Blue Moon Magic

by Dawn Thompson

  Thin and pale from months spent in the hospital, she imagined David might have been rugged looking with an athletic build and a boyish face in his better days. Although not as debonair as Robert had been with his jet hair and baby blue eyes, like Robert, this man’s entire life had once stretched before him, only to be snatched away by a senseless accident.

  She patted David’s smooth, cool hand, noting it was time for someone to trim his fingernails. It appeared they were taking good care of him. Still, no one visited except the staff and two other volunteers like herself who popped in from time to time.

  “Next time I’ll bring my poetry. Would you like that, Mr. Hopkins?” She glanced to the cardiac monitor and noted how his heart rate rose a tad. “Would you like me to bring a funny poem?” She waited to see his response but there was none. “Certainly you don’t want to hear another tearjerker?” There was a bit of a shift. “All right, how about one of my sappy love poems?” The monitor shot up. He could hear. “Fine. Romantic poetry it is. I’m sorry if I bored you today with that silly story about the dog. I have a tendency to ramble on. But then, you know that, don’t you?”

  Rays from the late afternoon sun peeked through the crack in the draperies and dappled David’s face with buttery light.

  “Well we can’t have you getting sunburned.” She moved to close the gap. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flitter. She looked at David. Had he moved? She watched closely for several seconds, but other than the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, she saw no other movement. She dismissed it as her imagination playing tricks on her again. It seemed to happen a lot lately when she visited him. Wishful thinking, perhaps?

  She tucked the notebook in the front pocket of her tote bag and gave David one last glance. “Goodbye.”

  Silence answered as another chill wrapped around her. Brrr! Hospitals were too cold. She buttoned her pink sweater and then drew the white cotton blanket higher on David’s legs. “Okie, dokie. You’re all nice and cozy now. See you Friday.” She picked up her tote and made her way down the pristine hallway toward the silver elevator doors.

  As she passed the nurse’s station, she waved to Helen, the older charge nurse who planned to retire next year. She avoided Cynthia, the RN fresh out of nursing school. She and the younger woman didn’t see eye to eye on much and Cynthia thought Paloma wasted time reading to David. To Paloma, David Hopkins was no different than any other patient who enjoyed her poetry and short stories.

  * * * *

  “Yer tomcat peed on my Bird of Paradise again,” came the gravelly voice.

  Paloma jumped, startled to find her neighbor Mrs. Bikini, or rather Grandma as she’d been tagged by neighbors, teetering up the red brick walkway in her favorite pair of red, second hand Prada sling-back pumps and her latest two piece swimsuit. Good heavens! The woman was going to catch pneumonia dressed like that. “It’s the middle of November, Grandma. Shouldn’t you be wearing a sweater?”

  The older woman waved a hand. “Bah! It’s at least fifty degrees on the island today. That’s a scorcher if you ask me. Remember, I’m originally from I-Oh-way.”

  A monster headache had developed during the four block walk home from the hospital and Paloma wanted nothing more than a cup of hot tea, her blue foo-foo slippers and a cozy armchair. Without slowing her pace she proceeded to the porch.

  “Sorry about Peepers,” she called as she ascended the steps. She snapped her fingers at the naughty cat. The yellow tom sat like an oversized buttered dumpling on the top step of her porch, ignoring her, a rather smug look on his face. “He didn’t mean any harm, Grandma. He was only marking his territory.”

  Grandma Bikini clattered up the steps behind her. Paloma paused and turned around. Heavens, was Grandma going to invite herself inside, too?

  “I think yer cat’s lost his navigational skills, dearie. Across the fence, that away,” Grandma pointed, “is my territory, and I’ve already marked it for myself, thank you.”

  Paloma sighed. Her eighty-four year old neighbor was getting crankier every day. “Look, Grandma, I already apologized for Mr. Peepers. Can we let it go?”

  Grandma swirled the drink in her hand. “He took a swipe at my birds, too.”

  Obviously not. She had to hear yet another episode of the never ending saga of her cat’s bad behavior. “All right,” she conceded. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll keep him indoors more often so he doesn’t urinate on your plants or terrorize the wildlife.”

  Grandma took a sip of her drink and smacked her lips. “He pooped on my rhododendrons last week, dearie. You want to talk about terrorizing something?” Grandma pulled a face. “I’m glad I had my gardening gloves on.”

  Her temples throbbing, Paloma charged to the front door. She could listen to no more. She fumbled with the key in the lock. Dammit! Her hand trembled as she shoved it in the keyhole. What was wrong with her? Why was she letting her neighbor upset her so?

  Because she’s lonely like you.

  Paloma turned to Grandma Bikini and shrugged “Perhaps my cat thought the rhododendrons needed fertilizing.” She turned the knob and pushed the door open, then called the naughty cat to follow her inside.

  * * * *

  She came again today, wearing the Lilac perfume he’d given her their last Christmas together. He tried to move his lips to speak, to tell her he was there, but words wouldn’t come. Had she seen him twitch his finger? He tried to open his eyes when she held his hand, but failed. More than anything he wished he could watch her read, to see his angel’s words light up her face with each inflection of her gentle voice.

  He recalled the love poems she wrote for him, and his silly attempt to write her poems, too. Although he hated them, she loved them. That was Paloma. She loved everything about him, no matter how trivial or foolish. He was a lucky man to have claimed her heart so long ago.

  Never does she draw too close when she visits. She barely touches him, other than to take his hand, or smooth his hair. But he knows it is David she sees when she looks at him.

  God, how he wished his beautiful Paloma would come closer and touch his face again. Hold him close.

  When she comes on Friday he’ll be happy for a while. He will forget the prison this body has become, the sacrifice he made to be with her again. Still, he’ll always be thankful another man allowed him to live on a while longer.

  She knows he can hear her. She must. Why else would she come and read week after week when the others don’t even believe. When they do not speak to him or acknowledge the life within the shell. They’ve lost their faith. They no longer believe in miracles. Yet Paloma has not given up hope.

  * * * *

  No sooner had Paloma eaten her TV dinner and settled down to sift through the mail there was a knock at the door. Peepers followed, but when she peeked through the lace curtains and saw Grandma Bikini, she drew a deep breath to steel herself against the onslaught of yet another one of Grandma’s tirades.

  She wagged a finger at the cat. “You caused this mister. Now, shoo! She’s here again.” She opened the front door a bit and leaned in the doorway, surprised to find Grandma had donned a splashy, floral print beach robe. “Yes Grandma?”

  Grandma Bikini pushed a drink toward her. “Here. I made this special for you.”

  Paloma eyed the orange-pink drink. A Mimosa. Champagne and orange juice. Grandma Bikini’s signature drink. “No thanks. I’m having hot tea tonight.”

  Grandma’s brow lifted. “Kiddo, after what I’m about to tell you, you’re gonna need this drink. Go on. Take it.”

  Thinking there had been a tragedy in the neighborhood Paloma accepted the drink and opened the door wider. “Is it Mr. Jackson again?” she asked as she moved aside to allow Grandma entry. The elderly man had been ill with heart problems for some time and recently contracted pneumonia.

  “Nope. That irascible old coot’s gonna hang on and outlive us all, I’m afraid.” Grandma motioned for her to follow. “Come on into your parlor with me, young ‘
un. What I got to say ain’t gonna be easy.”

  Her curiosity piqued, Paloma followed her neighbor into the side parlor and set the drink on the cocktail table. She didn’t care for alcohol and rarely ever took a sip, especially after what had happened to Robert.

  Grandma tipped her glass and downed her Mimosa, then took a chair opposite her. Heavens, is her news that bad? Paloma slid into a chair and braced herself for the worst. “I’m listening.”

  Grandma’s gaze leveled on her. “I had a dream last night about you.”

  Paloma blinked. A dream? Is that what she’d come to talk about—another one of her dreams.

  “As you know I’m psychic.”

  Paloma stared at the floor and wondered how much liquor Grandma had to drink this afternoon. She knew her neighbor once worked as a fortune teller in a traveling carnival but claiming to be a true psychic? She bit back a smile and cleared her throat before lifting her eyes. “Grandma, please. I have a terrible headache and I’d like to rest.”

  “Oh, come on, girl. Can’t you indulge an old lady for a few minutes?”

  Paloma straightened in the chair. Perhaps if she let Grandma say what she’d come to say she would be on her way.

  “Very well. I’m sorry, Grandma. Please continue.”

  “In my dream there was a man who came to me with a message for you.” She paused as if to contemplate her words. “His name was David.”

  The only David Paloma knew was the comatose man at the hospital.

  A breeze ruffled her hair and she reached up to smooth it down. Her looked at the ceiling. The fan was off, as was the air unit. Had she left a window open in her haste to get to the hospital earlier? She hugged herself tight as an icy chill wrapped around her. “You said this man had a message, Grandma?”

  “It’s about a poem. Something about darkness and … let me think. Dreams. Yes, that’s it. Darkness and dreams.”

  Paloma froze. That was Robert’s poem, the one she wrote for him after his death. The one she read to David in the hospital. No one had ever seen or read that poem. How did Grandma know about it? Had she snooped through her things while she was out? Impossible. No one else had a key to her house. Another chill skittered up her spine.

  “He likes the poem,” Grandma continued. “He also likes you to wear the lilac perfume he gave you the Christmas before the accident.”

  The room grew uncomfortably warm. She had to get Grandma out of the house. “Is that all?”

  Grandma glanced at the mimosa on the table in front of Paloma “Did you drink out of that yet?”

  Paloma shook her head no. Grandma rose from her chair and reached across. “Good, ‘cause I need somethin’ to steady my nerves.”

  The woman took the drink and Paloma watched as she downed it with precision speed. Two gulps followed by an “ahhh.”

  Grandma plopped back in the overstuffed chair and patted the cushioned arms. “Okay, honey. I won’t pussyfoot around. You deserve to know the truth so I’m gonna give it to ya’ straight out.”

  Paloma scooted forward to the edge of her chair, every nerve in her body taut with tension. “Fine, then. Tell me what it is you must tell me.”

  Grandma lowered her voice. “I had one of my visions this morning, too. Same as my dream last night. That David fellow—the one in the dream? Well, it’s not exactly David anymore but someone else. And he has a message for you, honey.”

  How could a comatose man have a message for her? She’d often sensed his responses to her jokes and could see his reaction to her readings in the rise and fall of his blood pressure and heart rate on the monitor. As bizarre as all this sounded, she was intrigued. “Go on.”

  “Robert wants you to know he’s made a deal.”

  Silence stretched between them. Robert? Wait. Hadn’t she been talking about David? Grandma’s words began to sink in. “Robert made a deal? My Robert?”

  Grandma nodded.

  Paloma had known this woman from the neighborhood since she was a little girl. When she and Robert became engaged two years ago and bought property to restore, she was thrilled to discover Grandma Bikini would be her next door neighbor. Although a quirky sort, Paloma never knew the woman to have mental problems. She swallowed hard, almost afraid to hear the rest of Grandma’s wild tale. “You said Robert made a deal? What kind of deal?”

  Grandma licked her lips. “Got any wine?”

  “Out with it.”

  Grandma cleared her throat. “David Hopkins’ spirit went on to the other side some time ago, but Robert’s didn’t. He stayed to watch over you Paloma, but before David departed this world, he and Robert made a deal.”

  Paloma sprang from the chair. She would hear no more of this nonsense! The woman had gone mad! There was no other explanation. “Grandma, you must leave!”

  Grandma stood and her shoulders slumped as if in defeat. “Now, Paloma, honey, you have to know it’s not David’s soul that lives inside that young man in the hospital. It’s Robert’s.”

  “This is too much!” Paloma sailed to the front door and yanked it open, but her resolve crumbled. As bizarre as her story was, she couldn’t throw the woman out of her home. She sagged against the frame for support and glanced over at Grandma. What if she was telling the truth? What if Robert had attempted to contact her from beyond the grave?

  With every ounce of courage she possessed she turned around. She had to know.

  “David Hopkins had no one, Paloma. No family, no children. Besides, he was in a great deal of pain from his injuries, but he had a chance at a new life again, to be reborn and start his life all over again. He chose to cross over.”

  Though Paloma didn’t completely believe in the possibility of reincarnation, she was intrigued. “Go on.”

  “Robert was willing to risk a second physical death or at best a slow and painful recovery to be near you, to hear your voice and feel the touch of your hand on his. It wasn’t his time to go, honey. You know that. Although his physical existence was cut short, his soul lives on in David Hopkins’ body. After all, our bodies are just a shell.”

  This was too much to absorb at one time. Robert’s spirit had switched places with a man who wished to leave his body. Still, what if Grandma was telling the truth? What if the woman was truly gifted with psychic abilities? “All right, Grandma,” she said as she drew herself up to her full height. “Since you claim to know all the mysteries of the universe, tell me one thing.”

  Grandma Bikini let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know everything, dearie, but I’m right on target with this. I know you’re skeptical, so go ahead with your little test. Ask me anything.”

  Paloma braced herself. “In my poem to Robert, what is the line that follows, “between the darkness and the dreams?”

  Grandma sighed. “Why, that’s simple, young ‘un. Between the darkness and the dreams lies a place where cries are never heard.”

  * * * *

  They were taking David Hopkins—or rather, Robert off support this afternoon. Oxygen and the feeding tube were scheduled to be disconnected. Even the IV would be removed.

  Helen phoned from the hospital and alerted Paloma, thinking she might wish to be present. She didn’t bother to comb her hair or change out of her sloppy yellow sweats. Instead of taking the four block walk, she drove to the hospital and hurried to the nurses station on the third floor.

  “Helen, we must stop them.”

  The nurse laid the file aside and eased toward Paloma. “I have no say in this,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. “As I told you on the phone, a member of Mr. Hopkins’ family has been located—a distant cousin, I believe. Now that he’s aware David’s condition is not expected to improve, he’s authorized his removal from all support systems. Religious concerns, I believe was cited. I only called you because you’ve been so concerned for him these past couple of months. You’re almost like his family.”

  There was no way for Helen to know how true her statement was. “Who is this family member that’s sud
denly come forth? I need to speak to him.”

  Helen glanced about nervously. “I can’t give you that information, Paloma, even as much as I want to.”

  “Then tell me where I can find the person who claims to be David Hopkins’ cousin. You don’t have to give me his name. Scribble an address on a scrap of paper. Even a phone number will do. I have to stop them from killing Robert. I mean, David.”

  Helen sighed. “No can do, honey. They’ll have my head on a platter—and it won’t even be a silver one—if I divulge that info.” The nurse turned back to study one of the monitors. “Hang on a second, okay?”

  Paloma’s heart thrashed wildly in her chest. She must remain calm. They couldn’t let Robert die, especially not when he’d been given a second chance. Then, an idea came to her. A dishonest, yet desperate one. What if she could find someone else who was related? Someone closer than a cousin? Paloma had no idea where she was going with this line of thought, but in her desperation she would say anything. “I think I know where a family member is.”

  Helen turned around and a frown creased her face. “But I thought you said you didn’t know the family.”

  “Not yet.”

  Helen arched a brow. “Girl, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not involved.”

  Paloma tapped the desk. “I’ll be back. Don’t let them do anything to David Hopkins until I return.”

  * * * *

  She found Grandma Bikini drunk as a proverbial skunk and passed out in her orange upholstered easy chair. The woman snored heartily as Paloma tried to rouse her. Fortunately for her, Grandma had left her back door unlocked, allowing easy entrance.

  “Grandma, wake up! It’s Paloma.”

  Grandma Bikini snurgled. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”

  Paloma blew out an exasperated breath. This wouldn’t be easy. She left Grandma and marched to the kitchen to put on a pot of strong coffee. She must sober her up. She returned a few minutes later with the steaming brew in the largest mug she could find, and set it down on the table before Grandma.