Chapter 13
It neared midnight when we called it a night. Alex insisted on walking me the short distance home. Snow fell heavily, our first snowfall of the season. I couldn't stop my enthusiasm.
“It’s snowing,” I exclaimed, fastening my jacket. I bounded down the steps, raised my face into the air and closed my eyes. Snowflakes, perfect and pure, cooled my face. With my hands splayed at my sides, I turned, embracing Nature’s beauteous splendor. “Isn’t it wonderful? Don’t you just love it. There is nothing more beautiful than falling snow.” I hugged myself and looked at Alex standing beside me. I couldn’t tell if he shared my passion, but that wouldn't stop my excitement. I loved snow and wasn't ashamed that I did.
We made our way onto the sidewalk. “Look.” I grabbed his arm with one hand and with the other pointed to the streetlight across the road. “Look how the light reflects the snow. It’s like a rushing waterfall in bright sunlight.”
His generous laugh swept me back to the present.
I stared at his red face. “What?”
“Do you always get so excited about snow?”
“No. Yes. Don’t you?” I couldn’t understand anyone not getting excited about snow.
He shook his head. He still smiled, though. “I can’t say that I do.”
“I suppose when you see snow, you see a shovel.”
“Maybe.” He bumped my hip. “What do you see?”
“I see white woven blankets and purity and serenity. I see snow angels, children building snowmen and forts. I see rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes and innocent smiles.” I paused to cup a hand around my ear. “Can’t you hear their laughter? What a glorious sound.” Alex hooked his arm around my waist. Something else occurred to me. “Christmas is coming.” Caught up in that thought, I wrapped my arms around his midsection and hugged him. A second later, I stepped back, embarrassed. “Do you decorate for Christmas?” I stared at the sidewalk.
“Of course. Don’t you?”
I chuckled. “Not as much as I’d like. Jonathan had more conservative ideas about decorating. I wanted lights strung everywhere, wreaths with big red velvet bows and candles in every window and Santas and snowmen perched among the evergreen trees.” Without conscious thought, I remembered the dream. It sobered me.
“What is it?” Alex asked.
“Nothing.” I shrugged, then decided why not tell him. He knew so much about me already.
“Every year starting in August I’d dream Jonathan decided we wouldn’t decorate for Christmas that year. I’d wake, gasping for breath with my hair plastered to my head and my heart jumping like jacks.”
He took my hand and clasped it tightly. “You shouldn’t have any more dreams like that now.”
“True.” Now I was in control, not Jonathan. I could decorate for Christmas any damn way I pleased.
We strode down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, side by side, as couples do. It seemed we'd known each other for years rather than a couple of weeks. Conversation came easy. And the man could cook. He would make some woman a wonderful wife one day. Role reversal. I liked the logistics of that.
We arrived at my house. I expected more than a sisterly peck on the cheek tonight, but after I unlocked the door and noticed how rigid he stood, a handshake wouldn’t have surprised me. We said our good-byes and he feather-kissed my cheek as he always did. Damn.
Throughout the evening, from one minute to the next, I'd expected Alex to throw me over his shoulder — he didn’t seem the type to tenderly sweep a woman into his arms — dash upstairs to the master bedroom and make savage, erotic love to me. But that never happened. Bummer.
Funny I should think that, considering my earlier views on the subject, but true all the same. I locked the door and performed a quick surveillance of the house. Everything appeared in order, or more accurately, in disorder.
My legs trembled as I walked toward the staircase. Maybe I should have taken Alex up on his offer to spend the night in his guest bedroom.
I climbed two steps, stopped and looked over my shoulder. Satisfied no one or nothing lurked behind me, I ascended two more steps. A chill filled the air and wisps of hair on the nape of my neck fluttered. My heart raced like an engine. I clutched the banister with one hand and rubbed my neck with the other. I forced composure.
“So you are here, Irwin. You don’t frighten me, you know,” I said with more bravado than I felt. Staring straight ahead, I clambered up the remaining steps, knowing instinctively he would follow, and stopped only when I reached my bedroom.
My queen-size bed with my mother’s hand-stitched quilt beckoned me, but the thought of undressing made me shy. Ghosts saw everything, didn’t they? If so, then Irwin saw it all before and maybe had done much worse than peek. I hadn't forgotten that night in the bathtub.
Should I change in the closet? Or should I change as I would any other time? I opted for the latter.
I took a flannel nightgown from a dresser drawer, threw my jacket over the wicker chair and slipped out of my shoes. I undid the side zipper of my jumpsuit and clasped the bodice tightly against my chest with both hands. “Close your eyes.” I winked. Where did this cavalier attitude come from? I didn’t understand it. Twenty years ago I might not have survived seeing a ghost. Obviously, my courage swelled proportionately with my ego if I thought I could win a fight against a ghost. In two swift moves, my jumpsuit fell to the floor and I donned my nightgown.
If I survived the night, my first stop in the morning would be at the library. I imagined a plenitude of literature on the subject of the paranormal. Besides, it would take me out of the house. The idea of spending as little time alone with Irwin as possible appealed to me. I’d put the history of the house on hold for the time being.
I hopped into bed, turned off the bedside lamp, pulled the covers to my chin and snuggled against freshly laundered sheets. In the moonlight filtering in through the gossamer curtains, I stared at the cracks in the ceiling, my mind spinning like a whirligig.
My divorce would be final soon. A few short months ago, I couldn’t have visualized myself with any man besides Jonathan. The time had come for me to find out who I was besides the ex-Mrs. Jonathan Turner, taken-for-granted-woman.
My mother taught me never to be cruel to people or animals, never to believe my way was the only way and to trust until someone gave me reason not to. Though a lot of good it did me, I bore that in mind always. Now, for the first time in sixteen years, I was free to make decisions. Like whether I’d sleep with Alex. My face grew feverish at the thought. If our relationship took that turn, the choice would be mine to make. I was the boss of myself now.
Many years had passed since my dating years, and I might be out of practice and mistaking the signs that tell a woman a man was hot for her, but it seemed Alex wanted me. I always thought when a man cooked for you he was trying to get you into bed. Not so with Alex.
Maybe he didn’t want sex with me. Maybe our friendship satisfied him. Or maybe he wanted something else entirely. That had me thinking. What could he want besides friendship and sex?
Since the divorce, I often wondered whether Jonathan had truly loved me, or whether my half million dollar inheritance had been the attraction.
Irwin was awfully quiet. Was he up to something? Could Irwin read my thoughts? Irwin, if you can, go fuck yourself. It took me all of my forty years to say the “f” word. It filled me with triumph. No, that wasn't correct, either. I felt liberated.
I giggled, thinking I pushed the envelope with Irwin, but I didn’t care. My mother would protect me. The room breathed the delicate scent of lilacs, her favorite flower. “Good night. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mommy.”
Christ almighty. His voice jolted me upright. “I told you before, Irwin. I am not your mother.” I peered around the room and found him standing at the foot of my bed.
“Do you know where my mommy is?”
“No.” I wonder
ed if his mother was living. If I could find her, maybe she could convince him to cross over.
“Can you take me to her? I miss her. I want to be with my mommy.” The room filled with the sound of a child’s broken heart.
“I’ll try to find her for you.” The words surprised me. Just like that I added him to my ever-growing list of things to do. Now, in addition to being a divorced mother of two, a homemaker, a homeowner, a contractor, an entrepreneur, a researcher, I took on the part of spirit detective. It struck me then how out there a conversation with a ghost looked.
The sobbing stopped.
“You will?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you promise? Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Yes.” I hoped I could deliver. “Can you tell me anything about yourself?”
Silence fell on the room. I waited a moment, then another. When he didn't answer, I called his name.
“I’m trying, but I can’t remember.”
“How long has it been since ... er ... you …?”
“Eons.”
That told me a lot. God. How was I to help him without a starting point or a reference of some sort?
“I’ve always been a part of this house.”
Of course. Why would he inhabit this house if he hadn’t lived here at one time? Or died here? My house must be the key.
I remembered the night when Jonathan paid me an unexpected visit and the pains he'd experienced. Irwin caused those pains. It appeared he didn’t like Jonathan but liked Alex, otherwise he would have hurt him, too. Did I miss something? Did Irwin feel I needed protection from my ex-husband?
“I wish I could help you. I want to help you. If I knew what happened to you, what your name is, it would steer me in the right direction.”
Irwin came closer to me. My hand trembled when I held it out to him. His sad eyes met mine. My hand passed through him.
“Where’s Benjamin? I like him. We have fun together.”
Shouldn’t he know where Benjamin was? Maybe he wasn’t here all the time. “Benjamin and Katie are with their father for the weekend.” First thing Sunday night after they returned home I intended to talk to the children about these ghosts. I couldn’t put it off any longer. It was clear they weren’t going away, not without assistance, anyway. I hated including my mother in that analogy. I liked to think of her not as a ghost but guardian angel. Wouldn’t those who loved us and left watch out for us from beyond? I truly believed they would.
The sound of Irwin's wails pierced my heart.
Then there was silence.
I was alone.
Restless Souls Page 19
