The Book of Eleanor

by Nat Burns

  Mama sat back and closed her eyes. “I am so happy for you, baby girl. It’s about time you found the right one.” She rose. I knew our morning laziness was over. “I don’t know how you know all these things, but you know I trust you with it,” she went on.

  She pulled me into a sideways hug. I pressed my cheek to hers and opened myself. I saw the two of them lifting beers at the Puddle. They are the only ones in the place because it is so late. Mama and…Donny.

  I pulled back and grinned at her. “Ooh, he’s hot, Mama. Good for you!”

  “Darn you, Angela Rose. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.”

  “You know you can’t have secrets from me, Mama. Too connected.” I paused. “So do you know where she lives? Grey Graham?”

  “Now, how would I…?” She paused. I saw memory stir behind her big brown eyes. “Wait a minute…Grey Graham. That’s the name of the woman who bought Ruetta’s place. Just on the corner here.”

  As if highlighting her words, a huge truck from Canton Furniture in Brownsville blocked out the morning sunlight when it passed into the square. We quieted and watched the truck in unison as it lumbered by. I looked at Mama and she looked at me.

  “Go! Go see,” she said, sighing. “But try to get back here soon. Hasty’s not coming in until ten.”

  Unable to hide my delight, I let loose a little squeal and kissed her cheek. “You got it!”

  I walked down the Square and there she was, watching nervously while the men tried to position the truck on Maxan so it wouldn’t block the entire street. It was a good thing they’d come early. Most of the slanted parking slots were empty and they had more room to maneuver.

  Grey saw me. Her face lit with a light that flared her aura into a corona of gold around her head. She waved and I waved back as I made my way over to her.

  “I just found out that you bought this place,” I told her. “I had no idea.”

  “Yeah, I did. I live here too, in the back,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah, Elizondo’s home away from home,” I said. “You must live alone then, because that place is small.”

  Her smile faltered a bit. I could have kicked myself for bringing up what had to be a sore issue. I changed the subject quickly. I peered through the window and saw shelved books as far as I could see. “Ah, a bookstore! Cool!”

  The smile returned. “Well, sort of. Actually it’s a reading room and coffeehouse.”

  She paused as two men bearing a large easy chair paused behind her.

  “Um, you need to go,” I said, trying to keep sadness out of my voice. “I guess they need you to tell them where to put everything.”

  She glanced around. “Yeah,” she agreed apologetically.

  “I gotta go do breakfast too.”

  “Come back by later, maybe, when everything is set up.”

  Her invitation thrilled me, but I remembered suddenly that I had to work. SPICEY first, and then at Mama’s.

  “It’ll be later though, maybe not today. But I will. I’m…I’m really glad you’ll be here in Lighthouse Square.” I grimaced inwardly. How lame did that sound?

  “Thank you,” she said, cocking her head to the side. She was adorable. “I’ll look forward to seeing you around.”

  I lowered my head, feeling shy. I muttered something then waved stupidly. I turned and headed back to The Fat Mother. I glanced back once, but Grey had already gone inside.

  Grey

  I couldn’t help myself. I just had to walk through the Bookmark one more time.

  I started at the securely bolted front door and strode slowly through my design. It was exactly as I had envisioned. Each of four conversation centers consisted of five chairs curved against the outer wall, with a coffee table set into the curve of the half moon of chairs. Two areas had two small end tables evenly spaced amid the chairs. These held beautiful art-deco lamps. Two others, though laid out the same fashion, had chandelier floor lamps that emitted a soft light at the back and sides of the grouping. The final two, closest to the coffee counters at the back of the store, had large breakfast nook-sized tables slightly higher than the others. These areas offered curved, cushiony bench seating with more modern-looking floor lamps.

  The chunky, circular wooden carousels between each conversation area imparted a sense of privacy and gave the huge room some much needed definition. New Oriental rugs, laid end to end, bisected the room and gave it a desirable warmth. Also, it was much quieter. My footsteps no longer echoed when I walked through the room. The only things missing were the chalkboards, the coffeemakers and setups, and the wooden blinds for the four small recessed windows. Then it would be perfect.

  I stepped through the open door of the storeroom, which had been transformed. Heavily lined burgundy drapes almost hid the rank of windows on the side and the larger windows to the front. I had hung sheers under the front set so that some light filtered in.

  The seating in this room was much the same, some easy chairs with the exception of two plush chaise lounges, both in matching burgundy, and library tables and chairs in the front. Each chaise had a cloth shaded floor lamp, as did each of the random chairs in this room. The chairs in each corner had an end table holding a squat, fat, ceramic lamp with a large shade. The center rug bore a floral pattern in blue and burgundy that totally pulled the room together.

  I stepped back into the main hall. I was no interior designer, but I thought I’d done pretty doggone well. I was very happy with the result.

  I opened the door to my apartment. After switching off the main light switches, I quaked inside as I looked at the bookshelves, wondering if tonight would be as disturbing as last night. It had taken me most of the morning to re-shelve all the books piled against my door and in the center of the room. The spine and glue of one book had been broken in the attack. Anger had filled me when I saw it. How could Mary do something like that to her own precious books? And try to hurt me? It just didn’t make sense. My anger at Mary, and her ridiculous haunting, had carried me through the day, providing the escape hatch I needed to be able to work on the Bookmark when the movers had arrived.

  I pushed the door shut and engaged both locks, double- checking that the door was firmly closed and locked.

  Sighing, I turned to my drafting table. Only four more days before this strip had to be sent in. I would scan and e-mail it first, and then overnight the original to the distributor so it could be reproduced properly.

  I stared out at the bay a few minutes before turning on the long, skinny light over the table. The light obscured the details beyond the closed window, but I could still see the gentle swelling of the waves. Oscar Marie came and took her usual spot, perching above me when I patted the table.

  The strip waited patiently for me. Taking up my smaller marker, I seesawed it between my fingers while I pondered my next move.

  I had repaired Mister Marks’s mouth earlier that morning before the moving men had arrived, and I had written in Suzy’s punch line to the right side above her head. Some cartoonists used balloons, but I preferred self-delineated all caps text with a simple line to the person talking if more than one in a panel. When just one person was talking, I usually didn’t bother with a line. The position of the talking character’s mouth lent clarity.

  I moved backward to the next empty panel. I sketched the two in the exact same positions, except Suzy leaned forward, examining a sheet of paper in her hand. Her boss was talking this time. I gave his mouth an intriguing V shape around the ever- present cigar. His eyes were closed while he pontificated, saying, But you’re a very good worker, Suzy, I can’t understand that. I had to reposition Suzy’s foot a few times to get it believable. I raised the boss’s hand in an expressive flutter as he said the phrase.

  Happy with that, I moved to the next panel and sketched the same scene yet again. I had overlays that I could choose from: Suzy’s desk, her usual clothing, the boss’s suit, parts of the characters in various expressions, but they were still buried in one of the unpacked bo
xes beneath the worktable. This strip would be totally freehand, and I was actually enjoying the process. It made it seem less like production and more like the art it had begun as.

  Engrossed in my work, I absently reached up and patted Oscar Marie’s overhanging paw when she moved restlessly. She mewed, but it wasn’t comfort.

  I glanced up and saw that she was looking at something behind me. My gaze flew to the darkened windowpane. I saw reflected behind me and to the right, just over my shoulder, a thin pale woman with long black hair.

  I screamed, unable to help myself. She dissipated like morning fog. I whirled, trying in vain to catch my breath, but there was no one there. Gasping for air, my heart hammering in my chest like it would burst any second, I stood. After grasping my high stool for support, I backed away from the center of the room until my back was against the wall. Oscar Marie watched me calmly, her tail twitching.

  My thoughts raced as frantically as my heart. Mary’s hair had been shorter, her face not as narrow. I tried to picture the woman again. Her eyes, milky white in the centers, had been outlined in black. A shudder raced through me as I saw those eyes once more in my mind. Pushing the image away, I allowed my gaze to roam the room while my heart slowed and I could breathe again. I remained standing in my protected stance, however.

  Obviously, this building was haunted. I still believed it was Mary, wanted it to be her. But what if it wasn’t? I wondered suddenly if there was a history of haunting here. I mean with a cemetery so close…suppose Ruetta knew about the ghost? If so, why hadn’t Maddy warned me? And the most important question: would this unknown spirit really hurt me or Oscar Marie?

  Angie

  “Wow, that’s weird,” I said, tucking my order pad back into my apron pocket.

  “We don’t usually have storms this early in the year,” Cosgrove said.

  I turned my gaze from the television mounted high on the wall above the bar and examined him. He looked good today, dressed uncharacteristically in a suit and tie with his balding pate hatless and what remained of his hair combed neatly. I hadn’t had a chance to say hello to him this morning because Gail was working the bar.

  “Look at you, all dressed up! What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Oh, gotta speak to the gang today.” His already ruddy skin darkened a bit. “They require it. Trying to better themselves, I guess.”

  I smiled. Cosgrove was on the board of the Port Isabel Fisherman’s Collective, a group dedicated to improving the plight of the local shrimpers and commercial fishermen. They also did a lot of solid charitable work. An idea popped into my head.

  “So what projects do you guys have going on over there right now?” I took his discarded breakfast plate and moved to the back of the bar to place it in one of the bus bins.

  He shrugged and took another swig of his coffee. “Nothing right now. We finished everything from last year and our new projects start next month with our fiscal year. Why?”

  I took a quick glance at the three tables of diners I was caring for today. Seeing that they seemed content, I briefly explained the SPICEY dilemma to him.

  “Man, Ange, that’s just harsh,” he said sympathetically with a grimace on his weathered, but newly shaven face. He paused to think. “You know, we probably can’t save the building, but we might be able to do some fundraising to get you guys settled someplace else. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe someone today will know of an empty place. I’ll ask around.”

  “Oh, man, you are too cool. Thank you,” I told him. I wanted to sweep around the bar and give him a big hug, but for some reason I was feeling a bit raw today so I held back.

  “No problem, kiddo.” He motioned toward the television with his cup. “What’s the deal with the weather?”

  I glanced up and saw that the national weather of the morning talk show had been replaced by news commentary. “Looks like it’s coming from the west. They’re not sure how low it will dip down though.” I grabbed the coffee carafe and refilled his cup, wondering what had happened to Gail.

  “You remember that one about four years ago? Took down trees, that one did, and that was nigh onto the end of March.”

  I laughed, remembering the scary time. “Do I ever. I thought we were going to have a restaurant full of spring breakers sleeping on the floor here.”

  “And me too,” Sanchez piped up, lifting her face from the Tamaulipas newspaper she had been reading. “There was no way I was driving home in that mess.”

  “Oh, right, flooding on the island. I remember that.” Cosgrove added sugar to his cup. “I sure hope we don’t have that craziness again.”

  “What craziness?” asked Ernie Henson as he took a barstool next to Cosgrove.

  The two men shook hands. Ernie waved politely to Sanchez.

  “Storm coming,” Cosgrove explained. “Early.”

  “Coffee, Ernie?” I held up a mug. At his nod, I placed the mug in front of him and filled it. I pushed the bowl of individual creamers and the sugar toward him, and then leaned over to freshen Anna’s cup.

  “Wheat toast and two scrambled,” he said.

  I jotted it down on the back of my pad as I went into the kitchen to find Gail.

  I found Gail and Mama huddled around the toaster-sized kitchen television.

  “What in the world are ya’ll doing?” I asked.

  “Storm’s coming,” Gail said.

  “Yeah, I saw,” I said. “Listen, you have four at the bar now. Ernie just came in.” I turned to Mama. “Wheat and two scrambled,” I told her before heading out to take care of my tables.

  I was checking out the last of the morning rush when Grey stepped into the restaurant. I was so happy to see her! I rushed forward and hugged her close, and that was when I realized how terrified she was. I pulled back and examined her. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days. Dark circles had taken up residence right below those beautiful green eyes.

  “What in the world?” I asked. I pulled her into a side alcove before she could answer and placed her carefully in one of the chairs. “Stay here.” I ordered.

  I moved behind the bar and stuck my head into the kitchen. “I’m on break, Mama,” I said. “No tables and Gail’s got the bar.”

  I asked Gail to watch for new customers as I poured out two cups of coffee and dropped a handful of creamers into my apron pocket.

  Grey was where I had left her, her chin in her palm, looking waiflike in her misery.

  “Here,” I said setting the coffee before her. “Basics first.”

  I slid into the chair opposite her and slammed the handful of creamer on the table. The little plastic canisters rolled. Grey caught one before it rolled off the table.

  “I always get the best service when I come here,” she joked.

  I made a face at her and sipped my coffee black, enjoying the mellowness after Mama’s penchant for harsh chicory coffee when I was growing up. “So what’s going on?”

  “I need you to come stay with me.”

  I lifted my eyebrows in surprise and swallowed a mouthful of coffee.

  She sighed and closed her eyes. “Wait. Let me do that again. I was just talking to Maddy and she says you’re like a…a psychic for hire, right?”

  I nodded slowly, totally bemused by the conversation.

  “Well, I want to hire you.” She poured a trio of creamers into her coffee. Unwrapping a setup, she stirred diligently with a spoon and placed the paper napkin daintily in her lap.

  “Hire me?” This wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned.

  “Yes, and I don’t care what it costs.”

  A flare went off in my mind. I thought of what it would cost to pay for the security deposit on a new facility for the SPICEY. Maybe this was the answer come knocking.

  “Well, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  Grey

  I saw dawn creep into my bedroom with jaundiced eyes. I had tried to sleep, tried hard, but every time I closed my eyes and drifted off, I would hear the voice talk
ing to me. Sometimes the female voice whispered endearments which warmed me. Other times, she wept as if her heart were breaking. I answered back, but it seemed like Mary—or whoever the ghost was—just ignored me.

  I’d left my bedroom lamp on to allay my fear. Poor Oscar Marie huddled next to me, her eyes wide as activity whirled around us. Once I nodded off, but was jerked to full awareness when Abandoned, that ever prevalent book of poems, dropped on my blanketed feet. I waited a few cautious minutes before quickly retrieving it. I opened the book, hoping for answers. A sudden thought occurred to me.

  “Annalise? Is that you?” I whispered to the empty room. A sudden wind swept through the room, bearing a faint wail, and then I felt the entity leave me alone. Now, if it was Mary, had I made her jealous? I couldn’t win in this situation, it seemed. I lifted the book.

  Buddha belly

  would accept you in

  and keep you safe

  As I rage against injustice

  Lulling there like

  A horse dream

  Mellow and warm

  And by born

  You rip me anew

  And my feet are wet

  Blood or tears

  Friend of fears

  Buddha wept

  I turned the book over and read the brief blurb about the life of poet Eleanor Copeland. She was called a Beat poet and could be seen performing live at The Gotham in Midtown as well as The Nip in Bryant Park. Sort of cryptic.

  I opened the front cover and noted that the publishing company was called the Independent Press of Columbia University. I flipped to the dedication page. To my darling Annalise, love and righteousness forever. To say I was confused would be an understatement. What did a Beat poet from New York City have to do with a South Texas fishing village?

  He promised us

  The world

  The California

  Coastline boastline

  Will you go?

  Farewell