by ANDREA SMITH
Chillax?
Seriously?
“Ma, who’ve you been hanging with?” I ask, totally amused.
“Why?” she asks a bit defensively.
“He’s not going to believe you’d send that kind of a message.”
“You’re right,” she replies, biting her lower lip. “I need to give you some information that only he and I would know—something you didn’t even witness on your trip with me. Let me think.”
She’s quiet for a couple of moments and then her eyes light up and I know she’s got it. “Tell him midnight blue.”
“Midnight blue?” I repeat puzzled. “What’s midnight blue?”
She grins ear to ear and giggles softly. “The first time we ever met, and I won’t share the particulars with you, he told me that I had the most exquisite midnight blue eyes he’d ever seen. He said they were so dark, he thought they were dark brown or black. He said a man could lose himself in those pools of midnight blue.”
Okay. Now that’s pure cheesiness, but sweet too.
“It is not,” she replies, her tone slightly irritated. “It’s way romantic.”
Rewind—what?
“Uh, Ma? I didn’t say anything.”
“I can read what you’re thinking, Parrish!”
Lovely.
“Yes. Quite handy,” she replies with an angelic smile.
“Okay, Ma. You’ve got it. I will do as instructed. I personally feel invested in this. My God, the seventies were...something else.”
“Tell me about it,” she replies. “Though I was much younger than Cece at the time,” she reminds me. “So, okay, I’m going to take off, but I’ll be back to check in. Oh, and Parrish?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you tell Dominic something else?”
“Sure.”
“Tell him that I love him up to Heaven and back.”
“I will, Ma.”
She fades from my dream, but I hear her sing-song voice echoing as she does, “Mommy loves you!”
I feel a tear escape while I sleep and that’s a first for me. Now, if I can just get back to my previous dream...
Chapter 21
Two days later…
So, I’ve had a discussion with Dad and passed along Ma’s message, which, just as predicted, he was dubious about. And then I throw the midnight blue gem in at which time, he does indeed chillax, and no further objections are given to my going back to Cece’s grave.
Alone.
I also pass along her declaration of love for him, from Heaven and back and, I swear, his eyes seem to actually sparkle. It’s a nice look on him. One that I haven’t seen very often but, then again, I’ve only been hanging out with him for a couple of weeks now.
So, I’m in Sheila’s Toyota, headed back to the cemetery in Wyoming where hopefully, I can wrap this trip to the 70’s up and get the final pieces of the puzzle so I can see where they fit in current time.
It’s frigidly cold out, which is typical for Wyoming…and Chicago and even New York this time of year. I’ve bundled up better today. Dad brought home a new ski jacket from the Pro Shop, along with a knit ski hat, gloves and boots. All for me. He insisted, who am I to argue with authority?
I reach the cemetery a little past noon. I stop first at the office and request a copy of Cecily’s death certificate. The lady eyes me suspiciously, but finally makes a copy of it and charges me a dollar.
It doesn’t give much detail. The box is checked next to ‘Post-mortem Toxicology, but unchecked next to ‘Full Autopsy.’ The cause of death is listed as blunt force trauma to the head, as a result of an automobile accident; decedent’s blood toxicology positive for barbiturates.
Hell to the no.
Cece owes me an explanation! I drive over to her section. Thankfully, no one else is here. I’m hopeful that Dad didn’t scare her off for good. There’s a lot more information I need, though I’m going to have a word with her about cutting to the chase.
I’m not sure why she’s taken me back so far down memory lane, unless, in some way, she needs me to feel the way she felt: confused, insecure, vulnerable, distrustful, indecisive and reckless to a point. As if that’s an excuse for getting high knowing she was pregnant!
I scoff to myself. If she’d lived longer, she’d have realized all of those are typical teenage emotions and, with age, we learn to grow out of them or at least develop coping mechanisms to keep them in balance. How could she have done that to herself after seeing the pain it caused everyone with Angie?
I realize that she couldn’t have. There’s a reason she’s taken me back so far. Her message is more than just showing me how she died. She wants more, I can tell. I’ve played my trip back with her over and over in my mind. I’ve memorized the dialogue and the emotions. It’d be great if I could somehow locate Pierre. What she shared with her diary she did so with no holds barred.
I’m at her grave now, the wind and cold isn’t as apparent as it was a few days ago. I’m well insulated thanks to my worry-wart father.
Here goes.
“Hey, Cece, it’s me,” I say aloud. “Sorry about the interruption the other day. My dad doesn’t really understand all of this, so I came alone today. I’ve given a lot of thought to what you’ve shared so far I need for you to present yourself again. I’m ready to face the end if you’re willing to take me there.”
I look around the cemetery, seeing wreaths and Styrofoam candy canes still decorating a few of the graves nearby.
“I’m here,” a voice says behind me.
I turn abruptly. There she is. Cute little cheerleader that got herself into some trouble.
But how much?
“I’m glad you came back,” I say, smiling at her. “I was afraid you thought I’d deserted you or something.”
She gives a radiant smile. “I knew you wouldn’t boogie on me like that. Your mom adores you. She assured me you have what it takes to help me.”
“I hope so,” I say, not feeling quite as confident as this ghost does about my abilities. Leave it to Ma to brag on me like that. “But listen, can we just cut to the chase? I mean, I’m not sure why you took me back so far, especially since it says here you died as a result of blunt force trauma…in a car accident. You were high,” I reply, hating the fact that the last part comes out as an accusation. I’m holding the copy of her death certificate.
“We’re nearly finished,” she says, “You’ll understand once you see the final act. There was no accident…at least not the way you think. Are you ready?”
I nod and, for some reason, I close my eyes. It’s not because it’s scary, it’s just...weird when her body merges into mine. “Let’s do it,” I say.
Chapter 22
Erik just left and Mom is due home any minute. We had our talk and it left me feeling a lot better about things. Not enough to tell him my secret though. But I will soon.
Once in bed, I pull Pierre from my shelf.
February 4, 1974
Dear Diary,
Things seem to be getting stranger by the day. Kim’s been trying to talk to me, but I can tell Keith doesn’t want her near me. She’s scared. I can tell. I think she thinks Marshall is somehow involved in what happened to Angie, though she stopped short of saying it to me. Keith interrupted us talking. She hasn’t come around me since then. Erik and I finally had our talk tonight. He apologized over and over for how he’s been acting. He explained that it totally blew his mind about Angie dying and all and that he’s dealing with it and trying to lose the guilt. I shared with him what Kim told me. He agreed it was pretty weird.
He’s promised me no more getting high—except for weed and no more missing school. He told me he loves me too much to lose me again. I hope he means it. Until I’m sure, I’m not telling him about my condition. I’m sure of what I’m going to do, I’m just not sure if Erik will approve.
Erik swings by to take me to school. I’m perfectly able to drive myself, but he wants to take me somewhere right after school. He says
it’s a surprise. Thankfully, I’ve experienced no morning sickness yet, though I’m clueless as to how long that takes before rearing its ugly head.
According to the pamphlet I picked up at Planned Parenthood, some expectant mothers never experience it. I hope that’s the case with me. I want to maintain my secret as long as possible before Mom notices anything different.
Somehow, I’m more scared of telling her than Erik. It’s not that she will disown me or anything. Truth be told, she probably would be more accepting of my condition if Marshall had been the culprit instead of Erik but, regardless, I’m determined to see this pregnancy through no matter what.
Classes go by slowly. School has become a chore these days. Basketball season is blessedly over and I’m glad because facing my fellow cheerleaders is no longer something I enjoy.
I see Marshall around and he’s changed. He’s lost weight since the first of the year. His eyes almost appear sunken in his face and the dark circles underneath look practically permanent. I turn the other way when I see him coming, having no desire whatsoever to speak or even acknowledge that he exists. I hear him snort something inaudible as I pass by him, but if that’s as bad as it gets, I can handle it.
Erik is waiting for me in his car when I reach the parking lot.
“So, what’s the big surprise?” I ask him.
“It’s not that big of a deal, but I’m hoping you’ll be pleased,” he says, leaving the parking lot.
We only drive a couple of miles on Highway 189 when he pulls his Mustang into the parking lot of an old deserted metal diner—I mean the kind you expect to see in some old movie or television show about Route 66 or something.
“Okay,” I say, “What’s this?”
“This,” he says beaming, “Is my new job.”
“Huh? It’s not even...open.”
He laughs, getting out of the car. “Come on,” he says, “I want to show you what we’ve got planned.”
I get out of the car, following him cautiously to the run down metal diner, which I’m sure in its day, must’ve been pretty cool. Once inside, I look around at the cobweb-covered walls, ceilings and fixtures. What the hell is he thinking?
“Okay, I’m not following,” I admit.
“I’m going to be a refurbisher,” he declares beaming.
I wait a moment, gathering my thoughts as to what exactly he means by ‘refurbisher.’
“Can you explain?” I finally ask. “I don’t understand.”
He smiles, taking my hand “This,” he says, throwing his arm up to encompass the whole diner, “is part of our past. It needs to be preserved and I want to make sure that it is. So the business I’m going to get into is preserving older homes, businesses—whatever. This country is prone to tearing down, not refurbishing and that’s totally fucked up.”
I have to smile. “I never figured you for one to want to preserve history.”
“As opposed to what?” he teases “Someone who wants to pave paradise to put up a parking lot?”
“Very funny,” I reply, grabbing his hand and kissing it. “Didn’t know you listened to Joni Mitchell.”
“I didn’t,” he replies, “Until I knew how much you dug her. She’s got a message, I can dig that.”
I look around and realize Erik has his work cut out for him, but he has a plan! It’s the first time he has and I love what it is!
“I love it,” I sigh. “And I love you for making this your career mission. I’ll help you any way I can.”
“After you graduate,” he reminds me. “I’m starting now part-time and then, after I graduate, I go full time with some help from my dad and even Donna wants to invest in my small company. She’s offered to loan me $10,000 to get equipment and to hire a helper. Actually, Steve in the band?”
“Yeah,” I reply nodding.
“Well come to find out, he’s got a certification for electrical and plumbing and experience with framing and dry-walling that he’s going to teach me. I’m fired up about this.”
“And I am too, Erik. Please let me help?”
He chuckles, kissing me. “Only on a part-time basis until you graduate. Then maybe we’ll partner up. You can handle the bookwork because I know I’m gonna suck at that.”
“Deal,” I reply throwing my arms around his neck. “I love you.”
“Oh—and just so you know, the band will still be doing paying gigs. Gonna need that for making this business work.”
“Absolutely,” I reply. “Besides, your bigger plan is to be a rock star some day, right?”
He raises a brow, “My big plan is for you and me to be together and work as a team at something we both want. Music is my passion, but you’re my first love.”
And with that, I know that the time is approaching where I share our good news with Erik.
I don’t have to wait long before he provides me a perfect opportunity to do just that.
“Hey,” he says, locking up the diner. “We’ve got a Valentine’s Day gig Friday at the Shady Lady. Can you be there?”
“Valentine’s day is Thursday,” I remind him with a smile.
“Yeah, but the club is hosting it on Friday the 15th.”
“Does that mean I don’t get my Valentine until then?” I tease.
“I’ve got something special planned,” he admits, sheepishly.
“In that case, I wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, still plastered all over him. “I’ve got something special planned for you, too. This is a new beginning for us.”
“Yeah, and a party for sure,” he replies, grinning. “Come on, let’s go home.”
He doesn’t realize yet that my partying days are over.
Chapter 23
February 15, 1974
Dear Diary,
Well, tonight’s the night. I just hope Erik is gonna be happy about my Valentine’s surprise to him. I don’t know what I’ll do if he freaks out about it. But I know Erik. I keep forgetting that part. I plan on letting him know straight out that I’m not asking for anything other than his acceptance of my decision. I’m not talking marriage, at least not right now. I have school to finish first and that’s not gonna change. I want him to be okay with this because I love him so much. And I know that he loves me back. He’s been so sweet and attentive lately. I can tell that he’s excited about whatever he plans on giving me for V-Day tonight. He actually wanted me to try and guess! I told him to just tell me and he said no way; if I couldn’t guess it, then it would remain a surprise. Needless to say, I didn’t guess it. So the weather is shitty and I have to drive fifteen miles north in this rainy sleety shit, but Erik promised he’d drive us home since he went in the truck with the equipment earlier. That’s when I’m gonna give him the news. Mom gives me no hassle anymore about Erik, so that part will make it easier when I deliver the news to her. Wish me luck!!
I’m dressed in blue jeans, a sweater and boots. I pull on my wool jacket and push my hair up under a knit stocking cap.
I slip my knit gloves on carefully, making sure my ring from Erik doesn’t snag it. I never take it off.
I hit the two lane highway, Route 189 towards Kemmerer. It’s eight o’clock and they don’t start playing until nine, so I have plenty of time. It’s pitch black out, with very little traffic on the road, and the swirling snowflakes coming at my windshield are starting to freak me out. I totally focus on getting there without sliding off the road. My tires aren’t the greatest.
I’ve only gone a few miles when I notice up ahead a pick-up truck that’s slid off the road. The emergency flasher lights are blinking and the driver is out of the car, waving his arms back and forth for assistance.
Fuck it. I can’t just ignore someone in distress.
I pull over onto the berm in front of the truck. The driver turns off the flashers inside of the truck and locks the driver side door.
Shit. He’s gonna need a ride back to town.
I reach over and unlock the passenger side door for him and it’s not until he slips into the seat bes
ide me that I realize it’s Marshall Rydell.
Shit.
“Hey, Cece,” he greets me, cupping his bare hands in front of his mouth and blowing his breath into them in an effort to warm up. “I didn’t think anyone was going to stop.”
“Marshall? Whose truck is that?”
“Oh…it’s one of my father’s. I don’t take the “Z” out in this shit. I think I fucking ran out of gas. Can you take me back to the gas station near I-80? I’ll have it towed, I guess.”
I immediately regret having stopped. I so don’t want to be in my car on a snowy, icy night with Marshall Rydell. What choice do I have at this point? “Sure,” I reply, pulling out and doing a U-turn in the road. “Where were you headed?” I ask, trying to make conversation to kill time.
“Same place as you,” he replies. “Shady Lady.”
I turn to look over at him in the dark. “How did you know I was going there?”
He shrugs, looking out the window. “It’s no secret Roxy is playing there tonight. Just figured, I guess.”
A chill creeps up my spine and then back down. Marshall has never been interested in Erik’s band. What has suddenly changed all of that? “I didn’t know you liked their music,” I reply.
“I don’t.”
“Then why….?”
“Shut the fuck up, Cece. Just follow the directions I give you and you won’t get hurt. I just want to talk, okay?”
I glance over at him. He’s got a knife pointed at my gut, I can see the gleam of steel as we near the gas station near the interstate. “Is this where you want dropped?” I ask, pretending I hadn’t heard anything else.
“Change of plans. We’re going to my family’s mountain home. Take the ramp to I-80 West.”
I slow the car down and put my signal on as if I’m planning on turning into the gas station despite his instructions otherwise. “I said get on the interstate! Now!” he bellows and I cringe away from him, but I do as I’m told.
