by Lori Leger
“Oh, God. You can do that all night long, Mitch, and I wouldn’t complain…not one…little…bit.” She let her head fall back against the padded sofa arm and closed her eyes.
Mitch leaned forward to warm his hands on the mug again then reached for her other foot, treating it to the same warm administrations. He smiled as she gave him an equally appreciative groan of pleasure. “Your dogs must get pretty tired by the end of the night slinging drinks at Red’s. That place pulls in some business.”
“That’s because it’s a nice place. My everything gets pretty tired by the end of every day,” she murmured. “Even when I don’t pull a shift at Red’s.”
“I imagine so, with all the chasing after Buck and school work.” He warmed his hands on the mug and picked up the opposite foot again. “And that’s not taking into account the paranormal activity going on in this place. I don’t know how you do it, Meg.”
“I try not to think about it.”
“Then I won’t make you talk about it, unless you want to.”
Nearly a minute had passed with neither of them speaking. He thought she’d fallen asleep when she finally broke the silence.
“It took everything I had to keep from screaming when Mickey got hurt. I kept imagining it was Christopher’s blood all over me. I kept asking myself if someone had to do the same thing for him when he got hurt.” She swallowed loudly. “Was someone there to apply pressure to his wound to keep him from bleeding out?”
His hands stilled as she voiced the most personal of questions.
“I’m sure his Marine brothers did whatever they could for him, Meg.”
She shook her head. “Then I remembered there wasn’t enough of him left to work on, so probably not.”
He froze, wondering what he could possibly say to that. “Did they bring him home?”
She lifted her tear stained face to gaze at him and gave him a slow nod.
“Then they did what they could for him. I assure you, they treated Christopher with the utmost respect. It happens, and when it does, we can’t help but think it could have been any of us. So, you care for your dead brothers the same way you’d want them to care for you if it ever happens.” He watched a tear break free to make the journey down her cheek in a long, slow, torturous path until it dripped from her delicate chin. God, he wanted to hold her—hug her to him until all traces of sadness were completely gone. He settled for beginning the gentle foot massage again.
Her next words were a reverent whisper. “Do you think they said words over him when it happened?”
“It depends on the situation,” he said, striving for total honesty. “If they weren’t being fired upon, they probably did say something over him. If they were, they probably waited until they were in a more controlled environment. Did you ever get the chance to meet any of his buddies?”
“Not while he was alive. I met a few of them afterwards. Some were being rehabilitated at McGuire Veterans Administration Hospital in Richmond, Virginia. I drove all the way over there to talk with them.”
He gave her another slow nod. “I assume you went with questions. Did you get any answers?”
She lifted one thin shoulder. “Some, but I couldn’t bear to ask some of the questions I’d gone over there to ask. I realized those men had already lost enough, and I didn’t want to dredge it up for them again.”
“What did you discover, Meagan? What did you gain by making that trip, by meeting those men?”
“Well…I met one man who wished he could switch places with Christopher, because he’d lost his hand and couldn’t play the guitar anymore. He said it was his life, all he’d ever been able to master and it was a gift he’d inherited from the men in his family for the last five generations. And then I met another who’d lost both legs and said it gave him the perfect opportunity to build his upper body strength.”
She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “I’d thought that I wouldn’t have minded Chris coming back with no limbs, just as long as he came back alive. But seeing those men, talking to them and their families…” She released a long, drawn out sigh. “I realized that maybe Christopher wouldn’t have handled a disability so well. He’d hardly ever been sick, never had a broken bone or an injury, was an excellent athlete. His grandfather came back from WWII missing an arm and he took to drinking. His grandmother told me once that he had the strength of two men in that one arm, and she felt it every time he hit her, which was nearly every time he drank. Alcoholism ran rampant in his family and so did mean drunks. That’s why Chris never drank. He knew he had the genetic tendency.”
Mitch used the thumbs of both hands to massage the pad of her foot. “So, you think maybe if he’d survived with a disability maybe he’d have been a mean drunk, too?”
She shrugged. “I’m saying it’s a possibility. Maybe that’s why God took him when he did, and as suddenly as he did. Maybe this was the only way I could remember all the good in him, to tell his son what a good man he was. I’m just sayin’…maybe that was God’s reason all along and I’ve been wrong for being mad at him for almost five years.”
“I suppose it could be,” he whispered, bothered by the thought of a bitter, angry Chris coming home to become an abusive alcoholic. Somehow, he knew that if there were any way Chris could have chosen to die rather than become that kind of man, he would gladly have sacrificed himself. “Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way. Maybe God didn’t make that choice. Maybe Chris asked to be taken rather than to have it happen that way.”
Meagan sat up straight and stared at him. “I guess anything’s possible, but it’d be nice to know for sure, though.”
He grinned at her. “Did that psychic chick ever show up to check things out?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “She’s coming tomorrow. Or rather, today,” she added, glancing at the clock.
“Maybe she can get an answer for you.”
She nodded. “I hope she can get more than one.”
“You mind if I tag along?” The curious cock of her head had him explaining. “You know, when she comes over to do whatever it is she does, can I be here? Is that okay?”
“I don’t have a problem with you being here. I guess I’m just curious as to why you’d want to.”
He pondered his own reasoning. “I kind of feel as though I have the right to be here, since he’s already made his presence known to me…twice.”
She settled back against the arm of the sofa and yawned. “I’ll call you when she shows up, okay?”
“Thank you.” He began massaging both her feet and again, she groaned her appreciation. He worked his magic on her for five more minutes in complete silence before the sound of soft snoring reached him. He gazed at her softened features, saw the worry lines on her brow disappear, and her lips part in in her gentle state of slumber. He set her feet down and very gently, pulled himself up from the sofa. He covered her with a New Orleans Saints throw he found draped over the back of a chair, trying not to wake her. As soon as he tucked it in around her, her eyes opened.
“You going?’ she said, sounding drowsy and a little drunk, though he knew she wasn’t.
“Uh huh. You need to sleep now.”
She yawned and sat up. “I need to lock the door behind you.”
“I guess you do.” He walked to the door and turned to face her. “You’ve got my number. Promise me you’ll call if you need anything.”
She nodded sleepily. “I will.”
“And you’ll let me know when that woman gets here?”
“I will.”
He nodded, satisfied she was being truthful, and turned away from her. He reached for the door, stopped, and turned back. Without warning, he pulled her into his arms for a hug.
The two of them stood there for what seemed to him much longer than it actually was. Wordlessly, he held her, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back, his chin resting on her head. At first she resisted, her arms hung limply at her sides. She lifted them, eventually, and locked th
em around his waist.
As badly as he wanted to kiss her, he held himself back, sensing she needed a friend more than a lover right now. Anything else meant to happen between them could happen later. When there was no more ghost throwing pictures across rooms, literally.
He pulled away from her and planted a soft kiss at her temple. “Good night Meg, and please be careful.” He felt her nod under his lips.
“I will.” She waited until he’d stepped onto the tiny front stoop. “Hey Mitch?”
He turned to face her again. “Yeah?”
“Feel free to come over and massage my feet anytime.”
Her accompanying smile had him feeling good all over. Almost better than a kiss.
He turned and headed for his truck.
Almost.
CHAPTER 12
Empaths and Accidents
Unsure of what to expect, Meagan opened the door cautiously and peeked around the edge at eye level. Her gaze traveled up a good twelve inches to meet the other woman’s gaze.
The six-foot-if-she-was-an-inch tall woman with skin the color of cocoa powder stood looking down at her.
“Sweet Pea, were you expecting Tangina Barrons?” She cracked a huge grin, revealing straight teeth so white they seemed to glow in her dark face…all except for her two gold front teeth.
Meagan stepped backed and straightened as she opened the door. “Excuse me, but who?”
The woman put her hand out about waist level. “Tangina…you know, the little psychic lady from the Poltergeist movies?”
“Oh! No—no—I’ve never seen them.”
“Really? Ooh child, you ain’t lived till you’ve seen Poltergeist. The sequels are mediocre at best, but number one is phenomenal!” She adjusted the brightly colored turban on her head that gave her the appearance of even more height, then offered her large-boned hand. “Elvinia LaBeau and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, honey.”
Meagan gave the woman’s hand a tentative shake. “Meagan Hutton. Nice to meet you, too.”
After an uncomfortable moment, Elvinia cleared her throat. “Um, I’m not sure what you’ve been told about me but I’m not of much use at porch readings. Is there a possibility I could actually set foot inside the house?”
Meagan pulled the door open wide and waved at her guest to enter. “Oh…oh, God! I’m so sorry! Please come in, Ms. LaBeau. Honestly, I’m not normally this throwed-off but truth is, I just don’t know how to act. I’ve never done this kind of thing before.” She twisted the rings nervously on her fingers.
“Throwed-off?” Elvinia passed a skeptical eye over her. “You aren’t from around here, are you girl?”
Meagan felt the blush creep up from her neck to her ears. “No ma’am. I’m from northeast Texas. I’m trying to lose my accent, but when I’m nervous, it rears its ugly head.”
The larger woman patted her hand, reassuringly. “Don’t you dare! There ain’t nothing wrong with flying your own flag, just as long as it’s right next to the stars and stripes. We’re all Americans, aren’t we?”
Meagan lifted her chin, deciding the woman was right. “You’ve got a point, Ms. LaBeau, and thank you for that.”
“Please, child, call me Elvinia…and before you ask, my father’s name is Elvin and my mother was Virginia. I never could get them to admit to anything, but I strongly suspect they were high the day they named me.”
Meagan sent a smile in her direction. “I think it’s a lovely name, and quite unique.”
“Well, you’re a sweet one for saying so. I don’t know about lovely, but I’ll give you unique.” She looked around the tiny room and shook her head. “I don’t get any readings at all in this room. Take me to the room where you’ve had the occurrences.”
Meagan took a step and faltered. “What exactly has Niki told you about all this?”
“She said your little boy is seeing someone. That’s it, and to tell you the truth, it’s not all that unusual. Children don’t have preconceived perceptions of the spiritual world. They don’t show fear so they are approached more often.” She leaned in closer to Meagan. “Sometimes those imaginary friends aren’t imaginary at all.”
Meagan wiped at the chill bumps on her arms and nodded toward the hallway. “Down there.”
Head held high and straight-backed, Elvinia turned on her tall platform heels and headed down the hallway. She stopped two feet from the first door on the left and raised both hands in the air. She faced Meagan, as her right brow lifted curiously. “Oh my, my…” she whispered, pointing at Buck’s open doorway. “Bingo in the Anchor Room!”
Meagan shook her head. “I’m sorry, is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Elvinia’s deep chuckle resonated in the narrow space. “Not unless you spent your teenage years sneaking into the Lake Shore Club dances in Lake Erin, Louisiana as a teenager.”
“Oh…No ma’am,” she drawled in her all too prominent twang. “I haven’t been here long enough for that.”
Elvinia put back her head and laughed. “You don’t say!” Her laughter seemed to lodge in her throat as she stepped into the room’s portal. “Oh…Hello there.”
Meagan let her gaze take in every corner of the room. “Do you see something?”
“Nothing but residue, just yet, but its resilience leads me to believe what you’ve all been feeling is a strong presence. Major shifts in temperature, for instance. And…” she turned to face Meagan. “It’s not just the boy who feels him. You sense him too…the man…the soldier.” Her eyelids drifted heavily closed. “Such a profound sadness about this one. And anger…he’s angry at all he missed out on.”
“Is it my fiancé?”
“Was he in the military?”
Meagan didn’t know how long she stood there, shaking her head. “Marines.”
“He died overseas?”
“Yes, in Afghanistan.”
Elvinia walked over to the picture frame, lying face down on the dresser and picked it up to study it. “Did you place it face down?”
Meagan erupted in laughter, hinting at her state of near hysteria. “I don’t touch it anymore. Sometimes it’s face down, sometimes on its back, and sometimes the darn thing is throwing itself across the room.”
“Seriously?”
Meagan nodded, surprised the woman’s eyes could possibly look any larger than they already did. “It throws itself right up against that wall, right there.” She pointed at a spot on the opposite wall marked by scuffs and scratches.
Elvinia stared at the spot indicated then reached out for the photo. Before she could touch it, however, it scooted to the far end of the dresser. In seconds, the room temperature dropped from comfortable to downright chilly.
Meagan held her breath, waiting for her guest to run screaming from the room.
Instead, Elvinia spoke in a voice that suggested admiration, even a reverence, rather than fright. “Oh, he’s a sensitive one, isn’t he?”
Meagan’s jaw dropped. “You’re not scared?”
“Pfft…of what? A spoiled child?” She rolled her eyes. “He’s the one who’s scared and confused. But he’s not dangerous, although he may be a little annoying.”
“Is it Christopher?” Meagan was almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Is that your fiance’s name?”
“Yes, Christopher Buckley Martin.”
Elvinia reached slowly for the picture. “Christopher,” she whispered. “I mean you no harm. I’m only here to help Meagan understand what’s going on. We just want to help you.” She lifted the frame, still missing its glass, and flipped it to stare at the picture. She placed her hand over his face and closed her eyes. After several moments, her eyes flew open.
“What’s wrong, Elvinia?”
The black Amazonian-like woman stared down at Meagan, one single, fat tear trailing down her smooth, brown cheek. “He…he’s…it almost breaks my heart.”
Meagan gave her a slow nod. “Welcome to my world.”
****
> Mitch had already knocked several times before Meagan finally pulled the door open, looking slightly flustered and wide eyed.
“Is she here? Is that her car?” He pointed to the minivan parked in the drive.
“Yes, and I just want to warn you, she’s a little…”
“Unconventional?” he finished for her.
“She’s that too, but I was going to say tall. She’s a real tall lady and her skin’s the same color of my maw maw’s homemade brownies.” She opened the door wider. “She’s real nice. Come on in and meet her.”
Mitch followed her into Buck’s room and halted at the door, glad that Meagan had taken the time for a quick description. Even knowing what to expect didn’t quite remove the shock of coming face to face with the woman. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Mitchell Hebert.”
The instant he spoke his name, Christopher’s picture took a nosedive to the floor, as the temperature dropped another several degrees.
The three adults stood there staring at it, until Mitch reached down for the portrait of the man in his dress blues. He straightened, arranging it carefully on the surface of Buck’s dresser in an upright position.
The woman placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him slightly toward the door. “Let’s go out there and talk, shall we?”
Mitch placed a hand at Meagan’s lower back as he followed her into the living room. “How are you, Meagan?”
She ran her hands up and down her arms and nodded. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Mitchell?”
He turned to face the other woman. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m Elvinia LaBeau, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He shook the gentle hand she offered and smiled into chocolate eyes at the same height as his own. “You also, ma’am.”
She placed her left hand over the one she held and closed her eyes. “Mm…mm…another one filled with regrets…determined not to let someone he loves down.” She gave his hand a pat and winked at him. “Don’t you worry, man. Your sister’s gonna be just fine. She’s right where she’s supposed to be with a man who cherishes her.”
