“That’s why I’m here. I would love to see the Bonnets,” she told him.
“I’m really sorry, but we don’t have them yet. If that’s what you came to see, I’ll be happy to refund your money.” Ben handed Sonya her money back, but she waved it away.
“No, no. Keep it. I’d still like to look around. But I thought you already had one of his paintings here,” she asked.
“It’s in Portland right now. Would you like to see the display anyway? You can see the emerald.”
“Emerald?” Sonya brightened up.
“This way.” He then paused and added, “I’m Ben Smith, one of the docents.”
A few moments later, Sonya stood with Ben in front of what had been Eva Thorndike’s display. The easel and Eva’s portrait were no longer there, but in their place was a framed photograph of the painting and written explanation that the portrait would be returning to the museum in the near future. It sat atop the glass display case. The Thorndike emerald, on loan from Danielle Boatman, remained locked in the display case.
“It’s one of the original emeralds from Eva Thorndike’s necklace, which is commonly referred to as the Missing Thorndike,” Ben explained as Sonya leaned close to the display, peering at the emerald.
“Yes, I read about the necklace online.” Sonya stood up straight and turned to Ben. She glanced down to the newspaper in her hand and its article on the museum. The article told how the museum would be displaying three paintings by the French artist Jacque Bonnet. “I was under the impression the paintings were already here. I was hoping to see them. Perhaps they are here, but not yet on display?” She craned her neck and looked toward the back of the museum, as if expecting the paintings to suddenly appear.
“Unfortunately, that newspaper article got a few facts wrong. When I was interviewed, I’m afraid they misunderstood me, and I didn’t realize until the article came out.”
She glanced briefly at the newspaper again and then smiled up at Ben. “You’re the one interviewed in the article?”
Ben nodded. “I’m currently the president of the Historical Society.”
“So where are the paintings now?”
“They’ve been taken to Portland to be authenticated. In the meantime, we have some renovations to do to the museum to make place for the new exhibit. That’s supposed to start as soon as the paintings are officially authenticated, which I’m hearing now won’t be until May. So I doubt the exhibit will be up until fall.”
Sonya cocked her head slightly and studied Ben. “The paintings haven’t been authenticated yet?”
Ben shook his head. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a formality. But I can’t blame the Glandon Foundation—who is actually the one purchasing the Bonnet from us, and the other two from another party—to make sure they are the real deal before paying all that money. It’s really very exciting.”
“The article made it sound like the paintings were being authenticated at the time the article was being written, and they would be displayed by now.” She glanced briefly at the article again and then looked back to Ben.
“We expected to have it done this week, but the expert they’re using had an unexpected family emergency. The earliest they could reschedule was the last week in May.”
“Where are the paintings in the meantime? Shame we can’t still enjoy them.” Sonya let out a sigh and refolded the newspaper and then shoved it in her purse.
“I’m afraid they’re locked up in a storage room in some Portland museum. I don’t think anyone has even looked at them yet.” Ben shrugged.
“What a shame.” Sonya let out another sigh.
“You’re a fan of Bonnet?” Ben asked. “I hate to admit, I wasn’t even aware of the artist until we were informed our Eva Thorndike was probably one of his.”
“I became familiar with his work when I visited France last year. I was quite taken with his distinct style. And when I read you had several of his paintings, I knew I had to come.”
“Are you from around here?” Ben asked.
“No. I’m visiting friends in the area, and I happened to pick up their newspaper and saw the article on the paintings. I was so excited. I suppose I will just have to make a trip back to see them in the fall.”
Sonya hurried down the steps of the museum, heading to her car. She was tempted to make the phone call now, but she didn’t want anyone to overhear her. Curiosity alone had spurred this morning’s impromptu visit to the museum. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined what she would discover. She was almost giddy with excitement. Perhaps all was not lost.
Today’s impromptu visit to the Frederickport Museum came about because of a series of events. It began when she had heard the disappointing fate of the Frederickport Bonnets. To make matters even more depressing, she learned there were actually three Bonnets in Frederickport, not just two. Three paintings that should now be in her possession, not sitting in some storage room.
After dealing with her disappointment, she had purchased a subscription to the local newspaper in hopes of keeping tabs on the paintings. In yesterday’s mail came the newspaper article that seemed to imply the Bonnets were already on display at the museum. She could barely sleep last night, and when she woke up early this morning, she dressed quickly, jumped in her car, and drove from Maurice’s home in Portland to Frederickport. If Maurice wasn’t currently on a flight to London, she would have called him first.
What a surprise to discover that not only were the paintings not at the small museum—they hadn’t been seen by the art expert. They still don’t know two of those paintings locked up in some Portland museum are fakes, Sonya thought with delight.
Hastily unlocking her car, she slipped inside, closed the door behind her, and relocked it. Before tossing the purse on the passenger seat, she retrieved her cellphone. She still had his number in favorites. The phone rang twice before he answered.
“Why are you calling me?” came an angry male voice. “I told you not to call me again. We have nothing to talk about.”
“If you wonder why you haven’t heard anything about the paintings being fake, it’s because the expert hasn’t seen them yet.” She leaned back in the car seat, holding the phone to her ear, and smiled. She had not felt so hopeful in days.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sonya, please. It’s over, and thank you for calling. It just reminds me I need to get another phone.”
“No!” Sonya shouted, sitting up abruptly in the seat. “But it’s not over, Mac. You can still get the paintings and get the money. Don’t you want the money?”
“What are you talking about? I explained it. Any day now they’re going to come looking for me, and I need to disappear for a while.”
“No, Mac. You have until May. We’ve been given a reprieve. You’re back in business. We’re back in business. And I want my paintings.”
Three
“I suppose this street looks so familiar because I’ve been watching it from the attic window for almost a hundred years. I’ve watched it change—yet most of the time, I didn’t understand the changes. Not until you came and helped me bring the world in focus,” Walt mused as he looked out the car’s passenger side window.
They had just turned down Beach Drive.
“That’s Heather’s house,” Danielle pointed out as they drove by. A moment later, they pulled into the side drive of Marlow House.
“Danielle, would you mind if I sat outside for a while, under the trees?” Walt asked. “It feels like I’ve spent an eternity inside Marlow House, and I would just like to feel the air, listen to the birds. Maybe take a nap. You have no idea how good it feels to sleep.”
Bringing the car to a stop, Danielle put it in park, turned off the ignition, and turned to Walt. “Are you saying you never slept when…when you…”
“When I was dead?” Walt turned to Danielle and smiled softly.
She nodded.
“Dead men don’t sleep. Didn’t I ever tell you that before?”
“Not really. I’m not sure we ever talked about it. And if we did, I don’t think you ever said one way or another.”
“One thing I remember, when on the other side, there are some things we aren’t supposed to discuss with those on this side—it’s against the rules.”
“What about now? Can you break the rules?” Danielle grinned at the idea. She had always suspected Walt understood more about how it all worked on the other side than he had shared with her.
Walt chuckled. “I just said one thing I remember, because since I woke up in Clint’s body, memories have been slipping away.”
Danielle’s grin vanished. “What do you mean memories have been slipping away?”
Walt shook his head and smiled wearily at Danielle. “Oh, I remember every conversation you and I have shared—every dream hop. The memories I’m referring to are from the other side. For example, I know there was a bargain I made that allowed me to stay at Marlow House—under specific conditions. But who did I make the bargain with? What were the conditions? Or where did this bargain take place? I have no idea.”
“The condition was that you couldn’t leave the house. And once you did, you couldn’t return,” Danielle told him.
“I remember that. Yes, it was part of it. But there was more. What exactly? I no longer remember; I just know there was more. It’s out there, on the edges of my memory. Foggy and just beyond my grasp.”
“I’d ask what else you’ve forgotten, but I suppose that’s a silly question. If you’ve forgotten something, how would you know?”
Walt shrugged. “Perhaps. But it’s the things that I do remember that make me aware of what I must have forgotten. For example, remember the Christmas dream hop, where your family was there? Or when Emma and her husband joined us in a dream hop to say goodbye to you?”
“Of course.” No longer wearing her seatbelt, Danielle sat sideways in the driver’s seat, facing Walt.
“I remember how to dream hop. Well, at least how I did it then. I don’t imagine it’s possible for me to do it now.” Walt chuckled at the idea. “It was about focusing and thinking about who I wanted to bring into a dream. However, that didn’t include someone like Emma or your family, who are already on the other side. I did something else that allowed them to join us. I know that—I can feel it. But what exactly? I have absolutely no idea.”
“I just hope you don’t forget anything else,” Danielle said.
“I have a feeling I have already forgotten what I needed to forget.”
“What does that even mean?” Danielle frowned.
Walt unbuckled his seatbelt. “To be honest, I have no idea. But it’s something I feel…and there is something else.”
“Something else?” Danielle asked.
“This all seems…surreal. Too good to be true, maybe? Like I’m dreaming and will wake up any moment and find out I’m still dead.”
Danielle laughed. “I thought you just said dead men don’t sleep, so how can they dream?”
Walt shrugged. “They don’t.”
“Then this can’t be a dream? Can it?”
After getting out of the car a few minutes later, Danielle retrieved the crutches from the backseat. She helped Walt from the vehicle and was impressed at how well he was managing the crutches. With minimal assistance, he made his way to a patio rocker on the back porch.
“Thank you,” Walt said when he sat down.
“Can I get you anything?” Danielle asked.
“No. I’d just like to sit out here for a while, maybe take a nap. I’m really very tired. Surprised how this morning’s outing has exhausted me.”
“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” While waiting for his answer, Danielle walked back to the car and retrieved her purse and keys.
“I’m not really hungry, thank you. I have to say, after almost a century without food, I’m wondering if my memories of how wonderful food tasted were exaggerated, or if hospital food is just horrible.”
Danielle walked back toward Walt and laughed. “I suspect the latter. How about some chocolate cake in a little while? I made a double fudge chocolate cake last night in honor of your homecoming.”
Walt’s grin widened. “Your double fudge chocolate cake always looked amazing. Yes. I would love to try some. Maybe after I take a little nap?”
Danielle nodded. “Fine. And after you wake up, I’ll see if you might be ready for some lunch before that cake.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
Danielle turned toward the house and started to walk away but paused. She turned back to Walt, stepped closer, and then leaned down and quickly kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “Welcome home, Walt.”
In response, Walt reached up and grabbed hold of Danielle’s left hand and held it tightly. Their gazes locked.
“I suppose we should take this slowly,” Walt whispered, his gaze shifting briefly from her eyes to her lips.
“One day at a time, Walt,” she whispered.
He gently squeezed her hand and then released it. Without premeditation, Danielle dropped a quick kiss on his lips and then turned and hurried to the back door leading into the kitchen.
Walt wasn’t sure how long he had been sleeping. He had drifted off peacefully while listening to the birds chirping in the nearby trees, soothed by the gentle sea breeze caressing his face. But there was no breeze now. No birds chirping. There were just voices. Women’s voices. He knew those voices.
The spirit of Marie Nichols, an image of herself ten years prior to her death at age ninety-one, leaned toward Walt and studied his face. “Do you think he’s dead…again? He looks dead.”
“Marie, he doesn’t look dead.” Eva Thorndike—who even in death bore a striking resemblance to Charles Dana Gibson’s illustrated Gibson girl—stepped up to Walt and took a closer look. Tilting her head to one side, she tapped one finger against her chin while studying his motionless features. “Although…he doesn’t exactly look alive.”
“And he’s wearing a beard!” Marie clucked.
“It’s not really much of a beard, but he does look rather dashing.”
Walt’s eyes flew open. Panicked, he looked from Eva to Marie and back to Eva before screaming, “Danielle!”
Danielle, who was just inside the back door in the kitchen, heard his frantic call, dropped what she was doing, and practically flew out the back door. As the door slammed shut behind her, she came to an abrupt halt upon seeing Walt—his eyes wide—staring up to Eva and Marie, who now hovered a few feet from him. What Danielle hadn’t seen was how the spirits had abruptly distanced themselves from Walt after being surprised by his unexpected outburst.
“What the…?” Danielle walked closer to Walt, her gaze shifting from him to the two spirits. It was obvious to Danielle that he could see Eva and Marie. Or at least, it certainly appeared that way.
“What’s wrong?” Danielle finally asked.
Still in panic mode, Walt looked to Danielle and blurted, “I’m dead! Nerts! I knew it was too good to be true. I close my eyes for five minutes and this body up and dies on me!”
Danielle let out the breath she had inadvertently been holding and stepped closer to where Walt sat in the rocker. She flashed a sheepish smile to Eva and Marie, who seemed unsure as to the reason for Walt’s peculiar behavior.
“You aren’t dead, Walt. Why do you think you’re dead?” Danielle asked, now standing next to his rocker.
Walt pointed an accusing finger at Eva and Marie. “That’s why!”
Eva rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. “Seriously, Walt? Is that what this is about?”
Marie shook her head in confusion. “What just happened?”
“I can see them…hear them!” Walt exclaimed, his eyes wild.
“So can I. But I’m not dead,” Danielle reminded him.
“But you can see ghosts. I can’t!” Walt insisted.
“Notice how he freely calls us ghosts, but remember the hissy fit he’d throw if anyone dare call him one?” Eva told Marie.
“Walt, you are not dead,” Danielle insisted.
“I’m dead. So what now? Do I have to go back?” Walt asked.
Joining Eva in an eye roll, Danielle leaned closer to Walt and pinched his arm. It wasn’t a light pinch.
“Ouch!” Walt yelped as he grabbed the injured arm. He glared at Danielle. “What did you do that for?”
Danielle smiled down at Walt, looking not a bit remorseful for inflicting pain. “Because you can’t pinch a ghost.”
Rubbing his still-stinging arm, Walt considered what Danielle was saying.
“Plus, there is only one of you,” Danielle said as she sat down in the chair next to him.
“One of me?” he asked.
“Exactly. I left alive-you sitting in that chair. Now, had you died, your body would still be sitting there, and your spirit—well, it wouldn’t be sitting in the chair, unable to stand up without some assistance.”
“Goodness, Walt, I would think you would be happy you could see and hear us,” Marie grumbled. She took a seat on one of the empty patio chairs.
“I’m sorry, Marie…Eva…I…guess I overreacted,” Walt apologized.
“You think?” Danielle chuckled.
“I wondered if this might happen,” Eva said.
“What, that Walt would see spirits? Does this mean he’ll see all spirits, or just you and Marie?” Danielle asked.
Eva shrugged. “I’m not really sure. You see, it’s fairly common for babies or very young children to see spirits. Marie could see me when she was a baby.”
“But I can’t remember seeing ghosts as a child,” Marie added.
“No, because children are taught such things are not real, so after a while they stop seeing them—stop remembering them,” Eva explained. “They begin believing the lie.”
“Except for me and Chris,” Danielle noted.
“True. But there are always the exceptions—those disbelievers.” Eva smiled.
“Disbelievers?” Danielle asked with a frown.
“You didn’t quite believe what the adults in the world were telling you. Basically, you had more faith in yourself, which is why you never lost the ability to see and hear ghosts.”
The Ghost of Second Chances Page 2
