Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Novel (A Chick-lit Paranormal book) (The Angela Panther Series)

by Aspenson, Carolyn Ridder

  “You really do believe me, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. And don’t worry, when Jake has you institutionalized, I promise to visit you and bring cheesecake and cupcakes.”

  She took a drink of coffee. “So she actually talks to you?”

  “Yup.”

  “What does she say? Did she tell you there’s a Heaven? Has she been there?” She paused, and took a deep breath. “This is amazing, Ang.”

  “I know. It’s unbelievable, really. She told me there is a light, and she went to it but she came back.”

  “She came back? Why?”

  “She said she has unfinished business.”

  “What unfinished business?”

  “Beats me. She sort of left that part out.”

  “Well, cripes. What else did she say? Tell me everything.”

  So I did. I also filled her in on Josh and his ability to see Ma, too. She asked if Jake knows. “I told him about the first time, and Josh told us both about her coming to him, but he thinks it’s our grief. You know Jake. He doesn’t really believe in things he can’t touch or feel.”

  Mel rolled her eyes. “Men. They’re so closed minded. You’d think with two heads they’d have enough brain matter to see things differently.”

  “I think their one head takes up so much of their thought processes it restricts the other one from proper blood flow.”

  We both laughed and took another cupcake. I was pretty sure I’d throw up later, but I didn’t really care.

  We finished off another piece of cheesecake and headed down to the basement to go through my mother’s things.

  “Is she here? You need to tell me if she shows up."

  I made a big deal of checking under my mother’s bed and behind her dresser. “Well, she’s not under the bed and I don’t see her...oh, wait. She’s here. There she is, right behind you. Hi, Ma." I waved my arms like an idiot.

  Mel turned her head and checked behind her, then turned back and smacked my arm. “That’s cruel. Just tell me if she shows up, okay? I just want to know.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She laughed and then surveyed the room full of Ma’s stuff. “So what do you plan to do with all of this?”

  “I don’t know. Give most of it to Goodwill, I guess.”

  We sat on the floor and stared at what little was left of Ma’s things. A queen-sized bed, a dresser, chest of drawers and two matching nightstands, two TVs, six or seven large moving boxes, and maybe ten hatboxes full of stuff was all that was left of my mother. Almost eighty years reduced to a room full of stuff. I made a decision to work hard to let her memory live on then. It wasn’t right to leave this world with just stuff. Memories were far more valuable.

  “I was sort of hoping we could keep the furniture down here and make this another guest room, but I don’t know now. What do you think?”

  Mel studied the size of the room. “I don’t think so. This is your kids’ space, and you already have a guest room upstairs. Maybe Goodwill is the way to go.”

  I knew she was right, but there was a part of me that didn’t want to get rid of any of Ma’s stuff. “Maybe I should see if my niece wants the furniture? She could use it for her new place.”

  “That’s a good idea." She surveyed the stuff again.. “But what if your mother is here because she’s attached to her stuff? What if you give it to your niece and your mother goes with it?”

  Just then Ma floated into the room. I had to admit, it was sort of cool, really, to watch her float like that. “I’m not attached to my stuff. I don’t just stay here, you know. Tell her I go to your brothers’ houses too. And anyway, I’m dead, what do I need all that crap for?"

  “Mel, she’s here.” I whispered.

  She didn’t even flinch. “Not falling for it, Ang.”

  “No, I’m serious. She’s here. Floating on the right side of her bed. Look, do you see her?” I pointed to the right side of the bed, and then felt like an idiot for doing so.

  Mel stared at the bed, squinted her eyes and stuck her neck out, as if that would help her see something impossible for her. “Oh my God. There she is. Holy crap, Ang, I can see her, right there.” She pointed in the wrong direction.

  “Nice try, loser, but she’s here, I swear." I crossed my heart for good measure.

  She focused on the bed again. Ma shook her hips and stuck out her tongue. I bit back a giggle.

  “Stop messing with me." She hugged herself. “I’m freezing, Ang. What do you have the AC set on, negative 70?”

  I laughed. “I told you, she’s here. It always gets cold when she comes around.”

  Mel gave me her "that's B.S." look.

  “Mel, I. Am. Serious. She. Is. Here.” I said it like a parent talking to a toddler in time out. “Ma, move something. Show her you’re here.”

  Ma threw her hands up in the air. “Ah, Madone. What’s she think? I’m a magician or something? You know I can’t move things on purpose. Yesterday I was at your brother Paul’s house and I accidently touched the counter and knocked a dish over. Faith was there and when your brother came in, she got blamed for it. Poor bambina. Faith told him it was Grandma Fran, but that just got her in more trouble. I told her that seeing me is a secret, and not to tell her dad anymore, that we’d just keep it between us.”

  Well, that added another layer to the taco dip, didn’t it? Selfishly, I couldn’t help but feel slightly perturbed that my mother showed herself to whoever could see her. I gave myself a face palm. A therapist would have a field day with that one.

  “I’ll talk to Faith, Ma. Eventually. I’ll figure out a way to explain all of this.”

  Mel looked and me and then back toward the bed again. “She’s really here, isn’t she? I can tell. You look like you’re really listening to her. Plus, that whole face palm thing sort of gave you away. You always did that when she frustrated you. Plus, I think you’re crazy but not crazy enough to talk to yourself like that. Yet. What’s she saying?”

  I realized I was staring at my mother, and switched back to Mel. “She’s telling me she got my niece Faith in trouble because she accidently knocked a plate off the counter, but my brother didn’t believe Faith when she said it was Grandma’s fault.”

  Mel got up and took my mother’s throw off of her bed and wrapped it around her. “Seriously Ang, it’s cold down here.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Not my fault. Blame Fran, Mel. I’m telling you, it’s her. You know how the mediums always say it gets cold when a ghost is around? Well, it does. Every time I’ve seen my mother, I’ve felt a chill. There’s your proof, Mel. She’s really here.”

  “I believe you, Ang." She glanced toward the bed. “Um, hi, Fran,” she yelled to my mother, then whispered to me, “What does she want?”

  “Oh, for the love of God, I’m dead. I’m not deaf. She doesn't have to yell."

  I giggled. “Mel, Ma said she’s dead, not deaf, and I don’t know what she wants. You two have been so busy talking, I haven’t had a chance to ask.” I asked Ma what she wanted. She told me she had some things in her hatboxes and she wanted to make sure I gave them to her granddaughters, so Mel and I found them and put them aside. Mel was shocked and awed that my dead mother was here telling me what to do with her stuff. I was shocked and awed that she didn’t, for one tiny second, question my sanity anymore than normal, that is. They’re few and far between, friends like that. She so deserved another cupcake.

  “I’m researching this tonight."

  “Researching what?” Ma and I asked, in unison. We shot each other a quick look, and I felt good knowing that mother-daughter connection was still there.

  “This...your mother being here, and not going to the light. I mean, seriously, there’s got to be a reason she’s here, you know? Something’s got to be keeping her here.”

  “She’s a smart one, that Mel."

  “Well, Ma. It’s not like I haven’t said that very same thing.”

  Mel’s head jerked back and forth as she tried to
catch a glimpse of my mother. “What’s she saying? Is she talking about me?”

  I nodded. “She said you’re smart.”

  Mel flipped her hair with her hand, and smiled seductively. “Well, duh. I’m the complete package. Smart and beautiful.”

  “Of course you are. I wouldn’t hang out with you if you weren’t.”

  My mother stuck her tongue out, put her finger in her mouth and made a gagging sound. I laughed out loud.

  Mel was befuddled. “This isn’t fair. I feel like the odd woman out. You get to see both your mother and me, and I’m stuck with just you and only getting half of the conversation. Nothing personal, Ang, but I’d much rather see your mom right now.”

  I gave her my sad face.

  Ma floated over to Mel and tried to give her a hug, but her arms went right through my friend. “What a load of crap.” She grunted in frustration.

  Mel shuddered. “Oh, wow. I just had a massive chill.”

  Yeah, I bet you did.

  I directed the conversation back to Mel’s earlier comment about Ma being here for a reason, because I knew if I mentioned the hug attempt, Mel would be freaked. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure out what’s keeping Ma here, too. I’ve asked her, but she avoids the issue.” I glanced at Ma, but she pretended not to notice, and stared at the wall. She’d become really good at avoiding issues since she died.

  “I think we need to see a medium. Maybe a medium can tell us why she’s still here, and what to do about it.”

  “What to do about it? Who’s she calling an it,” Ma snipped. “I’m no it. I’m a human being. Well, I was a human being, and now I’m a ghost, but you know what I mean.”

  “She’s not calling you an it, Mother.”

  Mel shook her head boldly. “No, Fran. I didn’t mean it that way. I meant the situation.”

  “My mother knows that, Mel. She’s just being a brat. Stop it, Ma.”

  “I’m sorry, Fran. Really."

  “I know, I know." Tell her not to get her undies all up in a bunch. I’m not going to come and haunt her or anything. Not yet anyway.”

  Now that would have been fun to watch. I relayed Ma’s message to Mel, and then watched Ma shimmy away, sparkles and all. I so wished I could do that.

  “She’s gone.”

  “Wow. Just wow.”

  “Yup. Welcome to my world.”

  We finished going through Ma’s things, and made plans to meet for coffee the next day.

  Chapter Seven

  Early the next morning, Jake and I got up and took our coffee out to the deck. June in Georgia was sweltering, and the only time it was cool enough to sit outside without a cold beer or a frozen drink was before noon, so we took advantage of it when we could.

  Jake had a tiny bit of drool in the corner of his mouth and I couldn’t decide if it was because I wore my hot mama pajamas – baby blue men’s plaid boxers and a tank top – or he forgot to wipe off his sleep spit. He, however, sported a look only a wife could love. A pair of workout shorts and a Harley tee shirt – because those are the only kind of tee shirts he owned. He liked to pretend he was a bad boy and I let him live in his fantasy world.

  “Aren’t we just the hot and sexy couple of the year?”

  “Your sinuses bothering you? You sound funny."

  Well, great, I gave him sexy and raspy, and he heard nasal. We were in serious need of a date night.

  “So how was your trip? You haven’t really told me much about it.” Jake had been in NYC. I loved NYC, and was jealous of his twice-monthly trips there. Mel and I went for a girls’ weekend last October and trucked across the city looking for the perfect cupcake. We called it the cupcake tour, but never picked the perfect cupcake. There were too many contenders and when I say too many, I meant a lot. Red Velvet. Chocolate Chip. Vanilla Supreme with Cream Cheese Icing (my personal favorite). It was a virtual cupcake-gasm for three days and it took me three weeks of an extra thirty minutes on the treadmill every day to lose the weight I gained. And I really hated the treadmill.

  “Trip was good.” Jake rambled on about architecture and building stability, and about how, on his current project, the architect refused to use a certain type of stone, but the builder insisted he was going to use it anyway because the building would fall over if he didn’t, and it was all way over my head. Sometimes when he rambled on about work, I felt like my dog. All I heard was “blah, blah, blah, Angela,” but I learned how to nod, and shake my head at the appropriate times, whereas the dog just put her head down and snored. At least I pretended to be interested.

  It was even harder to listen when Ma floated behind him as he talked, and her hands mimicked his, with her face all intense and passionate like his was. She made it hard to stay focused on what he said. I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Ma immediately stopped, and fell into a fit of laughter. “Ah Madone, you’re in trouble now, Ang. You want I should try to move something? You know, to distract him? I’ve been practicing.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from giggling harder and pretended to examine something on my foot.

  “Oh, nothing. Sorry. I was just laughing at your hands. You know, if you ever break one, you won’t be able to talk. At least not until the cast came off.”

  Jake frowned at me but continued his story, and I got distracted watching my mother’s performance all over again. “Well, has he?”

  I realized I hadn’t heard a word he said. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You haven’t listened to a thing I’ve said, have you?”

  Whoops, busted.

  “Yes I have, actually.” I did hear the stuff about the architect and the builder. “You were talking about the architect and the builder disagreeing about the type of stone to use,” I said proudly.

  Jake sighed. “That was at least five minutes ago, Ang. I just asked you if Josh has said anything more about seeing Fran.”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.” I quickly decided not to tell him about the memorial service and how Ma was there cracking Josh up. He was so in his element – being social and talking to everyone – he didn’t even know that Josh served coffee and drinks, so I didn’t think he noticed Josh appeared to be laughing to himself. “He hasn’t mentioned anything, no.”

  “What about you? Still dreaming about her?”

  If you consider hanging out and chatting with my mother in the middle of the afternoon a dream, then yeah, I’m still dreaming about her.

  I guessed it was as good of a time as any to let my husband know I was nuts. “Sort of, but I don’t think I’m actually dreaming.”

  He gave me his this isn’t going to be good look, the one I got when I told him I’d sneezed while driving through construction and rear-ended the car in front of me. It wasn’t my favorite look from him. I had hoped, instead for his oh goodie, a fun Angela story look, but that one was rare.

  “What do you mean, you don’t think you’re dreaming?”

  I sat still and searched for a way to answer his question without appearing absolutely nuts, but I got nothing. Hard to not appear nuts when I actually felt kind of crazy.

  Ma floated away from Jake, and over to me. “Go ahead and tell him, Angela. He’ll believe you."

  “Okay, here it goes. Yes, I’ve seen my mother, Jake and I am one hundred percent positive I wasn’t dreaming.” I sort of hoped that would feel a lot better than it did.

  Jake didn’t speak. He was probably waiting for me to say ‘psych,’ or something.

  “Well?”

  My husband took a swig of coffee and lit up a cigarette; a habit I wished he’d quit, especially since it killed Ma, and all. “You’ve seen Fran, and you’re one hundred percent sure you weren’t dreaming.”

  Jake repeated what people said a lot. At first I thought he did it because he thought what they said sounded stupid or didn’t make sense, but in time I realized the repeating was his attempt at comprehending. Most of the time, that is. I was pretty s
ure this time fell into the stupid category.

  “Yup, that’s what I said.”

  He took a drag of his cigarette and blew it out slowly.

  I rubbed my temples, feeling the start of a migraine.

  “Tell him, Ang."

  I rubbed my eyes, framed my face with my hands, and breathed in deeply. Here it goes. “Jake,” I breathed in another big sigh and released it. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I promise.”

  I paused, mostly because I couldn’t figure out what to say, but then just went for it. “The first time it happened, I thought it was probably a dream, but after the third or fourth time I knew it wasn’t.”

  Long, uncomfortable silence.

  “It doesn’t happen when I’m sleeping and it’s at different times during the day, and I’m pretty sure I’m not hallucinating or a narcoleptic, Jake. This is for real.”

  Jake ran his hand through his hair, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the sky. After what seemed like hours, he finally leaned back toward me, picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. “After the third or fourth time.”

  See? The repeating thing again. Annoying. “Yes, but there have been more.”

  Jake stiffened into defend and attack mode. He did this when he was preparing himself for an argument. When he did it to other people I was fine, because I knew that ultimately they were going to get a serious ass chewing and it was sometimes fun to watch, but when he did it to me, things rarely ended on a good note. I’ve never been one to back down from a fight.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Admittedly, his reaction surprised me but I opened up like a broken fire hydrant. I told him about the memorial service, about the cemetery, including how Faith saw Ma, too. I spared no detail and he remained silent, which was actually sort of a miracle and even Ma was surprised. He was probably trying to think of whom he could get to babysit the kids while I was locked up in the loony bin and he was out of town.

  When I finished he sat for a minute and gave me a questionable stare before saying, “So you’re telling me you’ve seen Fran, as a ghost?”

  Ding ding! Give the man a prize! I refrained from my urge to jump up and smack him upside the head and say, “By James! I think you’ve got it!” “Yup. That’s what I said.”