The Color of a Silver Lining

by Julianne MacLean

  Carter took another sip of his coffee. “Which hotel?”

  I gestured toward the one across the street—the most famous and luxurious hotel in Victoria.

  Carter whistled. “Seriously? You were able to book that for New Year’s Eve? I can’t even imagine what that must have cost. Unless they’re putting you in the basement, or something.” He sipped his coffee again.

  “We’ll be in the Ivy Ballroom,” I told him.

  He leaned back. “Wow. Ivy Ballroom. So…is my invitation in the mail, or what?” He nudged me playfully, as if we’d leapfrogged back to the years before we lost Samuel, before we became so antagonistic with each other. For a moment, I was transported, but the feeling passed in an instant because we both knew we couldn’t erase the last four years.

  I wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to do here.

  I sipped my coffee and watched one of the yellow cabs at the taxi stand pull away from the curb.

  “So,” I said flatly. “You wanted to talk about the little girl in Nova Scotia.”

  He inhaled deeply. “Yes. It’s been an interesting few days, watching the news.”

  He said no more than that, which frustrated me because, sometimes, getting Carter to talk about his feelings was like trying to get blood from a stone. Which was why I was so surprised he’d wanted to meet with me. But true to form, now that I was here, he expected me to pull it out of him.

  “It’s been interesting, for sure,” I replied. “What do you think? Is she just trying to get attention? Making things up? Or do you think there is actually something to it?”

  Carter faced me on the bench. “I can’t deny, I want to believe her experience was real.”

  My heart turned over in my chest, like an old engine that hadn’t worked in a while, finally sputtering to life. “Me, too,” I said. “I want to believe it.”

  Carter stood up and walked to the concrete wall behind us to take in the view of the inner harbor and sailboats moored at the docks. I stood up as well and joined him there.

  “But do we just want to believe it because we want to be consoled?” he asked me. “That’s what people are saying about this kind of thing, and it makes me feel like a fool for wanting to buy into it.”

  “Not everyone says that,” I replied. “Plenty of people have an unshakable sense of faith and believe wholeheartedly that there’s something more beyond this life. I just wish I were one of those people, that I had no doubt. It would make all of this so much easier.”

  A man puttered around on a sailboat that was docked below us. We watched him polish the seats with a blue-and-white cloth.

  Carter turned toward me. “Listen, there’s something I need to say to you.”

  “What is it?”

  Carter sipped his coffee, then turned away from me. He crossed the sidewalk to throw the empty cup in a trash receptacle by the curb. Then he stood for a moment with his back to me, kicking the receptacle with the toe of his work boot. Finally, he returned.

  “I had a dream about a month ago,” he said. “Although…I’m not even sure it was a dream.” He cleared his throat. “I was kind of freaked out.”

  “What was it about?”

  He blew out a breath. “It’s hard to talk about, Emma. I suppose it’s part of the reason why I’m obsessed with that little girl’s story.”

  I couldn’t take the suspense. I took hold of Carter’s arm. “What happened?”

  He looked down at his boots and shook his head. “I dreamed about Sammy. Only it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real.” He paused and turned toward the harbor again, resting his elbows on the concrete barrier. “I was asleep, and then I heard something—the creak of a door. I opened my eyes and sat up, and there he was in the doorway, wearing his blue pajamas. You know…the ones with Thomas the Tank Engine?”

  I nodded.

  “He was just staring at me,” Carter continued, “and for a second I thought he’d had a bad dream and he wanted me to take him back to bed and tuck him in. Then I remembered that…he was gone. So it couldn’t be happening.”

  Carter bowed his head and I could see that he was trying not to get choked up. I considered laying my hand on his back and rubbing gently, but resisted the urge.

  “He just kept staring at me like he was really angry,” Carter continued. “Then he walked away, back down the hall. I got out of bed to follow him, but of course he wasn’t there. I kept telling myself it was a dream, but I’m sure I was awake.”

  “Wow.”

  “Have you ever had a dream like that?”

  “I’ve had lots of dreams,” I replied, “but I always knew I was dreaming. There was never any question about that.” I inclined my head. “So, what are you saying? That you think he was really there? Like a ghost?”

  Carter shook his head. “I know it sounds crazy. I probably need help.”

  “Don’t we all.” We stood in silence for a moment. Then I sat down on the bench again.

  Carter followed. “I miss him,” he said.

  “Me, too.”

  I gazed up at the blue sky. A fluffy white cloud moved in front of the sun.

  “But what does this have to do with the little girl on the east coast who went to heaven?” I asked. “Allegedly went to heaven.”

  “Well,” Carter replied, “this is the crazy part. Ever since I heard about that, I’ve been doing research online, about the afterlife and near-death experiences.”

  “So have I,” I confessed.

  He nodded, as if he wasn’t surprised to hear it. “I found this woman in Vancouver who’s a psychic.” Before I had a chance to say anything, he held up a hand to stop me. “Now, hear me out. She claims she can talk to people who have passed on.”

  I shook my head as if to clear it. “Wait a second. You’re not actually thinking about going to see a psychic, are you? To try and talk to Sammy?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. That dream really stayed with me. I felt like he wanted to tell me something. And if there is an afterlife, don’t you want to know that he’s okay? And that he’s still…alive in some way?”

  I stared at Carter in shock. “He’s not alive. He’s gone.” A painful lump formed in my throat and I swallowed forcefully over it.

  “Yes, I know that, but… You know what I’m saying, Emma. If he’s present somehow. I want to know.”

  I sat back and stared across the street at the hotel. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. You were never one to believe in woo-woo stuff. I had to drag you to church most Sundays, and you made fun of anyone who believed in signs or fate.”

  He accepted that with a nod. “I know. You’re right. But that dream… And listen…” He turned slightly on the bench to face me and hung his head low. “I realize it’s kind of late for me to be saying this, but it’s long overdue and it needs to be said.” He wiped a finger under his nose. “I owe you an apology, Emma.”

  My stomach began to burn with unease. “For what?”

  “For how I treated you. For the things I said to you.” He faced the hotel and sat quietly for a moment while my heart pounded in my chest like a sledgehammer.

  “When I look back on it,” he continued, “I can’t believe I was that messed up. I was so angry and…I was just wrecked. I just needed to blame someone.”

  My blood raced through my veins. I wanted to get up and run, but I wasn’t sure why. “Please, Carter, you don’t have to say this.”

  “Yes, I do. And you have to let me say it.” He grabbed hold of my hand and squeezed it. “You didn’t deserve all that. I was upset and the grief was too much, but at least I didn’t have to deal with what you had to…”

  I tried to pull my hand away. “Please stop…”

  But he wouldn’t let it go. “It must have been so much worse for you. I should have understood that. I shouldn’t have been so selfish, because something like that could just as easily have happened to me. When I think of all the times I let him swing too high at the playground, or when I was busy
in the front yard and took my eye off him for a few seconds. He could have run out in front of a car or something. I wasn’t perfect. So, I was wrong to blame you like I did. I was an ass, Emma, and I’m so sorry.”

  My stomach was in knots because this was incredibly painful to talk about. I didn’t want to think about what happened that day…how I left Sammy alone in the yard….how I panicked when I saw him in the pool.

  Finally, I managed to pull my hand from Carter’s grasp. “Thank you. I appreciate that. But I don’t want to talk about this with you. Not now. It’s in the past and it’s taken me a long time to get this far. I don’t want to go back there.”

  I got up and started to walk away, but he followed. “Wait, Emma. Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did. Obviously, I did, and I don’t blame you for hating me.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Hating you? Are you kidding me right now? You’re the one who hated me all this time. It’s why we’re divorced—because you couldn’t even look at me. You asked me to leave. You couldn’t bear to live in the same house with me, and God knows I couldn’t live there either.” I held up both my hands in mock surrender. “Please, let’s just leave things the way they are. You’re in a good place. I’m in a good place. And I accept your apology. There. You’re forgiven. Now I have to go.”

  I started walking again, hurrying down the street to my car. This time, I was relieved that Carter didn’t follow.

  I got into my car and sat there for a long moment gripping the wheel, staring in a daze through the windshield.

  A short while later, I drove toward Luke’s house in Oak Bay. I turned on the radio and fought to calm my nerves and settle my churning stomach. When I began to feel calmer, I thought back to what Carter had said about visiting a psychic in order to reach out to Sammy, wherever he might be.

  Was that even possible? Or was it crazy? My conversation with Carter suddenly felt unfinished. I had a lot of questions.

  Rather than go straight home to Luke, I decided to drive around for a while, just to give myself a chance to ponder what Carter had said.

  * * *

  “You’re kind of late,” Luke said when I walked in the door. He was wearing the chef’s apron I’d given him for his birthday that said “Hot Stuff,” and he was brandishing a barbeque spatula. He came to the door to meet me and gave me a kiss while the dogs circled around us with wagging tails.

  “Sorry,” I replied. “There was a problem with the computers today and we had to catch up on a few things.”

  I wish I could say I hadn’t planned to lie to Luke about seeing Carter after work, but I did plan it. While I was driving to his place, I’d worked out a believable excuse, and I’m still not sure why I felt I couldn’t tell Luke the truth. It’s not as if I’d agreed to meet Carter because I missed him or wanted to reconcile. I simply didn’t want to talk about what Carter had said to me. It was too painful to vocalize, and I’d become very good at avoiding painful things. I just wanted to enjoy dinner with my fiancé.

  Later, when we sat down to eat on the patio, Luke mentioned one of the books I’d lent him. “So I finished The Color of Heaven today,” he said as he served himself some salad.

  “Yeah? What did you think?” I hadn’t read that one yet. I was still working on the other one.

  “Well, I don’t want to give away any spoilers,” he replied, “but I’m having trouble believing that it was real. I’m just not sure. What about the book you’re reading? Do you believe it?”

  “I don’t know. The author certainly does. He makes a very good case, and he’s a medical doctor, a man of science. It’s hard to believe he would make all that stuff up and risk his reputation.”

  “Unless he knew he could make millions off the book. That’s where it gets dicey. It’s hard to figure out what people’s motivations are.”

  I nodded in agreement, then couldn’t resist asking Luke another question. “Here’s a doozy for you. What about psychics? Do you think they can actually communicate with people in heaven, or help people talk to loved ones who have passed?”

  He reached for the pepper mill and seasoned his steak. “Hmm. That is a doozy.” I suspected he was stalling as he set the pepper mill back on the table and picked up his fork. “I’m not going to say I don’t believe it, but I do have a problem with people charging money and trying to get rich off that kind of thing. I think it opens up opportunities for con artists who want to take advantage of vulnerable people who are grieving. And that steals credibility from the whole industry. Makes it all look fake.”

  “It’s interesting that you call it an industry.”

  He inclined his head. “I guess that’s just my perception.”

  “It’s a reasonable one.”

  I decided to leave it at that and not mention what Carter had suggested about going to see that psychic in Vancouver. Especially because Luke didn’t even know I’d met with him.

  * * *

  Later that evening, while I was in the kitchen puttering around and Luke was watching the news on television, I received another text from Carter. I picked up my phone and immediately went into the den to read it.

  Hey. I’m sorry about today. I didn’t mean to upset you.

  I had to admit, I felt a bit foolish and embarrassed for running off the way I did, like a frightened bird.

  I sat down in the leather reading chair by the window and thumbed a reply: Thanks. But you’d think I’d have thicker skin by now. Believe it or not, I appreciated what you said.

  I started to type It was a long time coming, but I backed up and deleted that part, and just hit send.

  His reply came a moment later. We didn’t really get to finish our conversation about the other stuff. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’m seriously thinking about going to see that psychic in Vancouver. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to come with me?

  I sat there, actually considering it, and typed uncertainly: I’m not sure. When are you thinking of going?

  As soon as she can fit us in, he replied.

  I felt heat and color rush to my cheeks as I thought about this. A psychic who spoke to the dead. Did I really want to invite that kind of thing into my life? I’d just spent the past four years fighting to overcome my grief and figure out how to live like a normal person again, to accept that my son was gone and never coming back, and that no amount of wishing was going to change that. Did it make sense that now I was going to try to communicate with him, from somewhere beyond the grave?

  What exactly did I want to hear? That he didn’t blame me for what happened? Would that make me feel better?

  Yes, I suppose it would. But was I insane to get into this with my ex-husband, who was half the reason why I had such a difficult time overcoming my guilt and grief in the first place?

  I slowly typed a reply. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

  Why not? he quickly replied. If it turns out to be a big scam, it’ll be an interesting experience and we’ll have a story to tell. At least we won’t go through life wondering what if.

  Pulling my knees up under me, I glanced at the open doorway and listened to the sound of the television in the other room.

  I couldn’t imagine what Luke would think about this. He’d always been supportive of me in every way, and I doubted he would try and stop me if I really wanted to go, but would he think, deep down, that I was a nutcase?

  Was I?

  Maybe, because there was no way on earth I could let Carter go and see a psychic—and possibly talk to Samuel—without me. If that was going to happen, I wanted to be there.

  I lifted my phone and responded: If you’re going to do it, I’ll come. But I’m still not sure it’s a good idea.

  I’m not sure either, he replied, but I can’t live with the curiosity. I need to know.

  I considered that for a moment, then I typed a response. Me, too. Let’s go ahead and try it. Let me know what she says.

/>   OK. I’ll keep you posted.

  I slipped my phone into my pocket and sat in the dim lamplight for a while, staring at the bookshelves and wondering if I should tell Luke about this. I certainly didn’t want him to think I was keeping secrets from him so that I could sneak around with Carter, or that I wanted to rekindle my relationship with my ex. Nothing was further from the truth. There was too much ugly water under that bridge.

  But I also didn’t want Luke to think I was unhinged, trying to communicate with my son who had been dead for four years. Luke had always been very understanding about my grief, but I’m not sure he would agree that this was a good idea. I wasn’t even sure it was myself. And I didn’t want him to change his mind about marrying me.

  In the end, I decided to sleep on it. Maybe Carter wouldn’t be able to get an appointment. Maybe you had to book these things months or years in advance.

  An hour later, while Luke was out walking the dogs before bed and I was in his bedroom changing into my pajamas, Carter texted me.

  I just heard back from her. Are you free tomorrow night? Appointment at six. I can drive.

  Chapter Eight

  Emma

  I was sitting up in bed, reading, when Luke returned from walking the dogs. They followed him upstairs and jumped onto the bed to sit with me while Luke brushed his teeth.

  I patted each of them lovingly and scratched behind their ears. “Did you boys have a good walk?”

  “It was a short one,” Luke called out from the bathroom. “We met Mrs. Jenkins with her two dogs and chatted for a while.”

  A few minutes later, he slipped into bed beside me and Toby and Max jumped down to lie on their dog beds under the window.

  “Are you going to read for a while?” Luke asked.

  Of course, that wasn’t the real question he was asking. He wanted to know if I was in the mood for romance. Usually I was, but with Carter’s text sitting on the bedside table, I couldn’t pretend not to be distracted.

  “Actually, I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Sure.”

  He sat up the feather pillows and gave me his full attention. I cleared my throat, nervously. “There’s something I didn’t tell you about why I was late today.”