Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 04 - Ghosted

by Patricia Rockwell

  “And why would we track him down, Essie?” asked Opal, shaking her head as if she were talking to a child with a wild scheme.

  “Because I’m concerned about what might be in that package!” cried Essie in a dramatic whisper.

  “Such as?” said Marjorie.

  “A bomb!” replied Essie.

  “Essie, wherever did you get such a ridiculous idea?” snorted Opal.

  “He sneaks out the back way so he won’t be seen. He picks up a strange package from a driver in a car there rather than having the person deliver the package in the normal way to the front desk. He’s a new resident and nobody knows very much about him. He is a retired military officer—or says he is. Those are just some possible reasons!” explained Essie.

  “But, Essie,” argued Marjorie, “he doesn’t look even a little bit like a terrorist.”

  “Muffins to Mulberries!” cried Essie. “Haven’t you heard of disguises, Marjorie?”

  “If he wins the Halloween costume contest,” noted Opal, shaking her head, “I guess that will be the clincher.”

  “He might be in deep cover,” continued Essie. “That’s what those terrorists do. I know one of his behaviors is not enough to indict the man, but put them all together and they do seem a little suspicious, don’t they?”

  “To you, maybe,” said Opal, giving Essie a condescending glare.

  “I don’t care if you don’t believe me, Opal,” replied Essie. “I think that there’s something strange going on with this new resident Edward Troy and I’m going to find out what.”

  “You do that!” said Opal, standing and setting her napkin beside her plate. “I need to get going.”

  “Me too, Essie,” added Marjorie. “I’d love to hear what you find out about Edward Troy, though, Essie. Can you find out if he’s married? Or has a girlfriend?”

  “Really, Marjorie!” said Essie, her shoulders drooping. Marjorie also got up from the table and prepared to leave.

  “Ready, Fay?” asked Opal. Fay smiled and pressed a button on her wheelchair which rolled it out and back from the table.

  “Oh, Essie!” said Opal. “Before we leave, we must decide what we’re going to do about the Haunted House field trip.”

  “Yes!” added Marjorie. “Please come with us, Essie. I know! Maybe this Edward Troy will be on the field trip and we can find out more information about him on the bus!”

  “Hmm,” replied Essie. The thought of being trapped on the HH bus for an ungodly amount of time with no bathroom facilities—even if it allowed her to get closer to the strange man—was a difficult one. “I’ll have to think about it!” said Essie finally, smiling at her three pals and giving them a wave with her napkin. The trio turned and rolled single file out of the dining hall.

  Essie stared at her coffee cup, giving a few sweet smiles to the residents who, like herself, were still in the hall savoring their coffee. As she stared at the brown liquid in the cup, the swirling waves seemed to create images. Essie stared at the changing patterns. At one point, the face of her husband John seemed to appear in the bottom of the cup. She smiled. He seemed to smile back. He seemed to be speaking to her. She strained to hear what he was saying.

  “Essie, Essie,” his voice called to her so tenderly. It almost felt as if he was touching her, his big hand gently on her shoulder.

  She sat up abruptly and turned her head to the side where Santos was bending over her, his hand on her shoulder.

  “Miss Essie,” he whispered softly. “You fall asleep, Miss Essie. We need to have vacuum the carpet, Miss Essie. I give you coffee in paper cup to take to your room?”

  Essie glanced around. All of the other residents had left the dining hall. She was the only person left. Now how did that happen? She was just sitting here sipping her coffee. She’d just glanced down for a second when she seemed to see her husband’s face in the coffee. And now, Santos was waking her up. She must have fallen asleep. She gave Santos a sheepish smile.

  “No, thank you, Santos. I’m fine.” Then she grabbed her walker and headed out of the dining hall as fast as she could.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “When I see ghosts they look perfectly real and solid—like a living human being.”

  —Chris Woodyard

  She could see a group of men standing around her door as she headed down her hallway. Who could they be? As she rolled closer she recognized Ned, his brother Bo, and Bo’s buddy Dugan. Now what did they want?

  “Gram!” greeted Ned warmly when he spied Essie coming toward them. Bo and Dugan mumbled a similar greeting in true teenage boy style. “We’ve been knocking and were just about to give up!”

  “I…I was at breakfast, boys,” replied Essie. Of course, she’d been more than just at breakfast but these youngsters didn’t need to know that. “Why are you all here?”

  “Oh, Mom is worried about the answering machine, Gram,” explained Ned. “Bo and Dugan just tagged along. Mom wants me to check the device. She says she and Aunt Pru have been sending you messages but you haven’t returned their calls.”

  “Is something wrong?” asked Essie, leaning on her handlebars, suddenly out of breath.

  “Oh, no, Gram,” said Ned, in a calm, assuring voice. “You know Mom; she just gets hyper.”

  Essie wasn’t exactly certain what Ned meant by “hyper” but it was probably the perfect description of Claudia. She smiled at the young men, scooted in between them, and opened her doorway. “Come in, boys.” She rolled into her apartment and over to her recliner where she gratefully collapsed in its soft cushions. The three boys removed jackets and flung them on one of Essie’s arm chairs. Ned immediately came over to the end table and knelt down beside the answering machine. As before, Bo and his friend remained standing in slouched positions staring either at each other or out Essie’s small window.

  “The light’s blinking,” said Ned. “So, it’s recording. Let’s just see how many messages you have.” He punched some buttons. “See, Gram, this button is for ‘play’ and now we’ll hear what messages you have.” He pressed the button.

  “You have 14 messages,” intoned a lifeless male voice.

  “Oh, my!” cried Essie. “Why would I have so many messages?”

  “Was the light blinking when you left for breakfast?” Ned asked.

  “I don’t think so. But I’m not sure. I guess I really didn’t notice,” she said slowly. “But I don’t think so, now that I think about it.” Essie remembered the two calls she had received where the caller had left no message.

  “Let’s just see who these messages are from,” said Ned, efficiently pushing another button. “See, Gram, just press this button to listen to your messages one by one.” He pushed another button. Essie’s eyes were blurring and her mind was reeling with the list of buttons and all their duties.

  “Mom, this is a test,” rang out Claudia’s voice. “I’m checking to see if the answering machine is working and if you’re able to work it. Call me back.”

  “Gabe’s babes!” Essie declared. “I guess she doesn’t trust me.”

  “She just wants to be sure you can work the machine, Gram,” said Ned reassuringly, a hand on Essie’s shoulder. “Come on! We’ll work on it together as many times as you want until you feel comfortable with it. I probably just dumped it on you yesterday without really having you practice it enough. That’s my fault, Gram!”

  “It’s not your fault, Ned,” assured Essie. “I’m just a stupid, old woman!” She stared at the machine and its array of buttons, a bewildered look on her face.

  “You’re definitely not a stupid, old woman,” replied Ned, giving her a warm hug. “I know I couldn’t have solved all those mysteries like you did! You’re a star in my eyes, Gram! Let me be a star in yours and help you learn how to work this machine. It is, after all, something I do all the time, so I should understand it.”

  “All right, Ned,” said Essie, smiling. Her grandson was obviously more than just a technological wizard; he was a tender soul too.
“Show me again.”

  “Okay,” he said, pushing the button again. “This button is for listening to your messages.”

  “Mom,” Claudia’s voice said again on the recording, “Mom, please call me back when you get this message. I want to be sure you are getting your messages and understand how to work your answering machine.”

  “It’s her again,” said Essie. “She really doesn’t trust me.”

  “She’s just concerned,” noted Ned a little sheepishly. He played the next message which was also from Claudia reiterating the same demand. He continued playing all fourteen messages. Most were from Claudia, but a few were from Pru, backing up her sister in her concern. Eventually, Ned finished playing all fourteen messages which turned out to be all from Essie’s daughters. Ned showed Essie how to delete the messages after she heard them.

  “Now, Gram, do you want to call Mom and let her know you got the messages?” he asked.

  “Not really,” said Essie. “Ned, all those messages made me feel as if something was terribly wrong and someone needed to get in touch with me right away. And it turned out that Claudia was just checking. All that agony and all for nothing. She could have just waited until I returned from breakfast and called me like a regular daughter.” Essie pouted and stuck out her chin.

  “Right, Gram,” agreed Ned. “I know Mom can get a little demanding at times. But she means well. She’s just concerned about you. Really.” Essie looked at her grandson and realized that indeed he probably experienced his mother’s sometimes overbearing ways. Essie sighed. “Here,” he continued. “I’ll just give her a quick call to let her know you’re okay.” Essie rested her eyes in relief while Ned made the call to Claudia. She could hear the annoyance—or worry—in her daughter’s voice over the phone because Ned was still kneeling beside her. She felt sorry that Ned had to take the wrath or whatever Claudia was dishing out that was really meant for her.

  Oh, stop that, Essie, she mused. Your daughters mean well. They got you an answering machine for your safety and to make your life easier. She repeated this mantra to herself several times but was unable to truly believe it. But whether she believed it or not, it really wasn’t fair of her to put poor Ned in the middle. She opened her eyes.

  “What was the listen button again?” she asked. Ned smiled and patted her shoulder. He took her once more through the routine of the features of the answering machine and how to make it work. Essie tried to follow his explanation as he pointed out each button on the device. She was finding it very difficult to follow along as the machine had somehow become very blurry. “Oh, Ned, I’m sorry I’m having so much trouble. I guess I’m tired.” She gave him a pleading look.

  “Oh, sorry, Gram,” said Ned, pulling back. “We should probably be going. I can come over any time you like and help you practice your answering machine again if you want me to.” He smiled. Essie couldn’t help but close her eyes. She was so tired. She heard Ned mumbling to his brother and his friend. The three boys were chatting softly, apparently discussing where they were going next or what they were going to do now that they’d done their answering machine teaching duty.

  Essie listened to their voices in the distance, like a movie playing in another room. When she opened her eyes, the boys were gone and she was a little less tired. She stared at her outside window which morphed a bit in shape. She squeezed her eyelids open and shut a few times and the blurriness subsided.

  “Hairy Mary, do I need to see my eye doctor?” she mumbled to herself. She resolutely pushed herself out of her recliner and rolled her walker into her bedroom. Looking around, she felt a bit forlorn. The closet door was open and was virtually empty. Only a few of Essie’s favorite pants and tops remained hanging on the racks like pieces of laundry left out to dry. All of the cardboard boxes were gone and had been replaced by some stylish two-tone plastic containers. Several of these lined the floor and some smaller ones were piled up on the shelves above. She had to admit that her daughters had done a superb job of cleaning and clearing out her closet. It looked immaculate. As she moved over to her dresser and opened a few drawers, those too were sparser and neater. She was grateful that the girls had left her favorite underwear items. There was her favorite beige bra and the black one for special occasions. Her daughters were right. She didn’t need dozens of brassieres. She didn’t need dozens of panties. She didn’t have unlimited drawer space. Both jewelry boxes remained. One on top of the dresser and one in the second drawer.

  Essie moved over to her bedroom window and glanced outside. This window afforded a perfect view of a chestnut tree that attracted many local squirrels. At the moment, one small brown one was high-tailing his way up the trunk with a large nut in his jaws. Essie smiled as she watched his efforts. As she focused in on the little creature, the squirrel seemed to blur and change shape. Essie blinked and shook her head. She refocused on the squirrel, but he was now no longer a squirrel; he was much bigger—more like a muskrat or a beaver. Wait a minute! A beaver couldn’t climb a chestnut tree, she thought, as she watched the large mammal shimmy his way up the base of the tree. She squeezed her eyes tighter. Surely, her eyes were playing tricks on her. As she stared, the beaver got bigger and bigger. The higher he climbed, the bigger he got. Essie’s breathing increased. She felt a horrible sense of panic but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the climbing beaver. Still focused on the animal, she rolled herself back from the window, reaching out for her bed behind her. She inched herself down onto her mattress, while still holding onto her walker. When she was finally seated, she carefully moved her eyes away from the window and into her bedroom. Everything was the same. Her furniture. Her bed. Her newly cleaned closet. She sat on her flowered duvet, both hands on her walker’s handlebars, and looked at the rug beneath her feet. Her shoes were the same sneakers she always wore. Carefully, she lifted her head up and stared into the mirror on her dresser.

  Instead of her own face, the face of a giant beaver was smiling back at her.

  Essie cried out a little scream and fell backwards onto her bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “No one escapes being haunted by something that absolutely terrifies them to the core, but very few feel it’s okay to admit what it is that haunts us.”

  ––Nicholas Brendon

  She must have passed out, but if she did she was lucky that she landed softly on her comfy bed. The scary giant squirrel/beaver face receded and Essie felt herself floating back in time to a place she had practically forgotten.

  It was a warm summer night and she was with John in his convertible. Back then, he didn’t have much money and he’d scraped together every penny to buy that old car with the fold-down cloth top. It was a convertible, but just barely. Even so, he was proud as peaches of it and he loved to drive around Reardon with Essie in the passenger seat. She could almost feel the warm breeze on her face as John steered them outside the city limits to the old drive-in movie lot out on the old county highway. It was gone now; in fact, they’d torn it down many years ago when television had come along and ousted such places from their seat of glory. But on that day, at that beautiful moment, she and John went gliding into the movie theater parking lot like royalty.

  “Where to, Ess?” he asked as they wound around the rows of other parked cars. “Close to the screen or the refreshment booth?” John had his right arm above the seat as he guided his fancy car with his left hand only. It gave Essie a little thrill to watch him maneuver the vehicle around so expertly. He handled the car with such skill and, yet, he was so careful of her as if she were a prized package he was delivering. They settled on a row in the middle of the lot. Surrounded by other parked cars, mostly full of other young couples just like themselves, Essie remembered, no, she felt, the same excitement and joy she had experienced whenever she was with John. She could see his sweet, happy, but very sincere face. He was wearing his military uniform. That would mean that this was probably their last date before he shipped out to war. She felt her stomach turn over—just
remembering that moment being with John and seeing him wearing that outfit brought out both pride and fear. He looked more handsome in his uniform, Essie recalled, than in any of his business suits that would later become his regular wardrobe.

  John leaped out of the car—literally, he leaped over the side door, not bothering to open it, and headed up the hill to the refreshment booth. Essie glanced over her shoulder watching her soon-to-be husband disappear rapidly up the hill. She tried to focus on the commercials for popcorn on the big screen towering before her, but she was tingling with joy and dread. Not wanting to be obvious by turning around to check on John’s whereabouts, she forced herself to sit perfectly still and fold her hands. She folded and unfolded them. Folded and unfolded.

  Soon John leaped back into the car and handed her a large box of popcorn. He cuddled up closer to her, but not before he turned around and undid the mechanism that allowed the convertible’s top to be pulled up and over. Once secure, the young couple soon had a small cocoon of privacy surrounding them and their hands touched together inside the big red cardboard box of popcorn.

  “I’ll miss this the most,” he whispered to her as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “You and popcorn, Ess! The best combination.” Essie just smiled.

  “I’m sure they’ll have popcorn over in Europe,” she offered.

  “I doubt we’ll have time for such stuff,” he said with a sideways glance. Essie wondered just what he would have time for, but she hesitated to discuss John’s upcoming deployment with him for fear of worrying him. He had enough on his plate without having to concern himself with a nervous nelly fiancée back home, she reasoned. Even so, she longed to confide her fears to him. After all, if she couldn’t confide in her future husband, who could she confide in?

  Essie remembered so clearly the dilemma she felt that night at the drive-in. She couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of the movie they saw. But John’s face and his enthusiasm for joining the war, while at the same time, obviously worrying about her so much—that was all vividly clear. She could see his face; she could almost hear him, smell him. She knew she was dreaming, but it was such a vivid dream and it dredged up images and memories that she’d forgotten for so long. It was a salty taste. Must be the popcorn. She could feel John’s cheek against hers and smell his salty breath. The popcorn.