She humphed loudly and frowned. “You really know how to spoil my fun, don’t you? Ah, Madone. You’re right. From now on no scary ghost tricks, I promise." She crossed her heart or at least the place where it was when she was alive.
I shook my head and I knew that regardless of her intentions, she was totally full of crap, like, for sure. “Okay, Ma. Next time you’re going, please let me know ahead of time, and maybe I can figure out who’s having the party and put a stop to it before it even happens.”
“Yeah, that will be good for Emily. She’s already struggling with her friends, so you tattling on them is going to be a big help.”
“I don’t care if she’s popular, Ma. I care that she’s not doing drugs.”
“Well, so do I, Angela, but you can’t destroy her life just to keep her safe. She’s a very sensitive child. A little overly dramatic, which she gets from you, but still, very sensitive. You need to keep that in mind when you figure out what to do about these parties. If kids think she told on them, she’ll be tortured far worse than that Taylor girl has done.”
When did my mother become so right all of the time? It was getting annoying. “You’re right, and by the way, I am not overly dramatic, Mother.”
“Two words, Angela. Bird funeral.”
I started to give my reasons but she just smiled and shimmered. I hated how she got the last word like that.
###
I spent the rest of the day doing mundane mother and wife-like things around the house. The stuff dreams are made of. No, really. Didn’t every woman dream of scraping black scuff marks off of their wood floors? Isn’t that why we spent our teen years dreaming of the man we were going to marry? So he could sweep us off our feet and then we could sweep the floor on which he carries us? Yeah, that didn’t work for me, either. I have a theory about why, as kids, we thought we’d marry Prince Charming. As children, we watched our parents, most specifically our mothers, and assumed that whatever we saw wrong in their marriage, based on our wealth of knowledge and life experience, of course, was our mother’s fault. Most young girls felt their dads walked on water while our mothers drove us insane and blaming them seemed only logical in our not yet fully functioning brains. So we spent our time fantasizing about our Prince Charming and writing our names with theirs on our notebooks, thinking our future was filled with romance and expensive gifts. We eventually found our soul mate, our Prince Charming, or so we thought, and after years of picking up his dirty laundry up from the floor while he sat in front of the TV watching sports and burping with his hand down his pants, we actually became our mothers. Then we got it. We realized it wasn’t our mothers' fault and that maybe there were actually two sides to the story. That our mothers were, in fact, saints. That however, didn’t stop us from thinking our dads still walked on water.
I took a few breaks during the mundane mother and wife duties to call my dad but only talked with him briefly. It was status quo now for him to say a few words, and then hand the phone to Helen.
“He’s the same. We had to go to the emergency room yesterday because he’s a little backed up, but otherwise he’s the same.”
I felt my body tense. “You went to the ER and didn’t call me?”
“He asked me not to. He knows you’re worried about him and since it was just a bowel issue, I didn’t think it was something to be concerned about. The doctor gave him some medicine and told him to stay close to the bathroom and he’d be fine.”
I allowed myself to calm just a little bit. “That makes sense. Is he feeling better?”
“He seems to be. He’s not eating much still but right now I think that has more to do with his constipation than anything else. I’m not sure I’d want to eat if I were having trouble like that, either.”
“Good point. Please though, will you let me know if anything is going on? I’m really worried about him.”
“I will. I promise, but he seems to be okay. He’s not better than when you saw him, but he doesn’t seem to be any worse, either.”
We spent a few more minutes talking about the kids and other casual stuff and then said our goodbyes.
I’d been texting Mel throughout the day, mostly because we had very important social issues to discuss. Our main topic of conversation today was the reason why some women bleach the hairs in their butt cracks. Apparently it’s the new, big thing. We both are signed up for a coupon program like Groupon, and the offer of the day was an anal bleaching, something neither of us even knew existed and were completely fascinated by.
“I think they do it to stop the occurrence of dingleberries,” she texted.
“Gross. One can stop the occurrence of dingleberries by simply wiping properly.”
“Perhaps they don’t have enough time. Maybe their kids are waiting outside the bathroom door, whining.”
“Then might I suggest they get rid of the kids? I’d get rid of the kids if that meant I didn’t have to have someone bleach my butt.”
“I wonder if it burns?”
“How could it not?”
“Exactly.”
“For the record,” Mel texted. “I would NEVER get my butt hair bleached. Probably never.”
“Never, ever. EVER,” I texted back.
“Yah, never. How did this start in the first place? Did someone actually say, damn girl, yo ass is freaking me out! Get that stuff bleached?”
“I’d rather hear my vajayjay is stinky.”
“Seriously, you wouldn’t. Just sayin’.”
“You’re probably right, but I do occasionally do the sniff test.”
“I don’t even want to know.”
“Yeah, you probably don’t.”
I love how my friend added a big, heaping dose of spice to my otherwise mundane life. Mundane except for the seeing ghosts part, that is.
Chapter Eighteen
That night I was blessed by the sleep Gods and didn’t even remember my head hitting the pillow. I slept hard and dreamed in detail about the dead woodpecker. She talked to me and told me she was thankful I held her while she died, and that she had a young family and would really like it if I put decals on the window. The dream was so vivid that when I woke up I actually believed the bird talked to me. Did birds become ghosts? And if they did, could they speak human? I really needed to call that psychic Linda.
I slept for just under seven hours, more than I get on average, so at five thirty a.m. I was already out of the house and pulling into Starbucks.
“Hey, I've been thinking about what happened." Jenn made drinks at the bar.
I surveyed the store and saw two women waiting for drinks, but both were texting on their phones, not paying attention. “You were?” I tried to sound casual.
“Yes. I’m going on break in a few minutes. Are you going to be here?”
“Yup. I’m staying for a bit before I go to the gym.”
“Great, I’ll come over in a little bit.”
“Okay.”
I wasn’t sure what she wanted to talk about, and honestly, was a little nervous. The only people I’d really discussed this...this gift, or whatever you want to call it, with was Mel and Jake, and my mother of course, but since she’s not actually alive, I didn’t think she should count.
“So, I’ve been thinking,"
“Okay.”
“I could tell you weren’t comfortable doing what you did for me so I wanted to see if you’re okay.”
I smiled at my friend. “Thanks, I appreciate that. This is all new to me, and honestly, I’m not sure what to do with it or really how I feel about it all. I’m still working through it.”
“I can only imagine. If you’d like to talk to the Pastor at my church, I’m sure I can help you see him,” she offered.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. My mom and my aunt talked yesterday. I think they’re working towards patching things up."
“That’s great,” I told her.
“Yes, it is. Listen, if you need to talk, you know you can come to me, okay?”<
br />
“I know. I appreciate that.”
Jenn held my hand for a second and then said she had to get back to work. I’m always amazed at how some people reach out to others just because they can.
I finished my coffee and headed to the gym for a forty-five minute cardio session. I’d found an interval, high intensity treadmill routine in a fitness magazine and thought it was a great way to torture myself, so I figured I’d give it a try. In the middle of the torture I saw the group of body builder women all standing around the smith machine talking. I couldn’t help but wonder how they looked so good when mostly all I ever saw them do was stand around and talk to each other and there I was, busting my butt and still looking like a mom. Probably it had something to do with my cupcake addiction but I wasn’t ready to accept that theory just yet.
On the way home I called Linda.
“Hi Angela. I’ve been expecting to hear from you.”
Holy crap. She is psychic! She knew it was me calling. “Um,” I stammered. “I have been meaning to call, but just haven’t had a chance. How did you know it was me?”
“Well, I’m psychic, of course. And I have caller ID.”
Oh.
“So I’m guessing you’re ready to talk about your gift?”
I sighed heavily, something I’ve been doing a lot lately, and I’m sure she heard it. “I’m not really sure I’d call it a gift, but yes, I’d like to talk about what’s happening. Do you have any time available this week?”
“Absolutely. I’ve actually got this afternoon free. I kept my calendar open for a possible seminar but the deal fell through. Can you come by at about one o’clock?”
“Sure. That’d be great. Did you want me to bring Mel?” Please say yes. Please say yes.
“Not this time. I think it’s better if we talk on our own, if that’s okay with you.”
Crapola. “Great. Not a problem. I’ll see you at one then.”
“Wonderful. Looking forward to it, Angela. Bye.”
I called Mel right away.
“Do you want me to come?”
“Yeah, but psychic Linda says you can’t. She said it’s best we talk on our own.”
“Well that bites, but it makes sense, Ang. I think it’s great you’re finally going. You really need to talk to someone who understands what’s going on and can help you. Oh, and make sure you record it.”
“Why should I record it?”
“So I can listen to it later. Duh. And so if you have any questions you can refer back to it.”
“I’m not going to tape it, Mel. That wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“What? Are you kidding me? Of course it would be appropriate. People do it all the time. You know you’re going to have questions, so if you record it, you’ll have it to go back to when you do have a question, silly. I’m sure Linda will understand.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable doing that. Besides, what if she doesn’t want me to?”
“Just put your phone face down on the table and she’ll never know.”
“Mel, she’ll know. She’s psychic.”
“Oh, yeah. Good point. Well, so what. Do it anyway. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.”
“I really, really want you to come.”
“I really, really want to come too, but you can do this. You’re not going to spontaneously combust or anything without me there.”
“You sure?”
She laughed. “Yes, I’m sure. Just make sure you call me the second you’re done.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Of course not.”
###
Surprisingly, Emily was up when I got home. “Hey, you’re up early."
“Yeah." She bounced through the kitchen, her mood clearly improved after the last, oh, I don’t know...lifetime. “I’m going to hang out with Taylor for the day. Can you take me to her house?”
“Oh yeah? You haven’t talked about her much lately. I thought maybe something was going on. Is everything okay?” Score one for the mom who acts all calm and collected when trying to get information from her kid.
“Yeah, we’re cool. We had a fight but it’s all good now. So, like, can you run me over there? We want to lay out when the sun is hottest.”
Normally I’m not a suspicious person. Okay, normally, I am a suspicious person, but in this case I felt justified, knowing what I knew about the parties and Taylor’s involvement. The problem was, I didn’t feel like I could stop Em from going over to Taylor’s without a good reason, and I couldn’t mention what I knew without explaining how I knew. Your dead grandmother’s ghost told me, probably wouldn’t work as an explanation, so I felt stuck. I knew if I said no, she’d get all moody and depressed and a serious drama fest would start, something I was never in the mood for, but if I let her go, there was the possibility of something I didn’t want to happen, happening. I hated making decisions when I couldn’t use all of the information I knew to do so.
I realized I had no choice but to trust my daughter. She hadn’t given me a reason not to, and if I analyzed the situation based only on what I knew she had and hadn’t done, I could trust her to do the right thing. This wasn’t about what Taylor might or might not do. It was about me trusting my daughter, so I said yes.
“Yes, I can take you. I’d like you home by dinner, please. Your dad or I will pick you up around six o’clock.”
“Mom. I want to stay later. We’ll just be done tanning by then,” she whined.
“You’re going to tan for over eight hours? You’re going to get skin cancer. Which reminds me, do you have sunscreen?”
“We’re not going to be at the pool all day, Mom. We’ll go back and forth, but please, can I stay till ten o’clock? Come on, Mom. I haven’t seen Taylor in days.”
I sighed, resigned to the fact that I needed to trust my kid even if I felt the situation was iffy. If needed, I could always send Ma to do a little spying and find an excuse to pick her up early if things got out of hand. “Okay, fine. Just let me know if you go anywhere or if things get freaky.”
“Freaky? Why?”
Whoops, that was a mother fail. “Well, because you said you two had a fight, and if that comes up again or something, I want to be able to come and get you. Okay?”
“Oh, whatever. We’re fine now.”
Nice save, Angela. Nice save.
“When do you want to go?”
“Now.”
Why didn’t my child have this sense of urgency when I asked her to clean her room or do something for me?
“Give me a few minutes and we’ll go.”
She huffed, but agreed. I spent the next few minutes pretending to busy myself in the kitchen when really I was fighting my impulse to lock her in her room until these parties were a thing of the past.
###
I dropped Em off and on the short drive back to the house tried to summon my mother. I didn’t know if it would work, but just in case, I gave it a shot. “Ma? Ma. I need to talk to you. Can you hear me?”
Ma appeared next to me. Startled, I jerked the steering wheel, causing the car to veer onto the side of the road. “Holy crap, Ma. You have got to stop appearing out of nowhere like that, geez.”
She was perplexed. “But you called me. You asked me to come here, so I did. Oh, for crying out loud. Hold on.” She disappeared.
“Ma? Seriously, come back.”
“Booo." She slowly shimmered in. “That what you want? I’ve been practicing just for you.”
I laughed. “Actually, yeah. That’s much better. Except the boo was pretty pathetic.”
Ma giggled and raised her hands in the air. They poked through the ceiling of my car, which was sort of creepy.
“Ew, doesn’t that feel strange?”
“Not anymore. It did when I first tried but I’m used to it now. It’s the people that feel strange. Ya know, when someone walks through me? That gives me the heebie geebies.”
“I can only imagine.” I realized then that Ma was s
itting in the seat next to me, like the ghost at the soccer field did a few weeks back. “Are you actually sitting now, Ma?”
She checked “Well I’ll be damned. Will you look at that? I’m sitting and I didn’t even try. My spirit guides told me this would happen but I guess I never thought to check. Wonder what else I can do?”
“Spirit guides? But you’re a ghost, why would you need a spirit guide?” There are some people who believe everyone has spirit guides to help them through life, but I always thought they helped the living, not those who had already died and that they were a bunch of poppycock, too.
“Ah, Madone, Angela. We all have spirit guides. You need to read up on this stuff. There’s a lot you got to learn since you’re a medium and all. And I’m not a ghost. I’m a spirit. Ghosts are in books. They’re not real. Spirits, we’re real. We’re celestrial beings.”
I corrected my mother. “I think you mean a celestial being. Now that makes me laugh.”
“Go ahead and laugh at your mother, but you just wait. One day you’re gonna see things for what they really are and you’ll be sorry you laughed.”
I gave her the dog head tilt and asked what she meant.
“I mean, one day you’re gonna see things for what they really are and you’ll be sorry you laughed. That’s what I mean.”
“Ma, you just repeated yourself.”
“Well, of course I did. Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Isn’t that the saying?”
“Actually, I think the saying is something like, no question is stupid, Ma.”
She flung her hands in the air. “Well, that’s actually stupid. There are a lot of stupid questions. Just talk to a teenager for five minutes and you’ll hear twenty stupid questions, so whoever made up that stupid saying is stupid.”
Ma seemed a little frustrated so I backed off from giving her a hard time and tried to maintain my patience, which wasn’t always easy. “Okay, Ma. Let’s try this. What are you trying to say? Is that better?”
She thought about it for a second. “Nope. Not really.”
Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Novel (A Chick-lit Paranormal book) (The Angela Panther Series) Page 18
