by E. C. Bell
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m glad she’s helping. It must be hard.”
I managed to sneak around that potential bombshell, and straight into another one. I knew it was there, of course. A girl can’t talk to her mother about either a living or a dead man without some questions. I got them—both barrels.
“I need to talk to you about Farley.” I whispered the ghost’s name in case James had finally become unglued from his safe spot in the kitchen and was listening at the door. Of course, Mom didn’t hear me, so I had to repeat his name. Twice.
“Yes,” I finally said, when she got it. “The dead guy. He’s with me now.” I glanced around the room, to make sure he wasn’t actually with me at that very moment. “He followed me out of the Palais to here.”
Mom asked me where I was.
“At James’ place.” Then I hunkered down and waited for the interrogation to begin. It didn’t take long. I went through James’ stats as though I was talking about a second string catcher for the Mets, and got her back to the topic at hand. Farley.
As I told her what had happened, and listened to what she had to say, I felt my heart drop into the basement of my soul. I thought it had already found bottom, but apparently attempted murder and an explosion isn’t enough. Apparently, hitting bottom involved my mother confirming what I already knew. The reason Farley was able to follow me everywhere but couldn’t leave my side was because he’d attached to me.
So I did what I do when I get to that black place. I blamed my mom and picked a fight with her.
“Good grief, can’t you help me at all with this?” I cried. “I thought you were supposed to be the professional. Now you’re telling me that he’s attached to me—and it’s what, my fault or something?” My voice broke for a second. It was my fault. “I can’t do this alone. I can’t.”
I heard her voice go cold, the way it always did when I struck out at her like that, and I felt like a jerk, as she gave me more information about what I could do about Farley. She talked about the attachment and about conflict, and that she felt that it was possibly unfinished business with his family that was still holding him here.
“Like his daughter?” I asked, then listened to dead air for a full fifteen seconds before she sighed, and said maybe. Children can be a factor.
“So, I should push for him to see her?” I hoped, I hoped, but Mom said it wasn’t a good idea. He had to want to see her, to make amends or whatever, if this is what needed to happen. Didn’t help with my mood one little bit, but I tried to sound appreciative when she told me to keep talking about her, keep working at finding out what had gone on between the two of them, to make sure this was really the thing holding him here. Yeah, just what I want to do. Dig around in Farley’s memories, to find out why he believes his daughter thinks he’s an asshole. Thanks Mom.
All I said was, “That makes a lot of sense.” I did remember to thank her before I hung up the phone. Then I sat on James’ neat as a pin bed, and gnashed my teeth. She hadn’t helped, and all I’d done was pick another fight with her.
I thought about stretching out for a minute—or an hour—but knew Farley was dying to know what she’d said. So I got up, muscles screaming mightily, and hobbled back out to the living room.
James was gone and Farley was on the balcony, staring at the skyline. I thought it was funny when he nearly jumped out of his skin as I pushed the patio door open to join him.
“Finally got you back, did I?” I joked. He didn’t laugh. He just stood, staring out at the sky.
“So where’s James?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“When did he leave?”
“I don’t know.”
He’d listened to my phone call. I could tell. “You listened, didn’t you?”
He stared out at the sky, looking absolutely devastated.
“You’re not talking to my daughter,” he said. “Understand?”
I didn’t answer. There was no point. He’d listened to me piss and moan to my mother about him. I should have realized he’d do that. That he’d hear me.
“You didn’t tell her about Carruthers,” he said. “Why didn’t you?”
And again, I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to think about Carruthers, because Carruthers wasn’t the biggest problem in my life. There was also my stupid ex-boyfriend who had somehow found me at the hospital. He was higher on my “crap to be dealt with list” than Carruthers. However, Farley didn’t need to know about any of that, not if I wanted him to detach from me.
If he thought he needed to continue to save me, he would never leave. And that would be on me.
I wished, for a second, I could put an arm around his shoulder and comfort him, but I couldn’t do anything like that. So, I offered him stupid platitudes instead.
“Don’t worry about me, Farley. Mom and I will both be fine.”
He didn’t respond. Just stared out at the skyline.
“Mom will work out what’s going on with you,” I said, a little bit desperately. “She’s been at this a long time. You’ll get where you need to go.”
“But you’re still in danger.”
I sighed. “Right now, yeah.”
“So I guess we’re both stuck.”
We stood and stared out at the blue of the sky until James came back from putting on a load of laundry. I left Farley there, wishing I could do more, and knowing I couldn’t. He was as alone as I was.
Marie:
Time to Go
James looked after me like a nursemaid, never leaving my side unless I told him to. I didn’t tell him to leave too often. My nightmares were horrible, and I wanted someone living around me. He was good, and never mentioned me working for him, or anything. It was like he knew I needed to heal before I made any decisions like that. And I appreciated it. I really did.
However, I could tell by Monday that I was pushing the limits of his niceness. I thought I was being good, but Farley dourly kept pointing out to me when I slid over into bitch mode. Apparently it was a lot.
It was whenever Farley mentioned me taking Carruthers’ money, and he mentioned it all the time.
I didn’t tell him he was right, but I realized I couldn’t take that money and live with myself. I was going to fix it when I got away from James. I didn’t want James to know I’d almost done something like that. I couldn’t. It was too horrible to contemplate.
Hence the bitch mode.
James had washed and patched my explosion clothes. When I put them on, they fit perfectly, and you could barely tell I’d been in an explosion. Except for the bruises and cuts all over my face and arms, of course.
“Thank you,” I said, twirling like a crippled ballerina so he could see his handiwork. “They look great.”
“Glad I could help,” he replied. “You don’t have to go, you know.”
“I know, but you know what they say about house guests. They don’t know when the heck to leave, or something.”
“So you’re going to Jasmine’s?”
“Yes.”
“She’s okay with that?”
“Oh yeah, she’s great. She has an extra bed for me to use and everything.” That was a lie. I was couch surfing again, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” He glanced down at his hands, then back up at me. “If it doesn’t work out, you can always come back here. You know?”
“I know. Thank you.”
He really was being sweet about the whole thing, but I needed to get away from him. I wanted to deal with Carruthers and the money issue, but it was more than that. In all honesty, I was afraid that if I didn’t move soon, I never would.
Yes, I had gotten to that stage. He was a good man. A genuinely good man, and it would have been so easy. I was glad Farley was still hanging around with that woebegone look on his face. If he hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done. Probably something stupid like trying to live happily ever after.
I didn’t have my bus
pass anymore, so James offered to drive me.
I leaned back in the leather seat, tired by the short walk to the car. Farley curled up in the back seat, looking surprised at how nice the car was. I could feel the questions percolating, but I ignored him. I didn’t have the energy for him, either.
“Want to warm the seat?” James asked. “It might make you feel better.”
That sounded wonderful, so I said sure, and he touched a button, and I was in heaven, the ache in my bones slowly easing. He drove to Jasmine’s place without another word.
I’d given him the address when we left his building, then sat and soaked in the warmth radiating from the seat. I jumped a bit when he shifted, impatiently, and asked, “Are we close to your friend’s place yet?”
I glanced out the window. “Just down the street.”
Farley glanced out the window. “Your friend sure picked a shit hole of a neighbourhood to live in, didn’t she?”
I looked around. I thought it was nice enough. Maybe it was a bit rundown and close to some of the seedier parts of town, but most of the houses in the area had been “gentrified”, and Jasmine’s place fit right in. I decided to ignore him again, wishing he’d go back with James, even though I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I was the one he was attached to.
Lucky me.
“That’s her place,” I said, pointing at Jasmine’s neat little bungalow. The drapes were still pulled tight, and I wondered if she ever let any natural light in at all. I didn’t think she did. She only had silk plants, and she did worry about her couch fading.
“Looks fine,” James said. He stopped the car in front of the house, and turned to me. “You going to be okay?”
“Yes. It’ll be fine.”
“You got a key?”
I smiled. “The next door neighbour is keeping it for me.”
“Do you know the guy?” James frowned. “Maybe I should come with you. Just to make sure.”
“No, it’ll be okay. He’s a nice old guy. Don’t worry about it.”
I turned to the door, and worked at getting it open. I still felt as weak as a kitten, in spite of the warmth of the seat and everything, but I knew if I didn’t open that door on my own, he’d end up staying here and helping me until Jasmine got home—and the last thing in the world I wanted was Jasmine meeting him, and maybe mentioning some of the truly embarrassing things I’d said to her about him, the last time I was here. I didn’t need that at all, and finally, desperately, managed to open the door.
“See, no problem at all!” I tried for gaiety, but sounded hysterical. Farley shook his head.
“Tone it down a notch or you’ll never get rid of him.”
“I’m fine,” I said, more sedately this time. “Thanks for everything, James.”
“I’ll call you later. See how you’re doing,” he said.
“That would be great.” I meant it. I stepped away from the car, trying for a breezy smile that probably didn’t fit my bruised face. “See you.”
Then I turned toward Mr. Beaverton’s house next to Jasmine’s, hoping James would drive away, hoping he wouldn’t watch me navigate those four steps to the front door. I was afraid I’d end up crawling. He didn’t move, so I bounced up the steps, cursing under my breath with every jolt to my ribs, or my neck, or every other place that hurt, and knocked at the door.
Old Man Beaverton took a few minutes to get there, and I leaned against the jamb, trying to get back my strength. I managed to smile as he opened the door, staring suspiciously at me over his glasses until he finally recognized me.
“Ah, Jasmine’s friend,” he said. “I was waiting for you.” Then he frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Had a bit of an accident, Mr. Beaverton, but I’m okay,” I said, clinging to the door jamb for dear life. “Just tired.”
“Oh. Oh! Well, that explains the flowers, doesn’t it?” he said.
“Flowers?”
“The delivery truck was here about two hours ago. Dropped off some flowers.” He smiled. “There were so many, I was afraid there’d been a death.”
“Flowers?” I still didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, and it must have showed.
“Don’t worry, I let him put them in Jasmine’s house. You must have a lot of friends, my dear. They seem to care very much. They’re expensive, I think.”
“Flowers?” I was beginning to feel positively stupid, because I still didn’t understand what Beaverton was talking about.
“Yes. Expensive.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Here you are, my dear.” Then he frowned again. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine,” I muttered, and took the keys.
“Enjoy the bouquets,” he said.
“I will.”
I walked across the grass to Jasmine’s house, with Farley on my heels.
“Nice place,” Farley said.
“Shut up.”
I didn’t turn around because I had to concentrate on working the key into the lock. I felt like I was ready to keel over, and didn’t need any of Farley’s sarcasm.
“No, I’m not kidding,” he said. “I shouldn’t have made the ‘Shit hole’ comment. This doesn’t seem too bad.”
He turned and counted the bikes littering the front yard. “Three,” he said. “She’s got three kids. Two boys and a girl. Right?”
“Right.” The stupid key chattered around the lock. Why wouldn’t it go in?
“That’s nice,” Farley said. He sounded different, and when I glanced over at him, he looked sad.
“Anything wrong?” I asked.
“Just feeling a little homesick,” he said. “I hope Sylvia kept up the yard. I liked that yard.”
“Sylvia’s your wife?”
“Ex-wife, yeah.” He looked at the ground, and frowned. “Get that door open, all right? Otherwise Jimmy boy is going to want to know what the hell’s going on.”
“Oh. Okay.” Finally, the key slipped into the lock, and I managed to get the door open. I turned to wave at James, and Farley walked past me into the house.
“Oh wow,” he said. “Marie, you gotta see this.”
I slammed the door shut on James’ wave, and walked into the living room, then stood stock still, staring. It was jam packed with bouquets of flowers. The splashes of colour were jarring against Jasmine’s silk plants and boring beige, wrapped-in-plastic furniture.
It was the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen. Me, who can see ghosts, was saying that.
“Jasmine wouldn’t have ordered these—her youngest has allergies.” I reached out a hand, almost touching the flowers in the closest bouquet. There was no card.
“That’s weird.”
“Maybe they all came from the same person,” Farley said. “The old man said there was one delivery, didn’t he?”
“I can’t remember,” I muttered, staring at the rest of the bouquets that littered the entryway and wishing Farley would shut his mouth for just one minute. The last bouquet of flowers I’d received had come from my ex-boyfriend.
My heart started to pound, hard. Had he somehow known I was going to come here and sent all these?
Farley glanced around. “They’re too bright for my taste, but what the hell,” he said. “I didn’t know you were so popular.”
“Shut up, Farley,” I whispered. I walked into the living room, horrified. “Shut up.”
The big vases and baskets full of flowers were everywhere. Every available counter and table, plus a big bunch of the floor was taken up with the garish displays.
I inched into the room, creeping around the huge bouquets balanced precariously on the floor. On the biggest, most brightly coloured one I saw an envelope. I plucked it free, and ripped it open with hands that were shaking so badly, I could barely control them.
The card was more brightly coloured than the flowers, if that was possible. “Hope You’re Feeling Better” was printed on the outside.
Oh my God, I thought. He found me.
I opened the card, and a piece of paper fell to the floor. I looked at the inside of the card, but there was nothing written there.
Arnie always made sure I knew he’d sent his gifts. What was going on?
I bent and picked up the piece of paper between two fingers, as though it was dirty. It was the cheque from Carruthers, made out to me, and certified, as I had demanded.
Arnie hadn’t found me. Carruthers had.
“You can’t accept that,” Farley said.
“I know,” I whispered, staring at the cheque. For about a second, I thought about how many zeroes were on that cheque. How far that many zeroes would go to solve my problems.
Here was the big kick to the head. I knew that it wouldn’t. You can’t get rid of someone who wants to control you by playing nice. You couldn’t take their apologies for all the times they hurt you, and you sure couldn’t take their money.
Because they’d be back, and they’d demand more. And more and more, until the only way they could be satisfied was if you were dead.
I dropped the cheque on the floor, and turned to Farley.
“How did he know I was going to be here?” I asked. My voice was high pitched and scary sounding. I barely recognized it.
“I—I don’t know,” Farley said.
“Neither do I,” I said. And then I guess you could say I lost my mind.
I started tearing apart the bouquets of flowers, one by one.
“What the hell are you doing?” Farley flittered around me like a—well, a lot like a hugely useless ghost—as flowers and bits of greenery flew in all directions.
“That son of a bitch thinks he can buy me off with stupid flowers!” I cried. “Stupid, stupid flowers!” Another vase hit the floor and begonias, baby’s breath, and shards of glass flew everywhere. “Son of a bitch!” I grabbed another bouquet and began to dismember it, my breath catching in my throat in small sobs.
“Jesus, Marie, have you lost your mind?” Farley cried.
I stopped, momentarily, and stared at him.
“I don’t think so,” I finally said, and threw another handful of flowers against the wall. “Maybe. I don’t know.” More flowers flew, piling in a multi-coloured riot around the room.
