The Mystic

by Maggie Santangelo

  The Mystic

  Maggie Santangelo

  Copyright © Maggie Santangelo 2013

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced in a retrieval system, or retransmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, photocopied, mechanical, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright holder.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishment, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For Chase

  ~ 1 ~

  Three days since the news was delivered and I still don’t want to believe it’s true. I want to go back in time and live in the days I spent with my father. I would appreciate him more, laugh at his jokes and help him in his workshop. I’d never leave his side. I had a dream of him taking me to the park on sweet summer day, the wind rattled the trees and the birds sang just for us. I looked up to see a child’s lost balloon floating upward and I watched it until it disappeared into the clouds. I looked back and he was gone. I was alone again.

  Mom has been on the phone with my dad’s parents for almost an hour now. It must be hard for her to speak with them; I hear the loss in her voice. I know she’s trying to be strong. I wish I could slow things down and understand why this is all happening. But I know there is no understanding, no “aha” moment when my father’s death will make sense. At this point, all I can do is try to keep busy.

  I begin packing for the move and look around my room, which is a mess. I hear dad’s voice, “Raina Rae, you need to keep your room clean. A clean room creates a clear mind. How can you organize yourself if you can’t organize your space?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. I manage.”

  “Well, I expect more from you than to just manage your way through life. I want you to excel and do the great things I know you are capable of achieving.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll clean it up later, I promise.”

  But I never did. When he was away on deployment, Mom and I let the housework go. We’d always have a big cleanup before he came back home, but I never got around to cleaning my room. Mom told me to do it and I ignored her. I couldn’t forgive myself if he died thinking I was a disappointment. I begin to clean up, but I’m angry at myself. Why now? I never cared before, so why start now? I take handfuls of clothes, books, and school papers that are lying scattered and begin throwing them across the room. “It doesn’t matter now!” I say to no one.

  I stop when everything has been thrown around and I feel exhausted. In the silent aftermath I hear footsteps outside my door. Mom comes in without knocking. She begins to say something but stops when she sees what I’ve done. She shakes her head and looks at me like she couldn’t care less about the condition of my room. “Remember, you just have to bring what you’ll need for a week and then the movers will have sent our things.”

  “I know how this works,” I say.

  “I don’t need attitude from you; we both lost him.” She looks as if she’s about to cry but stops and takes a deep breath. “I have a lot of paperwork to do and phone calls to make, and I have to make sure we’re ready for our flight. I need your help.”

  She stands in the doorway with the phone in her hand. She’s still wearing her robe and slippers. Her long, dark hair, which she usually keeps straight and neat, is piled on top of her head, and loose pieces hang in her face. I regret snapping at her, but I can’t bring myself to apologize, so I just say, “I’ll be ready.”

  ***

  “We’ll miss you,” Shauna says. Eva, who usually never stops talking, is noticeably quiet. Their bright and elaborately put together outfits are in contrast to my faded blue jeans and plain black t-shirt. Brianna hugs me, but doesn’t look at me. I’m aware that they can’t relate to what I’m going through. I’m on my way to my father’s funeral, but to them it’s just another school day. It’s only been a few days but I already feel a change within myself.

  “I’ll miss you guys. My A-Team.”

  “You’re really leaving tomorrow?” Shauna says.

  “Yes, we’re leaving everything for the movers to pack and send to us in New Orleans. That’s my mom’s hometown, but I’ve never even been there.” My three best friends stare back at me; there’s not much else to say, I guess. “She’s in the office un-enrolling me. I just wanted to come say goodbye.”

  “Oh, that’s so…far,” Shauna says in a whisper. That doesn’t do much to reassure me.

  “We’ll see you again. Maybe you can come back for a visit in the summer,” Brianna says. “And there’s email, and Facebook…” But we all know the truth of being part of a military family—moving away might as well mean forever gone. By next week they’ll have moved on like I was never here, probably even replacing me as the fourth in the A-Team, if they find another girl with an A at the end of her name. I should be hurt by this knowledge of things to come, but I’ve been here at the corner of goodbye and good luck, I know how this goes. Life marches forward, and I will have my own events to keep my mind occupied.

  The three of them gather close to hug me. I don’t want to let go.

  ***

  I fall asleep thinking of my father. I remember the scent of the cologne he wore when he took Mom out for dinner. I wanted to go with them, but Mom called it their date night and left me with a babysitter until I was old enough to stay by myself. He would be home for months and then be gone for months; that’s the way his job had been since I could remember.

  One day Mom took us to the airfield to see him; the image of him in his pilot’s jumpsuit is etched in my memory. He told me, “I’m protecting our country so you will be safe.” But I don’t feel so safe now.

  I’m standing on a dirt road; before me lie two paths. One leads back to my room here, the other winds around so I can’t see where it ends. And there is my father. He’s in his uniform, ready to leave for deployment. “Am I coming too?” I say. My voice sounds childlike.

  “Not this time,” he says.

  If not now, when? He turns away and begins to walk down the long and winding road. I run after him.

  “Daddy, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t keep my room clean, and I’m sorry I didn’t try harder in school! I’m so sorry, Dad. I love you! Please come home!”

  He looks back and says, “I’m not disappointed in you, Raina Rae. I love you more than anything in the world. I’m so proud of you. Now I need you to stay and look out for your mom; she needs you, sweetheart. My angel. I love you, from now until eternity.”

  He used to tell me that when I was little. I didn’t even know what eternity meant then; maybe I never did, until now. “Till eternity,” I say to him.

  He turns his back again and then he’s gone. I am alone.

  ***

  I wake remembering the dream, but it fades as the day goes on. Any peace that was granted to me through my brief conversation with Dad in my dream has left me and anger takes its place.

  I march into my mother’s room, “I don’t want to move to New Orleans. Can’t we stay in Nebraska with Grandma and Grandpa Mitchell?”

  “I told you this morning, they have their own lives. They don’t need to have us around.”

  “You don’t know that; maybe they want us around. They’ll be missing Dad too, you know.”

  “You think I don’t know?” she says.

  “Ok then, we can come back here, to California,” I say, thinking fast to figure out how this could work.

  My big plan forms as the words do. “You could get work at a dress shop or something. Or you could teach art classes. I can work too, after school.
I’m sure when they read Dad’s will tomorrow he will have left us something. We can get a house in town.” This could work.

  “No,” she says. The look on her face is unwavering.

  “I’m not afraid to stay here on my own.”

  “We have to stick together; we need each other. And you know it’s what your father would have wanted.”

  I know she’s right, I just don’t want to admit it, not even to myself.

  “I’ve already spoken to my father,” she says. “I’m going home. We are going home.”

  “You told me your father and mother died in a car accident before I was born.”

  “Well, I lied, ok?”

  “What?”

  “My mother died before you were born. I was pregnant with you when…” She moves her gaze out the window; it disappears beyond the pane.

  “How could you have lied to me about something like that? I have a grandfather in New Orleans that I’ve never met. Does he know about me?”

  “Yes, of course he does.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me, then?” I say.

  “I wanted to. I meant to. I never thought it would be like this.” She stands up and paces to the door and back. “Look, Raina, I’ve got enough to worry about. A lot of arrangements have to be made and people have to be dealt with. I don’t need problems from you, too. We need to work together.”

  “Oh, well don’t let me be just another problem to you then.” My heart races; I don’t usually raise my voice to my mother. “Why don’t you just leave me here then? You run off to your long-lost father. I’m sure Shauna’s parents would let me finish the school year with them.”

  “And then what?” I hear the anger in her voice. “No, you and I stick together, and not another word about this. We are leaving tomorrow for Nebraska to attend the funeral, and then we’re moving to New Orleans.” She turns and leaves with a slam of the door.

  ***

  I’m running down the winding road after my father. It feels like I’ve been running forever but I’m not getting any closer to him. I think I’m running on a treadmill until I notice that I’m passing all the trees, so I know I’m moving. But he remains so far away.

  “Daddy, come back! Mom is moving us! We’re packed up and leaving, but I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you . . .” What was once yelling to get him to slow down becomes a near whisper as I realize it’s not working. He’s gone; I can’t even see his back any more. I say, “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’ll never leave you, my angel,” he says.

  I turn to see him standing right behind me. I hug him and take a deep breath; it’s him, I know it.

  “I’ll always be with you. I may be far out of sight when you think I’m not there, but remember this lesson—when you think I’m gone, I’m right behind you.”

  “Ok, I’ll remember. Do you know where we’re going? You’ll be there, too, right?”

  “Yes, I know where you’re going and I’ll be there. Have you already forgotten what I just said?” He tilts his head and gives me a questioning look.

  “No, I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t want to leave this home. It’s the last place I lived with you. She’s trying to take all my memories away!”

  “You are in control of your memories; no one can take me from you. You hear me, Raina? No one.”

  “Yes, sir. I hear you. I believe you.”

  “Good girl. I have to go, and so do you. Go with your mother. You need each other. I know it won’t be easy for you to move on, but you have to be strong. I’ve done what I set out to do in this lifetime; now it’s time for your journey to begin. Take care of yourself because I’m not ready for you to join me here, it’s not your time.”

  I wake up without the alarm clock or Mom waking me. I feel rested and good. My mind races, and then I remember that my father has died. Before the sadness of the truth hits me in my half-awake state, the dream of my father comes back to me. And, my senses must be playing tricks on me because I swear I can smell his cologne. I remember what he said; I know I have to go to New Orleans with my mother. No more arguing.

  I get up and look for Mom. I won’t tell her about my dreams because I think it will upset her. But I do want to show her that I’m ready to move. “Mom?” I call for her. She’s nowhere to be found—I feel panic about to set in.

  I walk through the house. Boxes line the walls and I have to squeeze through. I call louder this time, “Mom!”

  I’ve paced through the house twice now and I open the front door to see if the car is in the driveway. It is, and so is Mom. I would run out and hug her, and fuss at her, too, even though she hates it when I do, but she’s not alone. She’s talking to a man and a boy, maybe my age. They must be father and son, and from the way they’re looking at our car, they must be buying it. Of course, she told me she had someone coming to look at it before we leave. I close the door and let out a sigh. My panic has me broken out in a sweat. I head off for the shower.

  “Raina.” Mom opens the bathroom door as I rinse my hair.

  “Mom, can I have some privacy, please?” I hope Grandpa’s house has locks on the doors. Base housing never has locks on any doors except the ones that lead outside.

  “Well, I just need to tell you that I sold the car. We’ll fly to Nebraska and then buy a new one there to drive down to New Orleans.”

  “Ok, whatever. Privacy, now?”

  I hear the door close.

  ~ 2 ~

  I’ve never been to a funeral before. I’ve seen them in movies though, so I know to wear black. I wasn’t expecting a sea of black, crammed so close together in one space. My father was loved. I am seated in the front, my mother on one side and my grandparents on the other. My father has a brother and sister. Both are in college now but still live at home. It’s strange to think of them as my uncle and aunt since they’re not that much older than me. I just call them Brandon and Melissa, they feel like friends.

  “I’m so sorry about your father,” a man says to me.

  I nod in acknowledgment.

  Another man says, “I went to high school with your father, he was a great guy.”

  There’s a line of people waiting to tell us these things about my father. My grandparents know them all; I know no one except my family. My grandmother cries to everyone. I attempt a smile. They are all so kind and sympathetic. I hold back my tears, thinking it would have made my father proud. My mother won’t even look up; she’s buried her face in a handful of tissues.

  Everyone is finally seated and the service begins. I look around the church; the stained glass windows are beautiful. I remember Dad bringing me here for Mass with his family when we would visit. Mom stayed at the house; she said she wasn’t feeling well enough to go. She never went, so the last time I thought maybe church made her feel sick. But she’s here now.

  The priest has made his long, slow walk from the back of the church to the altar. The altar boys put down the things they carried in and take their seats behind the altar. The priest steps up and speaks in a deep, low tone of voice. It’s soothing, but I don’t want to hear what he has to say, so I work to tune out the words. I just find it hard to believe that my father’s death is part of God’s plan, so I won’t listen.

  I go through the motions with everyone else—stand, kneel, sit, pray. I feel empty inside except for the sound of the priest trying to reach me. I look up and I see him looking directly at me. “Lord, hear our prayer,” he says. Unless the Lord will bring my father back, I have nothing to say. I close my eyes and empty my thoughts in silent rebellion.

  We’re finally back at my grandparents’ home after the burial and I think this horrible day will finally end, but people begin arriving with dishes of food. My grandmother and Melissa accept the dishes and set them on the table, where people begin helping themselves. My grandfather and Brandon sit in the living room.

  “There aren’t enough seats in here,” Grandpa says to no one in particular.

  “I’ll get some chairs fro
m the garage,” Brandon says.

  “I’ll help,” I say. I follow him through the kitchen and out the back door.

  He opens a shed and I see about a dozen metal chairs folded and leaning against the shelves.

  “Here, how many can you carry?” he says, but before I can answer he starts tucking them under my arm and securing them in my hands. It’s not comfortable, and they’re heavy, but I can manage. Brandon has two armfuls as well, and I follow him back to the house.

  “Sorry about your dad,” he says.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’m sorry for you too, I mean, he was your brother.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess there’s a lot of sorries being said today.” He adjusts the chairs so he can hold onto them while he turns the doorknob. I can see they’re going to fall, but I don’t say anything as he drops the chairs from under one arm and then from the other. He looks devastated at the thought of having to pick them up. I lose my grip and drop all my chairs at once. They make a terrible racket when they fall on top of each other. He looks at them and at me and starts laughing. I smile. I feel a laugh beginning to form, but it’s too soon. I stop myself and begin picking up chairs.

  “It’s ok to laugh,” he says.

  “Maybe one day,” I say.

  “Yeah…” He begins to say something, but I guess he decides against it because he opens the door and ushers me through with my chairs. A guest who happens to be in the kitchen grabs the ones from underneath my right arm and someone else goes outside to help Brandon.

  ***

  The guests have finally left, although they left behind the extra food. I’m grateful for the two ladies who pitched-in in the kitchen to get everything cleaned up. Whenever we’ve visited I helped Grandma with the dishes after dinner. She says it’s a break for Melissa and it gives us time to talk, but I don’t like kitchen work. I always wished we could find other ways to spend time alone together, but she’s always so busy with the cooking and cleaning.