The Plane and the Parade (Veronica Barry Book 3)

by Sophia Martin

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yes? Well, I can do without. And you?”

  “I’m fine, too.”

  “Très bien,” he said with a grin. “Shall we go buy a car?”

  “I suppose so.”

  ~~~

  Unexpectedly, Veronica began having fun. First, they test drove a red Mustang convertible Eric liked at a dealership on 47th Avenue. The car salesman was only too happy to put the top down and they whizzed over the streets and across a bridge over the river, then back around to return to the dealership again. Eric turned on the radio and found an oldies station. Turning to Veronica, he said, “It is the music you like, is it not?”

  “I’m surprised you remember!” she answered. She liked all sorts of music, but it was true that when she spent her year in Paris, she had been especially into 50s and 60s hits.

  As they drove, Veronica leaned into the soft leather of her seat, the wind whipping her hair around her face. She needed a scarf and a pair of sunglasses—very Marilyn.

  “It’s nice, don’t you think?” Eric asked, leaning in close to her ear.

  When the salesman chose that moment to lean forward from the back seat to prattle about the various features of the Mustang, Veronica couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved. She tuned him out and gazed off to the side at the passing trees and buildings. This was probably only the second or third time in her life she had even ridden in a convertible. She found she liked it very much.

  Next, they moved on to another dealership on North 16th. The test drive was just as fun, especially when Eric interrupted the salesman to sing along loudly to the radio, which was playing the Beatles’ “She Loves Me.” Veronica joined in, and they continued singing to each of the following songs, although Eric didn’t always know the words. He happily sang facsimiles of them in a garbled nonsense language that made Veronica laugh.

  “It is what it sounds like to me,” he told her.

  Continuing on to a third dealership on Howe, Eric assured her that it would be their last stop.

  “We will see which one offers the best price, okay?” he said.

  Veronica nodded and followed him among the cars. He selected a blue Mustang and they took another drive, although this time Eric allowed the saleswoman to make her pitch, and Veronica turned her attention again to the sights. They drove onto the freeway and Eric gunned the engine, something that ordinarily would have made her anxious. Somehow, this time it didn’t.

  She felt free. It was delightful to ride in a convertible, the wind in her hair, smiling and laughing, with no one wondering what vision she might have. Lately, she was too often trying to see the last experiences of the dead. Or in Sarah Berkovich’s case, the last experience before a debilitating injury, in which she witnessed a murder. The plane crash dream, the parade dream—so much killing and dying and suffering. If only she could put an end to all of it—or at least to seeing it.

  But of course for years she had suppressed her visions fairly successfully, and in the end she couldn’t sustain it. They were a part of her.

  Not today, she thought with glee. Today I’m not a psychic. Today I’m just free.

  ~~~

  Eric settled on the blue Mustang and they went their separate ways. As soon as she got home, Veronica called Melanie and filled her in.

  “It was so awesome,” Veronica told her friend as she slumped into the pillows of her couch. “I haven’t felt so—I don’t know, giddy?—in so long.”

  “It does sound like fun. It sounds like riding in convertibles did for you what that yoga class did for me.”

  “Really, Mel? You’re still glad you went?”

  “Glad? I’m buying a membership to that place.”

  “Oh my gosh, Mel, I almost forgot. Did you have your appointment? How was Chris?”

  “I had my appointment,” Melanie confirmed, “and Chris was great.” Veronica could hear the happiness in Melanie’s voice.

  “That’s great! What did the doctor say?”

  “Well, I have a due date.”

  “Ooh! What is it?”

  “February 26.”

  “Wow! That’s so cool. It makes it so much more real.”

  “I know! I’m nine weeks in. The doctor tried to find the heartbeat but she couldn’t, but she said that’s pretty typical because it’s still early. I would be more worried, you know, but I thought of your vision. I was pretty far along, right?”

  “Yes, you were,” Veronica said. Binky hopped up next to her on the couch, and Veronica ran her hand over his back. Binky arched with pleasure. “But Mellie, speaking of my vision, when you are farther along, like maybe in your second trimester, you have to talk to your doctor about keeping a close eye on you. In my vision you were probably about seven or eight months pregnant and you were going into preterm labor.”

  Melanie groaned. “Okay, I will tell her in a few months. I don’t even want to think about that right now, though.”

  “Well, it’s like you said: you don’t really have to worry now, right? That’s a good thing. And I believe I only get visions of the future when the spirits are warning me about something, which implies we can change how things go.” Binky pranced back and forth on the couch cushions, purring loudly as Veronica stroked him.

  “Yeah,” Melanie said.

  “Anyway, tell me about Chris. He showed up on time?”

  “He was early. He was really sweet, he brought me a bouquet of day lilies because I guess they are supposed to influence having a boy.”

  “He wants a boy?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Melanie said with a laugh. “He started talking about teaching our son how to throw and catch. He must have talked about little league for at least a half an hour.”

  “He knows a lot about little league?”

  “He looked up the local teams on the internet, V.”

  “Oh Mellie, that does sound like a good sign!”

  “I know!” Melanie agreed. “But what if it’s a girl?”

  “He can teach her to catch and throw and the rest of it, and I bet they let little girls play in little league too.” Veronica scratched Binky’s ear, and the Birman flopped onto his side with a snort of ecstasy.

  “I bet he’ll still be disappointed,” Melanie said.

  “Please. By the time she’s old enough to learn baseball he’ll already be in love with her,” Veronica said, moving the scratching to under Binky’s chin.

  “Yeah?” Melanie said. “Yeah. Yeah, I bet you’re right.”

  “If she’s half as cute as Angie was, I guarantee it.”

  Melanie laughed—her voice sounded so much lighter than it had in the last few weeks.

  “Hey, have you told Angie?” Veronica asked.

  “Yes,” Melanie said, and some of the lightness vanished.

  “Uh-oh. Sounds like that didn’t go so well?”

  “Well, she’s a little pissed at you…”

  “At me?”

  “V, you thought your vision was about her, remember? Turns out you scared her and that got her to tell you about Joe Chapela.”

  “Okay, so besides wanting to kill me, how did she take the news?”

  “I think it weirds her out,” Melanie said. “It’s not like something like this was on my radar, much less hers. All of a sudden her single mom is preggo? I don’t think she knows what to do with it.”

  In an excess of pleasure, Binky grabbed Veronica’s wrist in his claws, gave her hand a nip, and tore off like a hurricane, knocking the remote control and a mug off the coffee table as he went. Veronica sighed and picked up the unbroken mug and the remote.

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll get used to the idea sooner or later,” she said to Melanie.

  “She has about seven months to do it.”

  “I’m sure it’ll happen before the baby’s born.”

  Melanie sighed. “Alright then, Miss V. I’m going to have a sandwich and go to bed. I’m just wiped these days. The doctor said that’s normal for the first trimester. It’s ama
zing how much you forget in fifteen years. I have no memory of being so tired when I was expecting Angie—I mean, at the end, sure, you’re like, lugging around a bowling ball all the time. But in the beginning? I just don’t recall.”

  “Well, have a nice sandwich and sleep well.”

  “Hey, did you know pregnant woman are supposed to avoid cold cuts? The diet is draconian.”

  “That does sound tough.”

  “PB and J, baby. How about you, did you eat?” Melanie asked, ever the mother.

  “Not yet, but I’m pretty tired, too. I think it’s going to be an early night.

  “No bad dreams lately?”

  “Nothing that has anything to do with Angie or you,” Veronica said, toying with a strand of hair.

  “Ah-ha. Which implies you have had bad dreams about some other things.”

  “A couple,” Veronica admitted. “Daniel even came over last night.”

  “He did? Oh, I’m glad you guys made up.”

  “Hm.”

  “‘Hm’? What does that mean, ‘Hm’?”

  “It means that I’d already accepted Eric’s lunch invitation and this morning when I told Daniel he got pissed off again and left.”

  “Oh. Bummer.”

  “Yep. Bummer.”

  “I’m sorry, V. But I have to wonder… I mean, it sounds like you did have an awfully good time with Eric today.”

  Veronica wrapped the lock of hair tightly around her forefinger. “I did.”

  “So I’m guessing things aren’t really all that much clearer for you, then?”

  Releasing the hair in frustration, Veronica collapsed back in the pillows again. “You guess right.”

  “You know what you need?” Melanie asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “You need another yoga class to help you relax and clear your head.”

  “Oh, do I?”

  “Yep. I’ve been thinking about going to another one before next Monday. How about I find us one, and this time I treat?”

  Veronica closed her eyes. Well, what could it hurt? “Sure. Sounds great, Mel.”

  “I’ll get you the details once I have them.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Okay. Take care, sweetie. We’ll chat some more tomorrow, right?”

  “Absolutely,” Veronica said, and they ended the call.

  Sitting on the couch, looking around her tiny home, she allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to be married to Eric. Trips to Paris—perhaps one day living in Paris—vacations in Corsica, driving Mustang convertibles, never dodging another bill collector’s call… what sort of place would he find to rent in Sacramento? Perhaps he’d choose a whole Victorian just to himself. Or some fashionable apartment in one of the downtown sky rises. Veronica sighed and closed her eyes. What a different sort of life it would be, to be the rich wife of Eric Huette.

  Chapter 12

  Clouds, white, amid a sky of blue—a medium shade of blue that was still somehow deep. Then Veronica was sitting in an airplane seat. The plastic cup of whiskey on ice rattled lightly on her tray.

  Oh hell no, she thought.

  Smoke hung in the air on the other side of the cabin. The flight attendants argued, the rattling increased, the seatbelt light went on, and the woman next to her grunted.

  Oh HELL no, Veronica thought. Hey! You spirits out there! Stop this right now!

  “I hate turbulence,” said the woman beside her.

  I do NOT need to go through this again. You’re not giving me any new information I can use. STOP THIS RIGHT NOW.

  The plane lurched and several passengers cried out.

  Do you hear me? I’m not going through this again! What is this? Is putting me through this funny to you?

  The flight attendants split up, the man heading towards the front of the plane.

  “Fire!” the passenger on the other side cried, and the brunette flight attendant went to deal with him before she and the other remaining attendant disappeared in the back.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence…”

  No. No. NO. I want out. I want out RIGHT NOW. I will NOT do this again.

  As smoke thickened and the plane began its absurd, horrid jerking up and down, Veronica clawed at her seatbelt, unfastening it with a wrenching motion that hurt her hand. She grabbed the cup of whiskey and threw it down the aisle. Putting up the tray table, she stood, clinging to the seat in front of her and the back of her own seat. No one reacted to her actions.

  I’m getting out. I’m getting out NOW.

  Stalking up the aisle, a sense of unreality rolled over her, and she made her way to the emergency door by the side of the front row in the cabin. No one looked at her as she passed—they were reacting to the increasingly violent movements of the plane, which, she realized, she could no longer feel. The video flickered on and then off again. In moments, the plane would start its dive, she knew.

  The male flight attendant, all the way up the aisle, started back down towards her, and Veronica blinked at him several times. His face was shifting in an eerie way that made her freeze in her tracks.

  They can’t make me stay, she thought, but she was afraid to move. The terror of experiencing the crash again warred with her fear of the flight attendant. Then his face resolved, and Veronica sucked in her breath as he gave her a kind smile. It was her father. He closed the distance between them, then grabbed the handle on the emergency door, yanking it. The door opened to bright light. Veronica stood still, gazing at him, wishing with every particle of her being that she could put her arms around him, embrace him so tightly she never had to let him go. But he just nodded at her and inclined his head towards the door. Veronica stepped through.

  ~~~

  Her eyes opened, and she was in her bed, her top sheet tangled around her legs.

  Taking a hold of it, she pulled and tugged until she was free of it. No cats were with her on the bed and she made no attempt to be subtle in her movements. She wanted to be free.

  At last the sheet came loose and she threw it to the other side of the bed. Standing up, she walked to the air conditioner and turned it off. The drone was far too similar to the sound of the inside of an airplane.

  “Daddy,” she murmured, pressing her hands to her eyes and trying to breathe normally. The panic of the nightmare still coursed through her, and her shock and longing from encountering her father at the end of it just complicated things. Why had he appeared to her? To let her escape the dream? That damned nightmare.

  “Daddy. Did you send me that dream? Why?” she said to the air.

  No one responded, as if they weren’t all there. As if there weren’t spirits—her father, her mother, and all of the others—following her around and sending her visions and dreams all the time. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t there!” Veronica snapped. “I know you’re there. I know you sent me that dream! Why? Eric is here. He’s fine. Is this a vision of his trip back? Why not show me something useful? Why not show me the airline? The flight number? I do not need to experience that plane crash again, okay?”

  Her breath was coming faster as she clenched her fists at her sides and started pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor.

  “It was bad enough the first time! I don’t need to know the horrible details of the moments before this plane goes down! I need to know what plane it is so I can stop it!”

  Veronica stopped her pacing short as a shimmer appeared in the air between her and the bedroom door. Her father again? But it had the faintest red sheen to it—she knew who it was. The old man from the ATM—a spirit she had helped months ago who joined the retinue that followed her. He seemed more fond of materializing and talking to her than the rest.

  It is necessary, he said.

  Veronica wiped her hands on her stomach, the fabric of the tee-shirt she’d worn to bed absorbing the sweat on them. The room was already warming up fro
m her shutting off the AC, but even without that, her emotions were so high that perspiration formed on her forehead, chest, and in her hands.

  “What was necessary? Scaring me half to death? Showing me these poor people suffering?”

  Yes.

  “Why?”

  For your decision.

  “My decision? What decision?”

  The figure was already dissipating.

  “Hey! Hey! Don’t you go anywhere! What decision?”

  You will see.

  Veronica stepped forward, reaching for the last shimmers of the ghost, as if she could grab him and keep him there. But he was gone.

  With a groan of fury, Veronica struck out at the air where he had been. Then she dropped onto the bed, burying her hands in her hair.

  Well, she knew a few new things, at least.

  One, she was able to opt out of a dream if she really wanted to—it seemed, at least, that her father would intervene and help her, if it came down to it. However, she’d yanked herself out of the dream’s narrative even before he’d shown up.

  That was very good to know, and considering the visions she’d had to deal with months before with the fire, she figured this was a new skill she’d developed. No way would she have endured those visions if she could have stopped them. Of course, the situation was different. This was a dream of the future that the spirits were sending her. The Carvers kept sending her the fire visions—visions based on a past event that had really happened—because they were enraged over their murders. Maybe the Carvers’ spirits had overpowered her father, whereas with the airplane nightmare no angry spirits were forcing their visions. Instead, they seemed to think she needed to experience the plane crash for other reasons.

  Which brought her to the second thing she’d learned.

  There was some sort of decision in her future, involving the plane. And the spirits wanted her to understand the suffering of the passengers so she would make the right choice.