by Linda Barlow
He was silent. At last he said, "I hear you. I’ll need to think about that. I’m honestly not sure how far my horizons can stretch."
"I’m not asking you to accept psychic phenomena or spiritualism or ghosts or mediums. But I wish you could look beyond those things and see my mom for the warm, sweet lady that she really is. Maybe she’s crazy in some sense; I don’t know. But I do know that she loves me and that she would never deliberately hurt or deceive me. If you could bring yourself to accept that, it would really help a lot."
"I guess I can try," he said, sounding a lot less confident than he had sounded a few minutes ago.
"That’s all I’m asking," she said, knowing, even as she said it, that she was asking a lot.
After his call with Kate ended, Daniel remained lost in thought for a long time. Finally, sighing heavily, he flipped open the cover of his laptop and clicked the folder entitled "Iris Carter." He had refused to let himself think about Kate’s mother ever since the night of the séance when she’d conjured Arthur’s "ghost." Now, it seemed, he was going to have to figure out a way to deal with her. A freakin' medium. Of all the possible women in the world, he had somehow had the incredibly bad luck of falling for Kate, a medium’s daughter. The gods must be laughing.
Chapter 22
It sure looks like the archetypal haunted house, was Daniel's wry assessment the first time he mounted the front porch of Iris Carter's Victorian home in Cambridge. Although the building appeared to be freshly painted and well maintained, its odd little cupolas and turrets, with narrow windows and wispy curtains conveyed a spooky air that would be even more dramatic at night.
He didn't want to be here. His interest in interviewing Iris Carter had vanished after the night of the séance. If it hadn't been for his desire to find a way back to Kate, he would have been happy never to encounter the old scam artist again.
He hadn't called to tell her he would be stopping by. She might have refused to see him. It would be safer just to show up. He rang the doorbell, but didn't hear anything echoing inside, so he rapped sharply on the front door. About a minute went by with no response. He was about to knock again when the door began slowly to open. She took her time about it. The big door actually creaked.
"So," said the petite woman who stood gazing owlishly at him on the threshold, "Kate's Daniel, isn't it? What a surprise. I had no idea you were coming today. Or—" the expression on her face altered, and she looked frightened. "Has something happened to my daughter? Please don't tell me you're here with bad news."
For a moment, he was confused, then it struck him that when Kate had been in that accident with Arthur, her mother must have received notification about the tragedy from someone—probably the police. She must have grieved over losing her son-in-law, but even worse, she must have feared that her daughter would die, too. He had never thought about the accident from the point of view of Kate's mom before. But he was old enough to have several friends who were married with kids, so he knew that there was nothing worse for a parent than the fear that their children might die before them.
So instead of beginning his conversation with Iris on a confrontational note, he found himself taking her arm to support her as he assured her that her daughter was fine. Which just went to show, he thought, as he accompanied Kate's mother through the front hall and into the "parlor," as she called the living room, that she couldn't be all that psychic. Nothing terrible had happened to Kate. Unless…for an irrational moment anxiety swept through him. What if something had happened to her?
Angry with himself, he shook off the fear. Kate was fine. He had exchanged texts with her just a few hours ago. Although he hadn't seen her yet, they had been communicating.
"So, Daniel," said the old witch, sounding much more composed now that she was seated comfortably on a chintz sofa that looked as though it had been designed during the reign of Queen Victoria, "How can I help you?"
Although he had prepared a little speech for this occasion, it had flown right out of his head. All he could see was this sweet-looking old lady putting on her preposterous show on the night of Graham's party, committing her heartless fraud with her own daughter as the object. Anger flared in him again, and for a few seconds he couldn't say a thing.
"You look annoyed," she noted.
"It doesn’t take psychic ability to see that."
"Indeed it doesn’t. You don't like me. That has been plain since the moment we met. Do you always judge people before getting to know them?"
"I don't like liars and frauds. I despise people who deceive others and take advantage of their grief. And I particularly hate people who play nasty games with their own children."
"Then you and I have something in common. I don't like such people any more than you do," she said calmly.
He nearly got up and left right then. The woman was in denial. She was probably going to claim that she didn't remember what had happened during that fraudulent séance. That was common—the medium pretended to have no conscious connection with the "entity" she channeled. Their bodies were possessed by some spirit from the Great Beyond, so how could they be held responsible for anything the "entity" said or did?
Such incredible bullshit! It still amazed him that there were people who actually bought into this sort of scam.
But he couldn't walk out. Not yet. What would he say to Kate if he couldn't come to some sort of understanding with her mother? He was supposed to be widening his horizons, dammit.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Iris Carter asked.
What I'd really like is a slug of whiskey, he thought.
"Or perhaps something stronger?" she added with a slight smile.
"No. I'm only here because Kate says that my not being able to tolerate you is a deal-breaker for her. Plus, one of her college friends insisted that I was wrong about you."
A line formed in the middle of her forehead. It looked just like the tiny line that appeared in the same spot when Kate was worried. For some reason, this touched him. He wanted to see Kate's lively face again, with her all playful and passionate emotions darting across her features. He yearned to stroke her luxuriant hair and kiss her soft, sweet lips.
"Kate shouldn't be thinking about me right now," said Iris. "It's you she needs, not me."
This surprised him. He had thought that the séance had been Iris Carter's way of getting rid of him.
"She has been grieving for Arthur for far too long. He was a lovely man, and it's sad that he passed so young, but I had never expected her to marry him. I thought, in fact, when she met those college friends of hers–Stephen, in particular–that she would fall in love with him and leave Arthur behind. Or, if not Stephen, Jeff, who has, I imagine, always been a little in love with her. Either of them would have been a better match for her than Arthur, sweet though that boy was."
Whoa. Daniel's possessive streak was aroused. Silkwood had said something about going through a break-up, which meant he was available. He had no idea about broken-legged Jeff, but women had fallen for invalids before. "What about Max, is he in the running too?"
Iris looked puzzled. "Who is Max?"
"Good question. No one seems to know. Tell me, do you chat with vampires as well as ghosts?"
Kate's mother blinked at him from behind her small wire-rimmed glasses. "Don't be silly. There are no such things as vampires."
Daniel laughed. "Well, that's a relief."
"At least," she added, tilting her head to one side as if considering, "I haven't met any. Perhaps they simply aren't attracted to me in the same way that spirits are."
He rolled his eyes.
Iris rose to her feet. "I'm still not sure why you're here, young man, but it's 4 pm, which is time for my afternoon tea. Please excuse me for a few minutes while I prepare it. You're most welcome to take a cup with me, or something else if you prefer. Are you hungry? I have some delicious shortbread tea biscuits."
A little bemused, he followed her through the front hall and dining room to the kitch
en at the back of the house. It was a large room, and the late afternoon sun was pouring in the tall double-paned windows. The kitchen had probably been renovated once or twice, but it still seemed old-fashioned, with an aged refrigerator and a somewhat battered gas stove. Everything seemed in working order, though.
He noted that the refrigerator door was decorated with cuttings, clippings, and photographs. Moving closer, he realized they were all pictures of Kate, and that she was a child in many of them, with a huge smile and laughing eyes. Enchanted, he looked from picture to picture–Kate on her first day of kindergarten, Kate graduating from sixth grade, Kate in leotards in a ballet recital, Kate twirling in a short skater's skirt on an ice rink, Kate in costume performing on stage, Kate lolling in the grass with her arms around three boys who looked like those friends of hers from college. There were also a couple of professional glamour shots and one very sexy photo from lingerie commercial.
What he did not see was a single picture of Kate with her dead husband.
Iris noticed him examining the photos, but made no comment. He asked awkwardly if he could help her with the tea, but she waved him to sit down at the kitchen table while she put the kettle on. She opened one of the cupboards and removed a teacup for herself and a couple of small plates. She poured some milk into a pitcher and placed it, with a sugar bowl, on the table. The shortbread was next – several pieces arranged neatly on a plate. "I can make coffee for you if you don't care for tea," she offered.
"No thanks."
"In that case," she placed a bottle on the table in front of him. He checked out the label. Single malt Scotch. A superb brand. She handed him a crystal glass. "Please help yourself. I have ice."
He poured some, admiring the rich amber color. "No need. I take it neat."
The kettle whistled, and a couple of minutes later she was seated opposite him at the table, sipping her tea and delicately helping herself to a piece of shortbread. If she was at all rattled by his presence, she didn't show it.
"Why did you think your daughter wouldn't end up married to her high school boyfriend? From everything I've heard about the late lamented Arthur, he was the perfect man."
"Well, we often think that about the dead, don't we? Especially when they die young. Not that he wasn't a very special boy. He was kind and loving. He would have done a lot of good in the world, I think, had he lived." Her eyes took on a distant expression. "If he had been born in an earlier era, though, I think he might have become a monk. He was the quiet, contemplative sort. Kate, on the other hand, is vibrant and full of life. She is fiery, Daniel. Like you."
"And that's a good thing?" he asked warily.
"It can be. Not, of course, if you direct your passions into fighting instead of loving. You, I think, are stubborn and strong-willed, correct? Something of a loner? Very persistent, of course. You wouldn't be here, would you, if you were not determined to solve whatever problems exist between the two of you."
"I'm not sure if you're trying to read my mind or psychoanalyze me, Mrs. Carter."
"Call me Iris, please. I was never Mrs. Carter, anyway. I have never been married."
Daniel was startled by this statement. He had presumed that she was a widow, like her daughter, but it struck him now that nothing in his research about her had ever mentioned a husband. He blurted out the question that immediately rose to mind: "So who was Kate's father?"
Her eyes glinted mischievously behind her glasses. "I'm not entirely sure."
He half expected her to make some ludicrous claim about virgin births or congress with a demon, but instead she went on, "There were three men in my life at the time. It could have been any one of them. It was, I'm afraid, a rather boisterous and unsettled period for me."
Daniel's mouth dropped open. He hardened his jaw, trying not to look like an idiot. He found it impossible to imagine the prim white-haired little woman sitting opposite him engaging in a wild erotic romp with three different men.
"They were all lovely, intelligent men," she went on. "I was deeply in love with one of them, but he, like you, had a difficult time accepting my psychic abilities." Her well-lined face grew wistful and her eyes looked a little misty. "I understood that, of course. He was a physicist, so naturally he was bemused when I saw spirits hovering in the corners of our bedroom. I was devastated when he broke up with me, and I'm afraid I had a bit of a fling with another dear friend who was there to offer comfort. A few days later, an old lover of mine happened to be in town, and, well, you know what can sometimes happen with old lovers. I wasn't in the best frame of mind at the time, as perhaps you can imagine."
She was silent for a few seconds, while Daniel absorbed this. Again, he had never considered what Iris's personal life must have been like. If he, a rational man, was having trouble coping with the fact that his lover's mother was delusional, how much harder must it have been for Iris's own lovers. In some ways, he realized, she must regard her "gift" as something of a curse.
"Anyway," she continued, "the father of my child could have been any of them. I didn't tell them, of course. There was no point, since I wasn't sure who it was, and besides, I didn't want to be a burden. Marriage to someone like me would be a difficult proposition for almost any man."
He felt something closely akin to pity for her. That was something he hadn't expected to feel. "You didn't consider terminating the pregnancy?"
"I considered everything. But I delayed, and at some point, I felt Kate's spirit move within me, which brought me great joy. From then on I knew the pregnancy was meant to be."
"Does she know about this?" he choked out.
"Of course. She had every right to know. I told her when I judged that she was old enough to understand."
"Hasn't she ever wondered who her father is? She could still find out. There is DNA testing nowadays."
"She is okay with not knowing, but you're welcome to discuss it with her if you wish. We did look the three of them up on the internet a few years ago. They were all married with families of their own. She felt, and I agree, that it would be wrong to cause confusion in their lives after so many years, especially since, for two of them, the confusion would be unwarranted."
Wow. This entire conversation was not going at all the way he had expected.
"I always believed that my daughter was happy with our life together, strange though it was at times. But perhaps one of the reasons she settled down at such a young age was that she felt the need for a larger family. Not only did she marry, which I have never done, but she also created her own extended family with her college friends, who became surrogate brothers to her."
"Maybe she needed something real in a world that was constantly being invaded by specters," he said caustically.
Iris didn't respond to this. Instead she said, "The important thing now is my daughter's future. Are you in love with her?"
"I want her back," he said, looking back at those photographs on the refrigerator. His lovely, bright-eyed Kate—even as a child she had been aglow with energy and laughter. He hadn't given Iris the answer she'd been seeking, but hell, he was the interviewer here, not this crazy woman. She didn't seem so crazy today, though. Neither had she been smooth, glib or defensive, the way frauds usually were when confronted. She was actually kinda sweet. Or maybe the Scotch was mellowing him out a bit. "We've only known each other for a few weeks, so it's a bit early to speak about love."
She had spoken about it, he remembered. The moment came back to him vividly and he felt a tightening in his groin. Although he had never used that word with Kate himself, it was impossible to deny that he had felt something real, something deep, something powerful from almost the first moment he had seen her.
Dammit, Kate. I need you.
Iris was looking at him, her head tilted slightly to one side. He got the sense that she could read his body as well as his mind. He felt his cheeks grow warm.
"I believe in a lot of strange things," she said gently, "including love at first sight. It's in the blood,
it's in the bone. Maybe scientists can't explain it yet, just as they can't explain the odd turns that come over me at times, the feeling that the walls are breaking between the worlds and that things are leaking through from some other reality. But science is moving rapidly—biology and neuroscience, in particular. We understand many things now that were mysteries to us when I was young. Perhaps in your lifetime there will be a rational explanation for love. And for people like me."
At least she knew that the current explanations were irrational.
"I don’t expect you to believe in what I do, Daniel, but I do hope you can believe in love. When I saw you together with Kate that night, the two of you felt paired to me. Well and truly mated. I was never conscious of anything similar when she was with Arthur. There was an aura around you, a glow."
He rolled his eyes, but something deep inside him thrilled to her words.
"She, I think, is in love with you," Iris went on. Her voice seemed to grow strong and more authoritative as she spoke. "Love is a special kind of magic. Whether or not you believe in it, when it reaches inside you and seizes you by the heart, there is nothing you can do but hang on tight and hope you turn out to be one of the fortunate ones whom love blesses. For love can also curse." She paused and smiled at him in a kindly fashion as she went on, "Whether you are blessed or cursed by love depends on the strength and the quality of the heart inside you. Is it loyal? Is it benevolent? Does it swell with valor, compassion and truth?" She glanced down at what remained of her tea, and then stared him directly in the eye. "What of your heart, Daniel? Can you share it with my daughter? Can you love her? Will you nurture, honor, and protect her for the rest of her days?"
He wanted to laugh at her. He wanted to get up from this creaky old table in this ancient house and get the hell away from this witchy woman with her beguiling tongue and her quaint old-fashioned virtues like valor and loyalty and honor. He wanted to tell her to mind her own damn business.
