Dead Living (Spirit Caller Book 5)

by Krista D. Ball

  Irene slammed her fist on the table. Everyone shut up and stared at her. “Sit down.”

  Everyone sat.

  “Both of you are behaving like children,” Irene said in a calm, measured voice.

  “Mom…” Manny began.

  “Stop right this minute, Emmanuel.”

  Manny shut the hell the up.

  “Irene, let’s go,” David said.

  “We aren’t going anywhere,” Irene said. “You are going to sit down and we are all going to act like grownups. Rachel, please pass me the mustard pickles.”

  I passed her the pickles, jaw firmly locked in place. I’d never heard Irene O’Toole raise her voice to her husband. What’s more, I’d never seen David back down to anyone, let alone his wife.

  David and Irene left shortly after the chocolate cake was served, with Irene using a headache as an excuse. When the door shut behind them, I said, “Please tell me there is vodka somewhere in this apartment.”

  Jeremy and I ended up calling a cab around midnight.

  Chapter 5

  Build For Manual Labour

  When Mrs. Saunders makes a decision, it’s made and there is no time for dithering about. The next month was a blur of activity around Wisemen’s Cove. It took an hour of being on hold with the provincial government for Amy to get the grant’s approval code to go ahead with the renovation. Approval codes in hand, everyone pitched in to help Amy and her “old man” build the extension on their house, where Mrs. Saunders and Millie would spend their remaining days.

  When I lived in Edmonton, I’d wanted a couple of ceiling fans installed in my condo. I waited six months for an electrician, who never showed up for his appointment. I had to hire some guy from Home Depot to do it, and that still over a month before the fan guy could come. And he tracked mud all over my white carpets.

  Here? It took longer to get the building inspector to show up than it did to complete the various stages of construction. I have never met so many people who knew how to build. Like, okay, I can cut a 2x4 as well as the next girl, but I'm talking being able to look at an existing house and all know exactly how to build an extension and just get to work. With nothing more than a drawing on the back of a paper napkin!

  I was in charge of hauling lumber and supplies from Deer Lake. I rarely made the trip alone. Sometimes Jeremy or Manny came, while other times Connie or Amy kept me company on the long drive down and back. Mrs. Saunders even came once and we stopped at the Irving Big Spot so that she could order liver and fried onions, gravy, ketchup, fried mushrooms, French fries, chocolate cake, and a chocolate milkshake.

  Now, setting aside her doctor would murder me if he knew I was letting her eat that (she only had a few bites and sips of each), there were other restaurants in the area that served the exact same meal. But, nope, we had to go to the Irving gas station truck spot restaurant and by God and the sweet baby Jesus we were going to have liver and onions and half of the rest of the menu. We’d pack it all up and bring it back home, so that she could spend a week eating the leftovers.

  And I was going to keep my mouth shut like a good little girl because Mrs. Saunders has earned the right to eat whatever the hell she wants.

  We moved Millie into Amy's first. Millie didn’t have much in the way of stuff, having sold or given away everything when she moved into the seniors’ home. Still, she had some personal items and moving her from one town to another to live with a stranger was becoming stressful for her, so I’d enlisted one of her grandchildren from Stephenville.

  Now, for the record, I say I enlisted him. Dema says I used “shaming tactics” and Jeremy said my mother would have been proud of the guilt trip I pulled. Well, I'm so very sorry, but if your elderly grandmother is living in a senior’s home where no one ever visits her and is moving in with strangers who care more about her then you do, well, you deserve to feel guilty.

  So there.

  Sweet mercy of my Ancestors, I really am turning into my mother.

  Moving Mrs. Saunders was an entirely different matter, however. She had over seventy years of stuff accumulated and there was no way all of that was going to move to Amy’s. For the time being, we only packed the stuff she absolutely needed and would go through everything later.

  The For Sale sign went up on her front lawn. The figure was heartbreakingly low, but property just wasn’t worth anything here in the middle of nowhere. The realtor told me it was a good price for the area and the house would eventually sell. She reminded me I was used to big city prices, and Mrs. Saunders wasn't being ripped off. She was probably right. My condo in Edmonton sold for a small fortune, but that was Alberta during the boom. This place was down the road from the middle of nowhere.

  Still, it broke me to see that sign go up. I watched the realtor’s son hammer the wooden post into the ground, the terrifying low price written in black marker at the bottom. I tugged my jacket tighter against the wind and the rain, and tried giving the young man a smile, but my heart wasn’t in it. He gave me a nod before heading back into his truck, off to his next task.

  I sobbed before his truck was even out of sight. How lonely was I going to be, now that she wasn’t next door? Why did people have to get old?

  Jeremy eventually came out with an umbrella to shield me from the wind. He put his arm around me and whispered it was all for the best. Blah blah blah. I knew that already. It didn’t make the change sting less.

  In the privacy of our embrace, I allowed myself to say the words that had been haunting me the entire time. “This means I’m closer to losing her than I’d like to admit.”

  “Oh, honey,” he said and help me tighter. “I know she means a lot to you, but you haven’t lost her yet. Let’s make sure we visit her as often as we can, okay?”

  “I'm not ready to lose her.” I wept into his chest.

  “She's not gone yet.”

  I never let Mrs. Saunders see me sad. That was my burden, not hers. Once the building supplies were gathered, I was put in charge of the odds and sods shopping the next time Jeremy had to go to Corner Brook. Millie gave me a little money, as did Mrs. Saunders. Mrs. Saunders's husband had had a good job, leaving her a nice pension. Millie only lived off government pensions, so Mrs. Saunders and Amy slipped me even more on the sly, on the strict promise I wouldn't tell anyone.

  And most of my neighbours slipped me a twenty and told me the same thing.

  And most of Amy’s neighbours did the same.

  Now, compared to the rest of the world, Canada really does have some of the best social safety net programs around. It’s also true that many single, elderly women live well below the poverty line. So I might have also accidently slipped a couple of my own fifties into the roll of cash I’d been given to do the shopping with. And Irene and Amanda might have done the same. And Connie, too.

  And Jeremy might have made me take his credit card, just in case.

  It should come as no great surprise there was over two hundred dollars left by the time all of this slipping of extra money was done. I’d gotten the ladies an electric kettle, a small microwave, and a very swanky toaster oven. I got them a mini-fridge and a little wooden set to store all of their small appliances. I’d found Millie a cozy arm chair for her to relax in during Wheel of Fortune. Mrs. Saunders, of course, refused to part with her favourite chair, but I did pick her up a new stool and a couple of fuzzy new slippers.

  The oohs and ahhs over the great bargains I’d clearly found got the two old ladies quite worked up. Never mind my supernatural abilities; bargain hunting is clearly my true talent.

  The extension was finished soon enough. That replaced a lot of my sadness when I saw the excitement on Mrs. Saunders’s and Millie’s faces. No word of a lie, it was bigger than my first two university apartments put together!

  Each had her own tiny bedroom and closet, plus there was a small sitting room with their arm chairs, a television and a radio. There was even enough room for the mini kitchenette I’d picked up; I’d assumed it would be in t
he hallway outside of their little area.

  Amy and Irene cooked up a huge meal and we spent most of the day eating and laughing, enjoying the old ladies’ excitement.

  When Jeremy and I headed back home, I frowned at the For Sale sign. The realtor told me it could take a full year before the house sold, so not to panic about clearing it out. She was hoping someone might decide to turn it into a bed and breakfast, or maybe apartments.

  I was thinking it could work as a short-term rental. A cozy granny house with stocked cupboards. Maybe install a jet tub in the upstairs bathroom. Keep the old wood stove, for nostalgia, but update everything for just oil and electric heat, since the mainlanders wouldn’t have a clue how to use the wood stove.

  The toilets needed replacing, and the kitchen could use a redo, but all of the windows and frames had been replaced ten years ago and were still holding up well. She could use new storm doors and a good coat of paint.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jeremy asked when he put the car in park.

  I pulled my eyes from the house and smiled at him. “Oh, nothing really.”

  We got out of the car and Jeremy waited for me. He put his arm around me and tugged me into him. I bumped my hip up against him, once by accident, and once on purpose. He stumbled a little, but caught himself.

  “You’re going to pay for that later, missy,” he said, reaching his long arm up to squeeze my breast.

  “Jeremy! We’re outside!” I admonished.

  That just made him grin, though it faded when he glanced over his shoulder. “It’s going to be strange living here without her. Will you be okay?”

  I nodded. “I’m going to dig up her bleeding hearts tomorrow and transplant them over on Amy’s. Then I’ll make sure to drop by and visit every other day, for sure, especially if I’m not working.”

  He smiled at me as we walked inside. He rummaged in the fridge and pulled out an Orange Crush for himself, and a Diet Crush Cream Soda for me. Then, he pulled out sandwich meat, cheese, mayo, mustard, butter, lettuce, and a plastic container with all of the various partially-cut sandwich extras he liked.

  “How can you be hungry? We just ate a huge meal at Amy’s!”

  “That was two hours ago,” he said firmly. He began slicing the leftover tomato and avocado, carefully organizing his veggies on the multigrain bread. “Sure you don’t want one?”

  “I’m still full.”

  “Rachel, are you going to go back to work full time, now that I’m better?”

  I didn't think he meant as accusingly as it sounded, but it still smarted my pride. “I like being on call for emergencies, and working part-time to cover sickness and that. But...I can't do social work full time anymore. It's too hard on me. I...is that okay?”

  Sandwich constructed, he began packing everything back into the fridge. “I make enough money for both of us. We'll be fine.”

  “I don't expect you to support me. I'll figure something out.” I shrugged. “I still have a lot in my savings account, from the house sale. I have my RRSP, if things got really horrible. And I do sell my art stuff, and I work sometimes…”

  “Rachel, it’s fine. I was just asking.” He smirked before taking a bite of sandwich. “We are getting married. We're allowed to share a bank account.”

  “Oh, god, no. That's where arguments lay.” I sucked in a breath and said, “We should probably work all of that stuff out first, huh. Before we make any hasty decisions.”

  More bites. He was making me hungry now. “We can talk about all of the marriage rules during our romantic weekend getaway that we leave for the day after tomorrow.”

  “Our what?”

  Jeremy grinned. “I have the weekend off and I’ve decided to go ahead with my plan for how I was going to propose to you. I love you and all, but asking you to marry me while leaning against a dirty toilet wasn’t really hitting the mark for me.”

  “It was perfect,” I whispered. “And it wasn’t that dirty.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “I love you. And the toilet is still filthy.”

  “You got two hands,” I said sullenly. “You should learn to use them.”

  He made a rude, grabbing gesture with them towards my breasts, and then took another bite of sandwich.

  “For that, you can help me dig up those bushes tomorrow.”

  “I have to work,” he said with exaggerated sadness. “Shit, I forgot to pick up groceries. I should run out now before it’s too late. Did you want anything at the store? I can get you a Timmy’s.”

  “You drank the last of the orange juice,” I said accusingly.

  “Use your words, Rachel. Jeremy, I would like orange juice, please, my darling.”

  “Jeremy, replace the damn orange juice you drank.”

  “That's my girl,” he said. He grabbed his keys from the hook near the door and headed back into the rain. I watched him climb into the car and back out. He was driving all the time now. He even drove at work for partial shifts. Another month, the doctor said, and he might be able to handle full-time behind the wheel again.

  I waited for the car to fade out of view before calling, “Dema?”

  A moment later, Dema appeared in my tiny kitchen window. I waved her inside. She sported denim overalls and moccasins. “Yes, Spirit Caller?”

  “I want to work a warding into Mrs. Saunders's bleeding heart bushes. I've been thinking about it for the last month and I'm pretty sure I have it all figured out, but I wanted to check with you. Would you look over my ideas?”

  “If you had practiced your gifts more instead of copulating with the Tall Man, you would not need my assistance.”

  “It was your idea for me to tell Jeremy,” I said.

  “That was because your endless moping was draining,” Dema said, deadpan. “Spirit Caller, you must practice your skills every day.”

  “I know that, Dema. Thus here I am, practicing.”

  “Good. I shall return to inspect your work when it is completed.” Then she disappeared.

  Seriously. She just left. It's very difficult to take myself seriously as this amazing, rare, talented Spirit Caller of old when the other I can call up don't even respect me enough to do as I ask of them.

  The next morning, I got up at dawn and, after one of Jeremy's awesome breakfasts, I got ready to work. I shoved on my pink work gloves and grabbed the shovel. Now, before you give me crap for the pink work gloves, I’d like to point out that I have small hands. That means I have to buy women’s work gloves. All women’s work gloves are flower patterned or pink. Do you realize how difficult it was to find work gloves that were meant for work, and not for keeping your fingernails clean? So I wore the damned pink gloves with their frilly edges and began digging.

  All of my research said I should clear my mind of pressures and demands. That proved impossible. The more I tried to push away the worries, the more I focused on them. I decided to use my fears and stresses as just another part of the warding.

  As I broke the soil with my shovel, I focused on my affection for Mrs. Saunders. She had lived in this house for a very long time, and now she was starting a new adventure late in life. I thought about the words she’d said lately. Her fear of moving, but also her excitement at living somewhere smaller and easier to look after. She feared losing independence in this big house, and the move would help her continue to live on her own terms.

  I wrapped all of that together as part of my ward as I dug a big hole around the first of her favourite bushes.

  I considered her renewed friendship with Millie. How loyal Mrs. Saunders was. Despite her advanced age, she brokered no bullshit. She knew her own mind and, while she was slowing down every day, she was still in command of herself and anyone around her. She was the matriarch of this little outport village.

  I knelt down and began to dig away the dirt from the main root base and thought about how loved Mrs. Saunders was. Everyone pitched in to help her. Even the supernatural helped keep her safe from hauntings and mischief. She was pr
otected in all senses of the word here in her house. That protection needed to move with her.

  I pried the first bush out of the ground and dropped it into a sack. I dragged it to my trunk and put it in there.

  I did that four more damned times until both my brain and my arms wanted to collapse. I dragged myself back to my kitchen and sipped from a cold can of Orange Crush. It dawned on me that exhaustion might affect the wards and spells I'd weaved. I hadn't considered that.

  “Dema, you there?”

  I took a few more sips before getting up to make myself an egg sandwich with some of the boiled eggs Jeremy liked to keep for midnight snacks. I munched down on the sandwich before frowning and calling again.

  “Dema? Where are you?”

  Twenty minutes passed with no sign of my ethereal stalker. Stupid old ghost. I finished up my little break and headed over to Amy's for even more digging and manual labour. I'd never admit it, but thank you Jeremy and his exercise machines of death for getting my arms in shape enough to handle this.

  With that said, my arms cried out in excited relief when they discovered Amy's husband had already dug out nice, perfect holes for me in their front yard. Thank the Ancestors for five, perfectly-shaped miracles.

  The bushes weigh a bloody tonne and the various branches kept poking me in the face and eyes. I dropped one on the concrete driveway just as Mrs. Saunders and Millie came out on the deck to “help” me.

  “Maid! Be gentle with those things!” Mrs. Saunders ordered.

  “You can'ts be t'rowing them around like dat!” Millie added helpfully.

  I waved at them and continued my work, trying to focus my energy and intentions into the wards I was knitting around the roots.

  “Maid, you gots it in crooked, you do!” Millie said. Millie Reid was a frail, tiny woman with a surprisingly loud voice.

  “It’s crookeder than a crook,” Mrs. Saunders agreed.

  I sighed and straightened out the bush. I began again.

  “Now it's too far the other way,” Mrs. Saunders shouted. For an old woman, her voice could sure carry.