Promised Soul

by Sandra J. Jackson

  “No, not yet; just getting the old plastic out.”

  Peter laughed.

  “Ah, what's so funny?”

  “This place doesn't accept credit or debit, not just yet anyway.”

  “What?” I was dumbfounded; apart from a Canadian five-dollar bill and credit cards, I had no other form of currency.

  “Here,” Peter reached out and took the bill from my hand, “my treat. See I told you I'd find another reason for being here.”

  “Yeah, well I've got a couple of others for you, too. Do you think you can take me to a bank and then to a grocery store?”

  Twenty-Two

  Upon opening the door, I moved quickly to my left to allow Peter, heavily laden with grocery bags, into the apartment. He moved swiftly toward the kitchen, one of the bags tearing with the weight of its contents, but he managed to get it onto the table just as it split open.

  “That was close,” I said as a number of cans tumbled out. One made its way to the edge of the table, but Peter snatched it quickly before it fell off, and he set it up right.

  “I'll go get the last of the bags,” he huffed, his face almost as red as his hair. He'd managed to carry six bags himself while I jostled only half as many.

  I started unpacking the bags and organized the items on the table, apart from the refrigerated stuff; I wasn't quite sure where everything was going.

  I had only just finished unpacking four of the bags when Peter came in with another haul and placed five more bags on the table, bringing the count to fourteen.

  “Did you remember the three in the back seat?” I asked, not looking up but continuing to unpack the bags and sort through their items. Peter mumbled something as he walked out of the room. “I guess not,” I quietly muttered to myself trying hard not to laugh. When Peter returned minutes later, I had emptied half of the bags.

  “You could open up your own little market with the stuff you've bought today,” Peter remarked as he placed the last three bags on the floor since there was no room left on the table.

  I laughed, “Yeah, I don't think I've ever bought this many groceries before.” I stood with my hands on my hips staring at the table filled with goods, with another ten more bags yet to be unpacked.

  “Well, apart from perishables, this should last you the rest of the summer.” Peter stood beside me shaking his head. “If you'd like, I can finish unpacking, so you can put stuff away.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  It took a good half hour to get everything sorted and put away, with cupboards and refrigerator full, it felt more like home.

  “Meet you in the living room with a cold drink?” I smiled at him.

  “Brilliant!” Peter turned and headed out of the kitchen.

  I rummaged through the cupboards, grabbed a large, green, plastic bowl and filled it with chips, or crisps as Peter had called them, then set the bowl on a tray I'd found on the top of the fridge. After locating a couple of large glasses, I filled them up with ice and pop. Thankfully, Aaron's aunt had made ice prior to my arrival; one of the many entries she'd written in the notebook.

  “The notebook!” I spoke quietly to myself, suddenly panicked remembering the notebook was sitting on the table in the living room.

  Carefully lifting the tray, I walked swiftly into the living room where Peter was sitting, the notebook in his hand. For a moment, I felt anxiety beginning to build, but I managed to stop it before it controlled me.

  Maybe he didn't read anything. I silently tried to reassure myself.

  “Ah,” he said, putting the notebook back on the coffee table.

  I placed the tray into the centre. The room suddenly seemed to fill with awkwardness, and I sensed that Peter had indeed read my crazy writings. I tried to lighten the mood and figure out just how much he'd read.

  “So, interesting read?” I asked jutting my chin out in the direction of the notebook on the table.

  “Just reading all the instructions Jane left you.” He didn't quite look me in the eye, but reached for one of the glasses from the tray and took a long gulp.

  “Is that all?” I pressed some more. Though it was embarrassing, I needed to know exactly how much he'd read.

  “Er, well no… I did sort of start to read, you know… something else, but I promise I just realized it was… you know… sort of personal when you came into the room, so I put it down, I'm sorry; I certainly didn't mean to pry into anything.” His eyes told me he was being honest with me, and I relaxed a little and sat on the couch beside him. I reached for the remaining glass on the tray and took my own long sip almost drinking half of the large glass. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't read more than the first little bit.”

  “That's okay. I've had a lot on my mind lately and thought it would help if I wrote it down.”

  “No need for explanations, I understand completely.” He sipped again from his drink and grabbed a handful of chips as if to wave the whole incident aside; however, his actions still didn't manage to clear the air. We sat in silence, drinking and eating. Finally, Peter placed his empty glass down on the table and turned toward me. “So do you really believe in all that stuff; you know, past lives and ghosts and everything of that sort?” He looked at me with raised eyebrows and waited for my answer. When he put it that way, I just didn't know anymore, it sounded too incredible.

  “I thought you said you only read a little bit?”

  “Well, I may not have been entirely truthful; it was more like the first three pages.”

  My eyes widened. Three pages! I couldn't remember what exactly was written on those first three pages, but I did know that what he'd read was definitely enough for him to get the gist of the whole thing. I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or just throw him out.

  “You should blink or something before your eyes dry up and fall out of their sockets,” he said smiling.

  I closed my eyes and my mouth.

  “I'm sorry, I truly didn't mean to pry but I wasn't sure what I was reading and then by the time I realized, it was too late. Can you forgive me?”

  Peter's blue eyes sparkled, there was no way I could be mad at him. I nodded.

  “Good. So do you?”

  I crumpled my brow and thought a moment before finally answering. “I don't know.” My response was almost inaudible; my eyes looked down at my hands resting on my lap. Finally, I gained just enough courage to look Peter in the eyes. “I don't know what I think. My dreams, my experience with a medium; it's all too much, and yet I keep coming back to one conclusion. I'm just not sure I'm prepared for it.” It was strange talking about this with someone I'd just met and yet, it was a relief, like keeping a big secret that had been nothing but a burden. “Do you believe in that sort of stuff?” I asked even though I already suspected what his position would be on the subject.

  “No.” It was emphatic.

  Not surprised, I nodded.

  “What makes you so convinced this sort of thing is even possible?”

  I leaned over, picked up the notebook from the coffee table, and handed it over to him. “Keep reading.” I held the notebook out to him.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded, and he reached over taking the book from my hand. He read and I watched, hoping that there'd be something in my written words that would convince even the most rigid of skeptics. My eyes scanned his face for any readable expression, but there was none, his face remained unmoved. It wasn't long before he finished, and then he closed the notebook and handed it back to me.

  “Well?” I asked cautiously, drawing the notebook toward my chest and folding my arms protectively around it.

  He sat there straight-faced – quiet. He stretched and leaned back against the couch closing his eyes as if in meditation. Patiently I waited.

  “Look,” he began, his blue eyes stared into mine, “I'm not quite sure what to make of your experiences. I'm sure they've been quite…” he paused, “unsettling. Personally, though, I still don't believe in that sort of thing. Though in truth,
it does all seem quite… odd, for lack of a better word.” He scratched his head. “I don't know.”

  Instantly, I regretted opening my mouth and encouraging him to read what I'd written. The whole thing was rather embarrassing and for a moment, tears threatened to make an appearance. I took a deep breath and resolved to put the whole thing behind me, or at least not talk about it with Peter.

  “I know someone who is not as skeptical, mind you he doesn't like to talk about it much, but perhaps he'd be willing to help.”

  “Who?” I was a little thrilled that someone might be able to help me.

  “Aaron.”

  “Aaron?” I scrunched my eyes in confusion. “Yeah, well seeing as we haven't quite met… besides telling you was awkward enough, I'm not sure I want to start that conversation again.” I picked up my glass and drained the last bit of pop.

  “I suppose you're right. I could maybe speak to him about it first. That is if you would like me to.” Peter looked at me.

  Goose bumps rose on my arms, and the hair stood up on the back of my neck. I didn't know whether it was from the way he looked at me or if it was just the idea of telling someone else. Whatever it was, it passed quickly.

  “I don't know. I have to think about it.”

  “I understand. I won't say anything unless you ask.” Peter stood up and looked at his watch. “Well I should be going.”

  “Oh!” I was a little surprised by his sudden urgency to leave. I stood up and walked with him to the door. “Well, thank you so much for taking me around town and helping me with my groceries and everything.” It still felt awkward between us.

  “It was my pleasure. Thank you for the drink.”

  I waved my hand as though it were no big deal. Peter reached up and gently touched my chin. Before I knew what was happening he kissed me, the shock of it all caused me to jump back.

  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean –”

  “No, no it's okay,” I interrupted. “It's just that…” I paused trying to find the right words, “I just ended a relationship, and I'm not ready to…” I let my voice trail off.

  “I understand completely. Don't even worry about it. I just… anyway don't worry.” He reached for the doorknob.

  “Peter!” I said placing my hand on his arm stopping him. “Thanks for understanding… everything.” I turned and looked at the notebook on the coffee table before looking back at him.

  “Like I said 'no worries'. You have my word that I won't say anything, unless of course you want me to. He really might be able to help.”

  “I'll think about it. Who knows maybe we'll hit it off, and I'll be brave enough to once again tell my strange stories to a virtual stranger.” I smiled.

  Peter raised his eyebrows but said nothing, the matter dropped. “Have a good evening,” he said as he opened the door to my apartment and headed out.

  “Yeah thanks, you too,” I called after him, watching him head down the stairs. He raised his arm in acknowledgement.

  I closed the door to my apartment and leaned back against it. My lips still tingled from his kiss, my fingers absently rubbed over them. His kiss left me confused; it was all so sudden. Peter was handsome and our time together was enjoyable. Could there possibly be something more than a new friendship? It was certainly too soon to tell and in any case, I was not ready for anything more, at least not yet. My trip was for one reason and that was to regroup, to find myself, so to speak. I laughed aloud about the double entendre that statement seemed to make in my life. Which 'self' was I trying to find?

  Twenty-Three

  Peter pulled into the drive of his home and turned off his car. He rested his head on the leather headrest, closed his eyes, and let out a small burp as he rubbed his stomach. He had eaten far too much, and now he was paying for it. He loved the food at the small diner he stopped at on his way home, but it never seemed to like him. He was tired from the day he'd spent with Krista and just wanted to spend a nice quiet evening at home, maybe even go to bed early.

  Finally, he opened the door of his car grunting and groaning as he got out, his hand still rubbing his expanded gut. He reached down and unbuttoned his shorts, it helped a little but still didn't give him the relief he was looking for. He closed the door and pressed the door lock icon on his key fob, the beeping sound giving him the security that the doors had locked as he headed up the walk. Peter burped again, that time more loudly.

  “Always biting off more than you can chew, hey Peter?” He scolded himself under his breath as he unlocked the door to his home. The expression he aimed at himself was meant both literally and figuratively.

  Peter took off his shoes, pushed them over into the corner out of the way with his foot, and unzipped the fly on his shorts to loosen them up even more. He needed to get out of them and into something more comfortable, something with elastic. He headed into his bedroom, taking his shorts off as he went along and threw them into the laundry hamper in the corner of his room. He was a bit of a neat freak and nothing ever was out of place. Though it was still quite warm outside, his home was comfortably air-conditioned. With that in mind, Peter found himself a nice, baggy pair of jogging bottoms and pulled them on.

  He headed into the washroom, flipped on the light, and rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for the antacids he kept on hand. Finding the ones he was looking for, he swallowed them down with water he drank directly from the tap. Peter turned off the light, headed toward the living room, and flung himself on his big, oversized couch landing with a flump.

  He laid there for a moment, but soon realized that lying down wasn't a good idea, at least not until the antacids kicked in. He sat up, leaned his head back on the couch, and closed his eyes. Flashes of the day's events bombarded him as clearly as if he were watching them play out on a screen. He shook his head as though to erase the images and opened his eyes. He sat forward and rested his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

  “Argh!” Peter grunted in frustration. “Why do I always manage to ruin things?”

  He had spent a good part of the drive home going over the day and the signals he thought he had received from Krista. He was so sure that she was interested in him, but apparently, he'd been wrong. At least not enough to make her forget about the relationship she'd just left. In any case, she had stated it plainly. Then of course, there were all of those strange occurrences she had been having, and the thoughts she'd had about possibly having a past life. It was always the same thing. Whenever he was interested in a girl, she always had baggage of some sort to deal with, never mind his own. Nevertheless, the women he fell for always seemed to have much more.

  “That's it,” Peter told himself, “from now on it won't be me making the first move.” It wasn't the first time he'd told himself that, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

  He grabbed the remote from the table and sat back on the couch as he turned on the TV. After a few minutes of flipping through the channels, nothing caught his attention, so he turned it off. His stomach gurgled, a good sign that the antacids were working.

  Peter thought back again to the last few minutes with Krista. He had told her that he had a dinner to get to, which wasn't exactly true. He wanted to get out of there quickly given that things were getting awkward. Then he thought of his kiss. It was nice, though much too short. She had jumped back with such shock that he'd been embarrassed, and all he could think of was to get out of there as quickly as possible. He hoped that if they ever saw each other again, a prospect he was quite sure was in his future given the turmoil in Aaron's life, they could overcome the unease they both certainly felt and move on.

  The phone rang and Peter jumped, his heart raced. He'd fallen asleep on the couch and hadn't realized it. Reaching across the armrest, he grabbed the cordless phone from its cradle on the end table.

  “Hello!” Peter said groggily.

  “Hey, did I wake you?” Aaron asked.

  “It's alright, mate. What time is it?” Peter rubbed his free hand over
his face.

  “Quarter past ten. Are you feeling ill? I'm surprised you're even at home. I tried your mobile, but it just went to answerphone.”

  “Yeah, I turned it off earlier today; I didn't want to be disturbed.” Peter sat forward and scratched his head.

  “Now I'm interested, what have you been up to all day?”

  “Before I answer, how's your mum?” Peter asked putting up a hand to his mouth and stifling a burp, he was feeling much better.

  “Not bad. She's had a good couple of days.”

  “That's good. So I take it you'll be back soon?” Peter didn't know how to feel about that. On the one hand, he needed him back. Right now, they were managing but in the next week or two, it wouldn't be quite as easy. On the other hand, he wanted to see Krista again, even if it was awkward.

  “Yeah, I think so, barring any turns for the worst. Now are you going to tell me what you've been up to?

  Peter scratched his head searching for the right way to tell Aaron exactly what he had been doing.

  “Well, I found a bracelet in my car. I thought maybe it was Krista's, so I headed to Bourton to bring it to her.”

  “You drove up to see if a bracelet in your car belonged to Krista?” Aaron asked incredulously. “Wouldn't it have been easier to just ring her?”

  Peter was a little embarrassed, the thought had crossed his mind, but he wanted to see her again and it was a good excuse. He rose from the couch and paced around, something he was in the habit of doing when he wasn't quite sure of himself.

  “Yes, I could have, but I wanted to see her again.”

  “So was it hers?”

  “No. But we did spend the day together.”

  “Really!”

  “Showed her around, took her shopping.” Peter shrugged as if it was no big deal, images from the day flipped through his mind.

  “And…?”

  “And nothing really, it just got a little awkward.”

  “Awkward – how?”

  Peter thought about telling Aaron about Krista and her belief that she was dealing with past life memories but remembered his promise to her.