Forgotten Spirits

by Barbara Deese

  The server, a dark-haired beauty, came by to see if he was still waiting for his friend. The question annoyed him more than it should have. He told her to bring some Brie cheese curds, Foxy’s favorite item on the menu, while he waited. She’d introduced him to some interesting dishes since they’d been going out, and he had to admit he’d actually developed a taste for some of them.

  He gulped down coffee, and went back over their earlier conversation. The death of her friend had been a blow to her. She was shaken and grieving, and he’d held her in his arms as she cried. But then it went wrong, and he couldn’t figure out what he’d done to offend her. After she stopped crying, he’d asked if she’d like him to spend the night with her so she wouldn’t be alone. “Alone is what I do best,” she’d said with a sad smile. He’d insisted she didn’t have to be alone, that he loved being with her—what the hell was wrong with that? But she said she’d rather sort through her feelings on her own, and then she’d sent him packing.

  It took him a day to get over it. Her way of coping with grief and loss had nothing to do with him, at least that’s what he’d told himself before he’d called her this morning. Running their morning conversation over in his mind, he didn’t believe she needed to check her schedule. She was hiding something, he’d bet on it.

  He slammed a hand on the table when he realized he was examining her every word and inflection as if it were evidence in a crime. That trait might serve him well in law enforcement, but it could be toxic to a relationship.

  Remembering past relationship failures, he let insecurity seep in and suddenly he felt like a damn fool sitting there by himself. He was well aware Foxy was a catch. She was beautiful, smart, and she even loved dogs, so what on God’s green earth did she see in him?

  The cheese curds had vanished by the time a different server passed him with a loaded tray of food destined for another table, food he’d given up in an attempt to lose weight. The enticing smells made his stomach growl. With longing eyes, he watched each plate as it was set before the five diners.

  Checking the time obsessively, he waited until she was thirty-five minutes overdue before calling her. When he was prompted to leave a message, he pushed the button to end the call. Concern rippled around the edges of his mind. He didn’t know whether to hope she’d been in a minor traffic accident or had forgotten their date. After a few more minutes, he signaled his waitress over and ordered the huge Reuben sandwich he’d smelled as it went past a few minutes ago. And, since he wasn’t on duty today, he figured he might as well order a beer too.

  * * *

  Vinnie, still looking sheepish, followed along behind Foxy. Once inside her apartment they both stood inside the door, awkward and unsure what to do next. Elvis slunk up to sniff Vinnie’s pant leg. The black cat retreated several inches and then took a couple wary steps toward him.

  Tears shone in Vinnie’s eyes as he stretched out his hand. “Elvis? The King’s still alive?”

  She nodded, feeling a lump in her throat.

  Skittish, but curious, the cat sniffed his outstretched hand. Finally he allowed Vinnie to stroke his tail, but he dashed off and hid under the loveseat the second Vinnie bent to pick him up.

  In that moment, the tectonic plates shifted again and the past and present became one.

  Unsteady, Foxy went into the kitchen, refilled the teakettle and set it on the stove. Pulling a paper towel off the roll she began wiping water spots in the sink, stalling for time to pull herself together. Vinnie’s behavior in breaking into her house was bizarre, to say the least. There was, however, one circumstance that might lessen the rashness of that act. When she’d last been with him, he’d been erratic, easily enraged and frequently depressed. Later, when she was studying ­massage, she’d learned he may have been suffering the aftereffects of a brain injury from his brutal beating. It all comes back to that moment, she thought. Still.

  Following her into the kitchen, Vinnie said, “I wanted to call you, but last time I did, you said not to bother calling again.”

  “There was a reason for that, Vinnie. You made some pretty crappy comments about my being a massage therapist, if you’ll ­remember.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Foxy. It was a joke. We all used to laugh about the ads in Vegas, like they weren’t fooling anyone about what they really did. You laughed too, remember? ‘Petite, cute massage therapist. Hot, deep, sensual, the ultimate treat.’”

  “Yeah, I get it. You thought I’d turned to prostitution.”

  “I never thought that, Foxy, I swear. I was just givin’ you a hard time.”

  She planted a hand on the counter. “Right. By asking me what I charged for a happy ending? Not funny, Vin.”

  “Jeez, you’re still bent out of shape about that?”

  “No, I just didn’t need the aggravation. I kept asking you to knock it off, but you just kept going. I’ve always hated that.”

  He dropped his head. “Yeah, I guess I do that.”

  “Let me ask you, Vinnie. Did you ever think about leaving me a message before coming?”

  He shook his head and ran a hand through hair. “I didn’t want to.” His stubble was salt and pepper and didn’t look intentional, more like he’d forgotten to shave. As long as she’d known him, he’d been fussy about his appearance, and she hoped that hadn’t changed.

  She prodded him to explain why he hadn’t left her a message.

  “See, I’d already decided to drive up here, so I—”

  She whipped her head around. “Drive up? From where? I don’t even know where you’re living these days.”

  He looked surprised. “I moved to Kansas City a while back. ­Didn’t Tina tell you?”

  Now it was Foxy’s turn to be surprised. Why had Tina kept that from her, and what else was she holding back? “What are you doing in Kansas City?”

  “Are you serious? I’m not allowed to move without consulting you first?” He crossed his arms. His expression wasn’t belligerent. In fact, he seemed to be amused. “I’m a licensed social worker now. I work mostly with people with addictions. A lot of my clients have gambling addictions, as a matter of fact.”

  That was the last thing she expected to hear from him. “Wow!” Why hadn’t she anticipated him growing up? So, Vinnie really quit gambling, she thought with a pang. And then the resentment set in. Too little, too late. How different their lives would have been if he’d given it up the first time she told him he had a problem!

  “Do you mind if I sit?” he asked, heaving himself onto a barstool.

  Standing on the other side of the pass-through counter, she asked more questions, and nothing in Vinnie’s manner seemed evasive as he tried to fill in the gaps. He’d left Kansas City on Friday morning and had driven straight to her house, he explained. He’d arrived, apparently, when she and Cate were out walking their dogs. As any normal person would do, he went to the front door and rang the bell, knowing he had the right apartment because a label with her name—her maiden name, he pointed out to her—was tacked below the doorbell inside the porch.

  He said, “I stood there in your porch, trying to figure out what to do. People were walking and driving past, and I felt conspicuous standing there—well, cold too. I sat in my car for a while, but I was running low on gas, so I drove around looking for a gas station. After I filled the tank and stopped for something to eat, I drove up and saw a light was on upstairs. I figured it was your apartment.” He looked out the front window. “And it looks like I was right.”

  She came and pulled up a barstool next to his, crossing her arms, still challenging him to explain himself. His story squared with her movements two days ago. So far, so good.

  “I had to park down a ways and walk back. It was like a skating rink out there.”

  Foxy leaned over to see his feet and started to laugh. “Alligator shoes? Not real good on the ice and snow, Vi
n.”

  His grin was the one she remembered, self-deprecating, sweet. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

  “I was down there a few houses,” he said, gesturing with his thumb, “and then he drives up—the sheriff. I watch to see where he was going, and guess what? He goes up to your place and lets himself in.” He put his elbow on the counter and propped his head on his fist, trying to look nonchalant. “You know people can see into your apartment when you get near the window? Well, they can see shapes, anyway.”

  Foxy felt herself flush. And then she pictured the figure standing on the street looking up at her window. That had been three days before Vinnie claimed he’d arrived in St. Paul.

  “So, you and the sheriff, are you . . . an item?”

  She met his eyes. “Vinnie, when did you really get here?”

  “Night before last,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Tina told me about your boyfriend. She said he’s a nice guy.”

  “He is.” Foxy blinked. Emotions threatened to bury her. She felt betrayed that neither Tina nor Vinnie had bothered to mention they’d been talking about her, as if they were residents of a world she no longer inhabited. She’d closed the door on that life when it had become too hazardous, and now the ugliness was seeping into her life again. And try as she might, she couldn’t tell if she and Vinnie were both in danger, or if he was the danger.

  Not to mention her astonishment that she was sitting here talking to her former husband, which led to a whole mess of other feelings. Vinnie was still tall and slender, but he’d gotten a little gray at the temples and his jawline and chin had softened with age. In his piercing dark eyes, now lined with small wrinkles, she could still see the man who used to make her weak-kneed with longing.

  It was as if more than one Vinnie now coexisted in his body, like Russian nesting dolls. She could see the young boy whose parents had left him to fend for himself way too often while they ran a successful furrier business. His expression was both tough and little-boy-scared.

  She saw, too, the old man he was becoming, a little stooped in the shoulders, a little more deliberate in his movements, with arthritis and a gimpy leg. His hands were chapped and wrinkled. But despite the signs of age, he now had a vibrancy he hadn’t exhibited in the last years when his addiction had really taken hold.

  For a heartbeat, she pictured hugging him. Her mouth remembered the feel of his mouth, and her insides tightened with other memories. But then she remembered how he’d sworn off gambling more than once. She was reminded of the conviction she’d formed years ago, that if she ever were to let him back into her life again, she would spend the rest of her years waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it came to Vinnie and dropping shoes, it was like dealing with a damned centipede!

  She got up, popped some bread in the toaster and searched through her basket of teabags until she found the Lemon Zinger he used to favor. He followed her, hovering nearby. He was close enough she could smell booze and stale smoke on his breath. When he coughed into his closed fist Foxy wondered again if he was unwell.

  He sat at the counter to eat his toast, slathered with butter and sprinkled with cinnamon sugar, just the way she used to make it for him. Even after two cups of tea, he shivered now and again. Sitting next to him, Foxy clasped her hands in front of her, surprised how quickly they’d settled into familiarity.

  He kept his eyes straight ahead when he said, “God, Foxy, how did it come to this—me sneaking around, afraid to talk to you, afraid you’d shut me down? We used to be so good together.” He started to shiver again.

  “You know what happened. Why don’t you take a shower while I make you a real lunch. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  His eyes teared up again. “Thank you.”

  The sound of running water triggered memories she’d long ago banished, of Vinnie shampooing her hair in the shower. He always started with his thumbs circling her temples and his fingertips caressing the top of her head.

  Harley! Her eyes flew open. She’d forgotten all about meeting Bill Harley for lunch! Again she had the sensation of two worlds, kept separate for so long, and suddenly sharing the same space and time. The minute Vinnie had walked through her door, she’d fallen into that alternate life where her plans with Bill didn’t exist. Swearing to herself, she grabbed the phone and saw his text message.

  She called him immediately. “I’m so sorry! Something came up. Somebody stopped by, and I completely forgot.”

  Offering no words of absolution, Bill Harley let her babble on, which was how she knew he was pissed. Or hurt—yes, probably more hurt than angry. And he had every right to be.

  “I suppose I could drive to your place and drop off the venison, like I offered earlier.” His voice was cheerless.

  She hesitated. “Uh, no, that won’t work. Maybe . . .” She was trying to figure out how she was going to end the sentence when the bathroom door opened and Vinnie, clad only in a towel, stood in the hallway, bellowing, “God, that felt good!”

  Foxy muffled the phone against her chest, hoping she’d stifled the words in time. She held her finger to her lips to let Vinnie know to keep quiet. “It’s complicated,” she said feebly into the phone, once more apologizing to Bill for forgetting their lunch.

  His response was decidedly frosty. Neither of them suggested rescheduling their date.

  Chapter 10

  While Vinnie dressed again in the clothes he’d been wearing, Foxy scrounged in the refrigerator for something to eat, coming up with leftover lasagna and a green salad.

  Sitting at the kitchen table together, he tried to explain to her how he’d come to be in the unoccupied apartment across the hall from hers. “Something happened, and I wanted to tell you in person. See, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, and—”

  “When you say something happened, are you talking about Sierra?”

  “You heard?”

  “Sierra’s dad called.” As soon as she mentioned him, her eyes flicked over to the box Mr. Brady had dropped off last night, now sitting in the corner of her living room. From the moment Mr. Brady called, Foxy had the sensation she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. The box in the corner was just one more surreal element. Of all the things Sierra might have left her, for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she’d want Foxy to have a case of wine.

  “He called you?”

  Foxy’s anger blazed suddenly. “How did you know about Sierra before I did? I get the impression you’re all talking to each other and leaving me in the dark.”

  He hung his head. “When Sierra’s boy found her, the police called his grandparents, Sierra’s mom and dad, to find out who the father was. The family expected Wylie to step up and raise his own son, but Beau is almost grown up and—”

  “So Wylie called you?”

  “Right. I guess it was Thursday, and he thought it was a bad idea to tell you. Because of your boyfriend, you know. He’s convinced that business back in Vegas is going to bite us all in the ass because you’re hanging out with that guy. ” He spread his hands out. “But all I could think was how much I wanted to talk to you.”

  Foxy pressed her lips together, and then, before he could say anything else, she ordered him to eat before his food got cold.

  He picked up his fork and ate.

  “I don’t get this nonsense about my dating Bill. What’s he got to do with anything?”

  Vinnie’s mouth was full. When he could answer, he said, “Fine, blame me for being paranoid. For all I know, your boyfriend, the sheriff, is a standup guy, but let me ask you this. Did you tell him about the money we took?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “Did you mention Al and Sierra were murdered?”

  “We don’t know that.” With a slight shake of the head, she looked away. “But that’s what I’ve been thinking too.”

  �
�I think you didn’t tell your boyfriend because you don’t trust him.”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “Maybe not, but your actions say it all.”

  The phone rang.

  It was Bill again, calling to apologize for hanging up too quickly. “I know you’re going through a rough time,” Bill Harley said. “Wanna talk?”

  While she thought of an answer, Foxy shut her eyes, but the image she had of Bill’s face, hurt but still hopeful, made her sick to her stomach. “I know I screwed up, Bill. I’m truly sorry, and I want it to be right between us, but the thing is, I’m on my way out right now. I’d love to talk, but can we—?”

  “Are you okay?” His voice was suddenly concerned.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You said you’re going out?”

  She knew he wanted to know where, but there was no way she could explain any of this to him over the phone.

  “I’d rather you didn’t. The roads aren’t good,” Bill said.

  She was stuck between being touched by his concern and feeling smothered. The man hadn’t been worried about her driving when he’d asked her to meet him in Hudson, had he? In the dead air that hung between them, Vinnie clear his throat loudly. She didn’t muffle the phone in time.

  Suddenly Bill’s tone changed as he apologized for bothering her. “Be safe,” he said. and hung up.

  She planted her hands on the counter and took two deep breaths before walking back into the living room. Sinking down across from Vinnie, she asked him, “Did you do that on purpose?”