Dead Living (Spirit Caller Book 5)

by Krista D. Ball

Unnatural squeals erupted from Connie and she rushed over to hug me. Connie was a big girl and she had a lot of strength behind her affection. She bear-hugged me until I started gasping. Manny smiled at me and gave me an awkward one-armed hug, once his girlfriend released me from her death grip of love.

  “I’m really happy for you, Rachel,” Manny said. “I’m glad I…I’m glad he’s okay.”

  “Ah, don’t be like that,” Connie said. “It wasn’t your fault. It was the drugs and how your parents messed up your head. It’s all good. People who understand understand. Right, Rachel?”

  Manny gave me a soft smile and I nodded. It was probably for the best people believed Manny had been on drugs when he shot a well-liked police officer, than thinking he was possessed by ghosts.

  Still, there was a lot of weight under her words.

  “I’m proud of you, Manny.” I meant it, too. “You’ve been doing really good and it’s easier to deal with everything that’s happened, seeing how well you’re improving and getting stronger.”

  Pink rose in his cheeks. “The anti-depressants are helping with that stuff, and I don’t know, it’s nice having a girlfriend who isn’t bothered by all that stuff. I mean, ya know, I was afraid girls would think I was weak or something.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Connie said. “If you were, I don’t know, a diabetic, you’d take your insulin and wouldn’t feel embarrassed. So, there’s no difference with this stuff.”

  “There isn’t,” I said. Again, I meant it. I mean, Jeremy was only now starting to wean himself off his anti-anxiety medications and I still carried his emergency stuff. He didn’t like to have easy access to it because sometimes he’d forget when he’d taken his last narcotic and, well, some meds notoriously don’t mix well.

  “I am really glad you got help, and that it’s, well, helping.” I chuckled. “So, I assume you asked me first before you asked your parents?”

  Manny smiled. “Next stop. Mom’s home alone, so I’ll be allowed to visit.”

  I sighed. “You’re still not allowed in the house when he’s there? I thought he got over that.”

  “Well, I’m allowed when someone from church is at the house.”

  “Ah. Put on a good show for the neighbours,” I said.

  Manny nodded. “Mom’s just happy I’m not…well, you know. She’s pretty pissed at him right now, though, about the fuss he made with the move, so she’ll probably make him come to dinner.”

  I thought for a moment before I said, “Oh! Right, the truck. He wouldn’t let you borrow it to move into Connie’s.”

  “Amy’s husband helped,” Manny said.

  “Sorry again we couldn’t help. We would have if we could.” Jeremy was in St. John’s having a small surgery done on his ankle. One of the pins was bothering him, so they removed it. It would make him a little more unsteady, but he just made sure to always wear good boots that supported his ankle and he should be fine.

  “Dad’ll get over it. He’s just pissed about me not going home to live. But I’m seventeen. They couldn’t force me. Not to mention, Connie’s only nineteen. It’s not like she’s fifty, so she can’t get into trouble for . . .” he waved at the space between them.

  My smile faded. “Your Dad wouldn’t actually do that, would he?”

  Connie let out an exasperated sound. “There were hints.”

  “But you’re not even two full years apart,” I said. “He can’t do anything. There’s laws!”

  “That’s what my probation officer and my therapist said,” Manny said. “I wish he wasn’t like this, ya know?”

  “I know,” I said with a sad smile. “Well, I’ll come to dinner. Maybe let Irene know that. David is always on his best behavior when I’m around.”

  “The last time you came over to dinner, Dad called you a sinner bound for hell,” Manny said.

  I shrugged. “Like I said, best behavior.”

  We laughed and the two kids took off in Connie’s car. A little pang hit my heart. Manny was finally growing up. He wasn’t back in regular school, but he was finishing off high school by correspondence. He just went into the school to write any exams or tests he needed to do. And he was looking for a part-time job. He’d been working a bit off and on, doing odd jobs for people who needed a big kid with a strong back. He’d make twenty bucks here or there for various jobs, which added up.

  When he turns eighteen, welfare will be able to give him a hand, too, though he was already getting some assistance to help pay for his medications. They were planning to send him on a course when he finished high school to help him with job skills. It was for kids with invisible disabilities – and since he had depression, they were sure he’d qualify for the course. Then the plan would be to send him to Corner Brook for the training and even put him up and pay for his food for the four months of the course.

  I wish his parents had relied more on medicine than prayer. I wished he didn’t have to hurt Jeremy to get this help, but at least the help was coming. And at least Jeremy was going to be okay.

  It was also strange seeing Manny making better life choices than I was at his age. I can’t even say it was because I didn’t have good role models because I did. My parents were rock solid strong. I had my grandparents who adored me.

  I let out a small sigh. I still missed my grandparents. Maybe that was why Mrs. Saunders was so important to me. She was like another grandma in her own way. Every girl needs a grandma. Even when she’s a thirty-year-old woman who just got engaged.

  Not that I'm excited about that or anything.

  Chapter 4

  Dinner Date

  Connie’s apartment was in a small apartment complex on the top floor with a solid view of the harbour. Jeremy didn’t complain once about the three flights of stairs to get to her apartment. He was a better man than I.

  “You’d think they could put an elevator in this place,” I said between wheezing breaths.

  “It’s only three stories, Rach.”

  “It’s three stories too high,” I countered. “Also, I’m carrying the drinks.”

  I would have brought wine, but Irene and David were going to be there, and I didn’t want to be the one to start the evening off on the wrong foot. Instead, I brought club soda and cranberry juice, to make virgin cocktails. I also brought root beer and a diet cola.

  “I’m carrying the salad,” Jeremy said.

  I glanced at his plastic bowl of greens. “Mine is heavier.”

  “I offered to take the drinks.”

  I mumbled something about being used to carrying the heavy things, which sounded way more jerkish than I’d planned. He didn’t hear what I’d said, which was probably for the best.

  The door flew open before we knocked. Connie gave us a look somewhere between reproving and relieved. “You’re ten minutes late,” Connie whispered as she took our stuff.

  “We’re not!” Jeremy and I both said defensively. We glanced at each other and smiled.

  “Is David here?” I asked quietly, as I took off my jacket.

  “Yes,” Connie said through gritted teeth. “My sister is holding them off. For now.”

  I squared my shoulders, fortified my soul, clamped down on my tongue, and plastered a fake smile upon my face. I strolled into the apartment, to the living room, and said, “Hey everyone! So sorry we’re late. Hello Irene! David! It’s good to see you both.”

  I gave the woman in the big armchair an even brighter smile than what was already cracking my face. “Hello! I’m Rachel. This is my…my…um…”

  “God, Rachel. Fiancé!” Jeremy called from the porch. I heard him drop his shoes on the mat.

  “Oh hush, you.” I noticed David’s face curl at Jeremy’s use of the Lord’s name in vain. I had even reminded Jeremy to watch his mouth before we came. Goddammit!

  Could David O’Toole hear people swearing inside their minds? I glanced back at him. He was scowling at me now. Obviously, he could. Excellent. He wasn’t just a bastard, then. He was a supernatural bastard
.

  “I’m Isabella,” the woman said sweetly. She stood and shook my hand.

  Damn, she was fit. She had tanned skin, some natural and some looked the result of a nice beach vacation. Her biceps were visible in her short-sleeved shirt, and her forearms looked as strong as brick. She had a genuine smile, though, and a very firm grip. Her curly, brown-black hair was pulled off her face with a scrunchie.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Isabella,” I said.

  “Connie has said such good things about you,” Isabella said, re-taking her chair. “I’m pleased you could make it.”

  “Connie is a sweetheart,” I said.

  “Hey everyone,” Jeremy said, interrupting me. He waved at the room and shook Isabella’s hand. “Jeremy Garrett.”

  Isabella’s mouth twitched in what I was sure wanted to be a wicked smile. “Good day, Constable Garrett. It’s very nice to meet you finally.”

  Jeremy gave Isabella a lazy, flirting grin. I inwardly rolled my eyes. He flashed a look at Connie and said, “She’s a good kid.”

  “I’m not a kid!” Connie shouted from the kitchen and the three of us laughed.

  “Where’s Manny?” I asked, looking around the room.

  “Store,” David said.

  Irene placed a hand on her husband’s leg. She smiled up at us, and a strained thread laced her voice as she spoke. “He realized they didn’t have any mustard pickles, so ran out to get some. He should be back right away.”

  “I heard they’re discontinuing those pickles,” I said casually. “Connie? Did you need any help?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” she called back from the kitchen. “I’m nearly done.”

  “What do you mean?” Jeremy asked, horror in his voice.

  “Um…Zest pickles are being discontinued,” I said, confused.

  “Shut your mouth!” Jeremy said.

  “Um…they’re just pickles, right?” Isabella asked.

  “They are not just pickles,” Jeremy said. “They are the only pickles you eat with cooked supper.”

  “That’s a special kind of thing we eat there,” I clarified for Isabella. “I’ll explain it later.”

  “Why are they getting rid of them?” David asked, also very concerned.

  I shrugged. “Something about being bought out by a big company, or something.”

  “Goddammit!” Jeremy swore.

  “Hey!” David said firmly.

  “Sorry, David,” Jeremy and I both said.

  “That’s it. We’re going to Corner Brook tomorrow,” Jeremy said.

  “I’m not driving the entire West Coast looking for pickles.”

  “Oh, if you go, honey, pick us up a few jars, if you can,” Irene said.

  “See?” Jeremy said. “We have to go to get some for Irene.”

  That’s right, everyone. I’m going to spend tomorrow driving across the province looking for pickles.

  “Why not?” I said bitterly.

  Connie thankfully broke up the pickle crisis worry with the pronouncement of dinner. As we made our way to the table, Manny barged in carrying two cases of Zest brand mustard pickles.

  “Shit, Connie! You won’t believe it! They’re discontinuing the pickles!”

  “We know,” said pretty much all of us in unison.

  Except David, who said, “Watch your mouth, young man, around your mother!”

  And there went the fun out of the room.

  We gathered around the table in awkward silence and began to serve ourselves. That’s when David lowered his head and began saying grace. We all froze, with plates and food in the air.

  “May your light shine through us as we bring witness of your grace to the sinners at this table today. May they see the gift of your forgiveness through me. May I be a vessel for your light to shine upon this world.”

  My wrist ached from holding the glass tray of potatoes, but it seemed rude to just put them down and make a noise. I carefully added another hand. Irene opened one eye long enough to glare at me. I mouthed, “Sorry.”

  “I pray for the souls at this table, that they might find salvation before it is too late. I pray they feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit this day, as we eat this food blessed by your hand and by the blood of Christ.”

  I glanced at Manny. He had his eyes squeezed so shut that we’d need a pry bar to get them back open. Jeremy shrugged and gave me a, “what are we supposed to do” look. Connie and Isabella were sharing amused looks.

  “Bless this food. May it bring glory to your name.”

  The food was getting cold. I hate cold food.

  “May the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ bless us this day. In your gracious name, amen.”

  “Amen!” I said, more enthusiastically than I probably should have, but the potatoes were burning a hole through my hands.

  I got myself a nice helping of potatoes, peas, carrots, boiled cabbage, and roasted chicken. I never liked boiled cabbage before I moved here, but I’d developed a taste for it over the years. It was still best cooked in a pot with salt beef and all of the fixings of Jig’s Dinner (or Jigg’s Dinner, or Cooked Supper, or whatever a particular family’s tradition called it).

  We all tucked in, politely chitchatting about Isabella’s life. She didn’t like to talk much about herself, and kept turning the conversation back to me or Jeremy. When I’d asked her what she did, she smiled and said, “odd jobs” and then quickly asked how my art was doing.

  I blinked at that. “How did you know about my art?”

  Isabella smiled sweetly, though it didn’t touch her eyes. “Connie told me.”

  “I didn’t tell you anything about my art, Connie,” I said suspiciously. I looked at Jeremy. “Are you talking about my plans to everyone?”

  He shrugged, as he was too busy shovelling food into his mouth to answer.

  I stumbled over an answer before finally saying that my art plans were going well and I was looking forward to doing some stuff over the winter.

  “Good,” Isabella said. “I think art suits you.”

  Well, that wasn’t creepy as all hell.

  “I liked that painting you had down at the restaurant in L’Anse aux Meadows,” Irene said. “The one with the birds. Oh, what are they called? Puffins! Where did you paint that one?”

  “Toby Mercer took a bunch of photos of them when he was out doing a tour. He thought I’d like to do a painting of them,” I said. “When were you down to The Norseman?”

  The Norseman was a rather fancy restaurant for the area, and not somewhere you’d stopped to grab a quick fish and chips.

  “I go once a month for lunch,” Irene said. Her smile was sad. “I get the soup and bread basket.”

  “With who?”

  “Oh, just me.”

  That cut me deep. Not because she was eating alone, but because it clearly was something she didn’t want to be doing alone.

  “I’ve tried all of their soups now,” Irene said, forcing cheer into her voice. “The mushroom is really good. They make it themselves, ya know.”

  “You should call me the next time you go,” I said, the guilt forcing the words out before my selfish brain had time to talk myself out of it. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

  “Oh! I’d like that,” Irene said and it hurt how much her face brightened.

  “We’ll have to go the next day they have mushroom soup,” I said and I gave her a shaky smile.

  Irene’s eyes glistened with tears, and it hurt me far deeper than it ever should have. “Tuesdays.”

  “Tuesday is WM,” David said solemnly.

  At my confused look, Irene said, “Women’s Ministries. We have a small service on Tuesday nights. Sing, pray, that sort of thing.”

  “Oh! Those are the ladies I see at Foodland selling cookies, right?”

  Irene nodded. “I’ve been so busy lately that I’ve not been able to do anything.”

  “Whose fault is that?” David snarled, glaring up at Manny.

  “We can go for lunch,” I s
aid, cutting David’s tangent off at the knees. “That won’t interfere, right?”

  Irene nodded and went to speak, but David cut in. “Irene must be careful with associating with the likes of you.”

  “David, I can…” Irene began.

  He put his hand up. “I am the head of—”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Dad!” Manny shouted.

  I didn’t even bother to wipe the grimace from my face. Oh, this was going to be bad, bad, bad.

  “Don’t you ever speak to me like that! I am still your father.”

  Manny stood up. He rested his hands on the table. “Here’s a clue, Dad. If you want me to treat you like my father, start acting like it. This is my house, Dad. Mine. Not yours. You can’t come here and treat Mom like she’s your slave.”

  “Manny! Manny, sit down,” Irene urged.

  “No, Mom. I’ve had enough of him acting like this. You should be allowed to be friends with whoever you want to be friends with.” Manny jabbed a finger at me. “And that includes Rachel.”

  “Manny, leave it,” Irene begged. “Just leave it be.”

  David pushed his chair back and got to his feet, a swift movement that slopped my water on the tablecloth. “I’m not controlling your mother. I’m defending her!”

  “How, Dad? How is telling her who she is allowed to be defending her?”

  Irene pulled on David’s sweater sleeve. “Stop it.”

  David ignored her. Manny and David shouted at each other about how David was the head of the household. I didn’t quite follow the argument, but apparently he was trying to convey how that meant he was the spiritual head, something something I’m a sinner sent to lead them astray something something.

  Then Manny lost his shit and screamed about how David wasn’t always this religious and that’s what caused everyone to stop getting along. He accused David of being a control freak something something lots of religious words I didn’t quite understand something something.

  “Enough, you two!” Connie shouted over both of them.

  “Don’t tell me how to speak to my own son,” David snarled.

  “Don’t talk to her like that, Dad,” Manny said, in pretty much the same tone as his father’s, which was very creepy.