“Just follow me.” He led me to the solarium door, where a pretty woman sat crying into her napkin. I looked to my brother for an explanation.
“Tears,” he explained, with a grunt.
“Did you cause them?” I asked, alarmed.
He rolled his eyes. “I just tried to take her order.”
She was in her mid-thirties, I deduced. Her clothes were expensive, but her appearance disheveled. She had obviously been distraught when she came in. “Who is she?” I whispered, but Alex had already escaped to the kitchen. I had to wonder what he expected me to do about our crying guest. I wasn’t an emotional person by nature, and my attempts at comfort often made matters worse.
She stood as I approached, knocking her water glass from the table. Fortunately, it bounced off her chair before rolling onto the floor, unscathed. She took the napkin she had been mopping her tears with, and began mopping her chair.
Mom appeared beside me. “That’s Tara Bigly,” she whispered, as if anyone else could hear. “She lives in Bog Hollow now, but she used to live in town.”
Tara Bigly. I smiled as I remembered where I’d seen her face before – it was on a much younger body. Tara’s mother had been the librarian when we were kids. We haunted the mystery section together, vying over new releases and competing in read-a-thons. We even became friends of sorts, spending the hot summer days among air conditioned books, while the rest of the town played at the lake.
“Baylee! I’m so glad to see you!” Tara said. She dropped the napkin and reached to hug me before reeling away, as if remembering my aversion to touch. “I heard you were back in town.”
“It’s good to see you too, Tara.” I motioned for her to take her seat, then joined her at the table. “You’ve grown up.”
“Grown old, you mean,” she said, smiling sadly. She dabbed at her eyes, streaking her mascara in the process. I was certain her hair hadn’t been washed in days. She caught her reflection in the window and her mouth turned down. “I don’t even recognize myself lately.”
Alex dropped off a pot of coffee and left without saying a word. “My brother didn’t brief me on what brings you here. I assume it’s business and not pleasure?”
Tara lowered her face and smiled beneath the limp strands of hair that had come loose from her headband. She began taking deep breaths, counting her to herself. “I don’t know how to say this but…I know about your… gifts.” She looked at my hands. “I remember watching you at the library. You’d touch books and get a strange look on your face. And once, I caught you writing in a notebook that you saw the memory of a girl reading Harriet the Spy to her Pomeranian. That was my memory! I had just read the book before you checked it out. The Pomeranian belonged to my aunt in Silverton. No one knew about that!”
My right eye twitched. My gift wasn’t exactly a secret in Reed Hollow, but it wasn’t common knowledge, either. It could put a target on my back, if someone was so inclined. “I see,” I replied, leaving it hanging.
“I need your help. I feel terrible asking you this, but I don’t know who else to turn to. Everyone else would think I’m crazy, but you won’t. Because you will see it, too.”
I took a long sip of coffee, ignoring the burn on my tongue. Whatever she was about to ask for, I could tell it was going to be big. “Tara, can you please be more specific? I need facts and details.”
She stared into her cup for a long while, before reaching into her purse. She produced a T-shirt, small enough to fit a large doll or a small baby.
“This is my son’s shirt. About a week ago, he was in his crib sleeping while I was taking a shower. I was listening to him through the monitor and I heard him begin to cry. I listened for a moment, thinking he’d fall back to sleep, but then his cries became gasps, and then... screams. Terrible screams.”
Tara cupped her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. “I jumped out of the shower and ran buck-naked to his room. As I opened the door, I could have sworn I heard cawing sounds inside. I was terrified that maybe I had left his window open, and crows had gotten in.”
I met Tara’s eyes. “But it wasn’t birds, was it?”
“No.” She tilted her head, as if trying to make sense of her recollection. “My son was still in his crib, but the side railing was lowered. There was no sign of birds, but the bedroom window was fully open. Sometimes I leave it open a few inches, to air out the room, but I’d never leave it open like that!
“Everything was quiet and Jack was sleeping peacefully. But I know what I heard, and I know I wasn’t the one who opened the window or put down the side rail. The nursery is on the second floor, and I was the only one in the house.”
“Did you call the police?”
She nodded somberly. “Deputy Markus found no evidence of intrusion and called it delirium brought on by ‘nursing hormones.’ I swear, I might sue that man one day.”
Tara held up the shirt, revealing a jagged rip in the shoulder.
“This was brand-new when I put it on Jack that morning. Luckily, there were no marks on him. But I did find this inside the crib.” She carefully unfolded a tissue and there was a hooked yellow claw inside, like the one I’d found in my own bedroom.
I tried to keep my face unreadable as I assimilated the story. If these creatures – hobgoblins– were in her baby’s room…
“They’ll steal its breath!” Mom whispered behind me.
Tara set the T-shirt on the table and pushed it my direction. I didn’t want to touch it. If I told her what I suspected, it might frighten her more.
Mom sensed my hesitancy and put her hands over the shirt. “You don’t have to do this. For anyone.”
It was true, of course. My mother was trying to protect me, just as Tara was trying to protect her own child. I looked at my old friend. This was about more than keeping Jack safe, it was also about closure. She needed someone to verify her sanity.
I touched the shirt.
A gray, squinty-eyed face blinked down at me. There were more of them, crawling up the rails. I screamed, sensing their coldness. Where was Mommy? I balled my fists and screamed again as the face pressed close to mine.
My door flew open, and the creatures leapt across the room and vaulted through the window.
My stomach rose into my chest and my heart beat wildly, as I relived Jack’s horror.
“What did you see?” Tara asked. “Please, I need to know.”
“You’re not crazy, Tara.”
Her hands clasped at her chest, in both fear and relief. “I knew it! Is Jack in danger?”
I shook my head, wondering how much of my own story to reveal. “There were things inside the room with your son. What they are, I don’t know. I’d keep that window locked and invest in a monitor with a screen.”
“You’re scaring me more.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. Salt around your house. I’ll see if Kela has some protection candles she can give you. That should hopefully keep these things away, or render them mostly harmless.”
“Things?” Tara asked. “Mostly harmless?”
“Mostly.” My mother’s voice echoed through the café as she drifted towards the kitchen. “Unless they are really hungry. I’”
I ignored Mom’s words, glad for once I was the only one who could hear the warnings of the dead.
Fourteen
Tara Bigly left The Aunt-Tea-Query, her teeth chattering all the way to the door. I tried to reassure her, but the woman could not be consoled. She swore she was selling the house and moving far away from Reed Hollow, and was going home to tell her husband to start packing. “He’ll think I’m crazy,” Tara said, “but at least Jack will be safe.”
Once Tara left, I took a seat next to my mother at the coffee counter. A long-handled spoon was stirring the mug in front her. “Ta-da! No hands!” she said, admiring her work. She saw my lack of enthusiasm, and the spoon dropped lifeless in the cup. “Why the long face, Pumpkin? You can’t take on Tara’s problems, too. You gave her the truth, and that’s
all you can do.”
Alex approached wearing Mom’s old checkered apron. He dropped off a plate of biscuits and a hand-labeled jar reading: Wild Honey. “Try one. They’ll make you forget your problems.”
“Only if I soak it in rum.” Picking one up, I nibbled the edge, then immediately searched for a glass of water. A cinder block had more flavor and was probably moister. I dropped the biscuit and pushed the plate away. “Alex, I don’t mean to be rude…“
“Ah, crap! Did I screw up the biscuits, too? I followed Mom’s instructions to the letter.” He lifted a hand-written recipe out of the apron pocket, stapled to a Polaroid. The photo was of a delicious flaky biscuit, far removed from the shoe I’d just eaten. “Will butter help?” he asked.
“Only if I can just eat the butter.”
Alex stormed back into the kitchen, his head bent in determination, ready to try again. “I’ll add more milk this time,” he called through the doorway. “There’s only four ingredients. It can’t be that hard.”
“He should be taste-testing it before serving,” Mom said, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Why does he have to be vegan anyway?”
“Principle,” I said.
“Principle doesn’t pay the bills.” She sighed, getting ready to martyr herself. “It’s my fault. I shoulda had Alex with me in the kitchen more often, learning the family trade. We could’ve saved this tea house had I not been so busy trying to be the perfect housewife. Oh, the things you realize only after you’re dead.”
An offhand wave of her hand slid her coffee cup down the length of the counter, and it stopped right beside the bagel basket. “But death isn’t all bad,” she continued, “because now I get to spend eternity with my little Bay Leaf.”
Eternity.
I glanced into the kitchen, where my brother was stubbornly blending ingredients with the 1960s KitchenAid mixer. An idea formed.
“Mom,” I said, tapping my fingertips together. “You spend so much time helping me and counseling me, and I truly appreciate it. But now that you’re able to travel away from The Aunt-Tea-Query… and I just saw how easily you moved that coffee cup… I’m wondering if it might be time to… I don’t know… find your purpose?”
“My purpose?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, like a mouse presented with a large piece of cheese just inside a small box. “What do you mean, my purpose?”
“Well, there are many reasons a soul might be earthbound after dying. If we figure out your unfinished business, you might be able to find the Light. Don’t you want to cross over completely?”
“Eventually,” she said. “Not today, of course, but it would be fun to see your Grams and Gramps.”
“Exactly!”
She sat with this a moment. “Having kids and running the shop was my entire purpose in life.” She looked around with pride. I followed her eyes as they roamed the old farmhouse. Under our care, the place had never looked so good. Everything shone and sparkled – which is easy when there aren’t many customers.
“See how beautiful it is!” she said, as if she had scrubbed the floors and picked the fresh flowers herself.
“Yes,” I agreed, hoping to get the conversation back on track. “But you said yourself there were lessons you didn’t pass on to…”
“All of you!”
“Alex,” I hastily corrected. “I mean, look at him in there, all covered in flour. If anyone needs some maternal guidance, it’s my brother. And who knows? Teaching him everything you know may be your unfinished business, and your ticket to the after-afterlife.”
“Hmmm.” Mom tapped her chin thoughtfully.
I kept my expression unreadable. I would’ve felt bad about throwing Alex under the bus, were he not so smug about the fact that I had to deal with Mom on a daily basis.
“I know what to do,” Mom said, a new look of determination in her eyes. “I may not be able to communicate with my son directly, but a mother has her ways. I’ll get his cooking in tip-top shape and we’ll save this café! Then, I’ll teach you to clean properly.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One solution at a time.”
With a new aura of purpose, Mom floated her way into the kitchen. She stared at my brother, scrutinizing his method for dropping batter lumps onto a baking sheet. “He’s trying too hard. It takes a delicate touch. I’ll bet he didn’t add enough baking powder, either. I’ll add some in.”
“He’ll blossom under your tutelage.” I beamed.
Poor Alex. He had no idea what was coming.
I watched from the corner of my eye, so as to not draw Alex’s attention, as Mom hovered behind him, whispering her baking tips. He occasionally stopped stirring, swatting at his ear, and I could barely suppress my amusement. And who knows, I said, justifying it to myself, this might actually improve his cooking.
I checked the clipboard on the counter, which served as our daily reservation list. There was a party of eight arriving at eleven from the Senior Center – the largest table we’d booked in months. Alex was nervous about making a good impression. He claimed the center was an untapped market, serving people from all around the county. A few good word-of-mouth reviews from the right people, and we’d be back in business.
As I checked our tea selection for the incoming party, Alex appeared beside me, red-faced and flustered. “Did you send Mom into the kitchen?”
“Now Alex, why would I do a thing like that?” I asked, my voice sweet and syrupy.
“Don’t give me that innocent look. Half a box of baking powder got knocked into the batter.”
“Accidents happen.”
“Except I never took the baking powder out of the cupboard,” he said.
“And if you had, and had used it according to the recipe, Mom wouldn’t need to be in there assisting you.”
“Aha! I knew it!” He stabbed a finger at me. “Dammit, Baylee, I’m trying to get ready for the little old ladies’ club, and now I have Mom’s ghost in there muddling things up. We really need for this to go well.”
There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a second, larger crash. “Oops!” Mom called out. Alex glared at me before stomping back.
“Welcome to my world, Alex,” I called after, feeling not a thread of guilt.
Kela breezed in through the front door, her arms laden with shopping bags. She deposited them on the counter with a heavy thump. Her cheeks and lips were flushed by the chill air, and her hair was windblown. She gently shook her head, and it all fell back into place.
“Would you like to see a movie tonight?” I asked. “I heard they are playing A Streetcar Named Desire downtown. My treat.”
“I would,” she said, tying on her apron. “But you have a date.”
“Pardon?”
“That cute guy you were talking to at my speed dating event. Ella’s stepson? Ring any bells?”
“Nick?” I asked, following behind her as she refilled the sugar bowls. “What about Nick?”
“He’s picking you up at seven. Check your voicemail. Happy early birthday!”
Hastening to my purse, I took out my phone:
“Hi, Baylee. Hope this is okay.” This was followed by a nervous chuckle and a short pause.“Anyway, Kela was kind enough to pass on your number, so I thought I’d take a chance. I made reservations at The Lake House for tonight at seven o’clock, if you’d like to have dinner with me. If not, I’ll eat with the ducks.
Click.
A date? A real date. I wasn’t even sure what the protocol was anymore. I showered, using every scented product I could find. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I smelled like a fruit salad. Oh, dear. What if he was allergic to kiwis?
I searched my closet for something flirty-yet-modest, wondering what I should do about my wedding ring. I couldn’t wear it, could I? No. Not even around my neck. But was wearing the ring any worse than wearing my husband’s last name?
I panicked. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t ready to date anyone.
Was I?
“It’s just one night,” I consoled myself. “It doesn’t have to be any more than that.”
I looked to my closet with new resolve. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.
Alex! I texted my brother. Can you come up to my room ASAP!?
“I’m really uncomfortable with this.” Alex stared at the foot of my bed, where two different skirts were laid out beside each other for comparison. One was a saucy red number that flared out when I twirled; the other, a demure yet fitted navy skirt that hit slightly above the knee. He scratched his head as his eyes bounced from one to the other. “I’m your brother. It seems inappropriate for me to pick out a sexy outfit for you. Don’t you have any girlfriends who could help?”
“Nope,” I said, standing behind him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I spend most of my time dealing with this place. And I said sultry, not sexy. There’s a fine line that I don’t want to cross.”
“What about Kela?”
“I’m trying to change my style in small incremental steps, not through shock therapy.” I lifted the red skirt, holding it against me. “I’m asking you because you watch women. Constantly. You know what draws the eye. Pretty please?”
“Fine, but I want it on record that I don’t condone what I’m doing, and if anyone asks I’ll deny it.” He took the red skirt and delicately shook it. “The red one says you are fun and free and…” He tossed the skirt quickly aside, as if it were suddenly diseased. “You can never go wrong with navy.”
“Red skirt it is!” I announced. And why not? The last two days had wreaked havoc on my nerves. Being free and fun, even for a night, was something I could probably use in my life. The burdens of adulthood were stacking up, and soon I’d have another decade behind me.
I went into the bathroom and tried it on. It felt shockingly short, but perhaps some leggings or tall boots would help me feel less exposed. “What do you think?” I asked Alex, returning to the room.
“I think I shouldn’t be here.” He went to the closet and found a huge sweater that I only wore to bed, and threw it at me. “Put this on with it.”
Touch of Shadow Page 12
