring she’d just described gripping my finger. Why hadn’t she ever mentioned that my father had given it to her?
I refocused when I saw my mother nod as though he’d answered this correctly. And then she did something very strange. She smiled. One she’d been saving for a while. There was a sigh attached to it, and her body relaxed. Like at last she’d come home. I thought for a moment that she’d died right there and then. All this time she’d just been waiting for an escort. But then she drew in a new breath and exhaled.
It was all I could do not to ask her to explain the ring. But Erika was there, squeezing my hand so hard I jumped a little.
So, instead, I said, “What did you want to ask him, Mom?”
My mother closed her eyes and said, “I didn’t know you’d died. I’m so sorry.”
I couldn’t believe she was talking like this to the guy who’d taken her sofa money.
“What did you want to ask him?” Erika prompted.
“Nothing. Really. I just wanted to talk to him.”
Erika and I exchanged looks.
“Did you miss me?” she asked.
Yes.
“Good.” She nodded and then glanced at Erika. “Do they sometimes lie?”
“No,” Erika told her.
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I’d just witnessed a kindness. How would Erika know?
“I think I’d just like to sit here with him for a few minutes.”
“I don’t know how long he can stay,” Erika said, and I detected some strain in her words. Then she took in a sharp breath and her eyes widened, staring at a space between my mother and me. Almost as if...
“Can you see him?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said after a moment. “I can now.”
My mother glanced over her shoulder, than back at Erika. “How does he look?”
“He’s quite tall. Well over six feet. Distinguished. He’s wearing a green sweater over a denim shirt. He has intense, alert eyes. Your daughter’s eyes.”
Tall? In the one photo I’d seen of my father he stood next to my mother. Saying he had three inches on her was being generous. And at her tallest, my mother was maybe five-foot-five.
I squinted. Saw nothing.
“She does have his eyes,” my mother agreed. Then she said, “Is he still handsome?”
“Yes, he is.”
We all sat in silence for several moments, and I imagined I could hear a fourth person breathing in the room. Of course that was silly.
“Mrs. Guthrie,” Erika said, her breath catching, “he is speaking to me.” We looked at her. Her sight was trained on the place beyond my mother.
“What is he saying?” Both my mother and I asked at the same time.
After a few seconds, Erika spoke again, “He said Robyn is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” my mother said.
“He says she looks like you.”
Without glancing my way, my mother said, “I think she resembles Robbie.”
Another strange statement. Robert Guthrie had reddish brown hair and there was nothing in his face that I could find in my own. Maybe the only photo I had of my late father was not an accurate one. My mother had lied about his death for so many years, I guess I wouldn’t put it past her to h
ave shown me a photo of someone else.
After a few moments of listening, Erika said, “There’s something he wants to say to you, Mrs. Guthrie—he wants me to tell you that— he wants me to tell you he’s sorry.”
My mother’s cheeks reddened and she sighed. “I know. So am I.”
“He worries that you had forgotten about him.”
My mother glanced at me. “How could I?” Then she said, her voice kind of dreamy. “I remember everything. The day you gave me the ring. We were on the pier... I can still hear the gulls.”
Pier? Gulls? “In Colorado?” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Hush, Robyn,” my mother hissed at me, all the tenderness gone.
I didn’t want to start anything—not right this second—so I backed off.
“He wants to know why you never came back.”
“You tell him, Mom,” I said under my breath.
She darted a look my way. “You know why.”
“Yes, I think you do,” I added and my mother jerked my hand.
“You should have called,” Erika translated. “He wanted to know where you were.”
I was tempted to ask him if he was planning to steal more money from her, but I was leery about annoying a ghost. And then my mother said, “Too much... too much had happened.”
What I didn’t understand was why she was being so sweet to this guy who had beaten her and stolen her sofa money.
Then Erika said, “He wants to know if Robyn knows.”
From the widening of my mother’s eyes I knew we were heading someplace she didn’t want to go.
“Knows what?” I asked.
For the second time she said, “It’s none of your business, Robyn.” But this time I wasn’t going to let it go.
“I think it is my business.”
“This is my life,” my mother said, “not yours.”
That just about rendered me speechless. Our lives were braided together. And for her to dismiss me like that, well, it pissed me off. I squeezed her hand. “You tell me now or so help me I’ll snatch my hands away, blow out the candles and throw open the shades.”
