“The pet-store owner told me to tell you he’s from an old Connecticut race that can fly.”
“Did he?”
“George Snow,” Meredith said.
“A man with feelings, the poor idiot. I remember him. Cried his eyes out. Do you think he was in love with my mother?”
“I don’t know.” Actually, she was sure of it.
Sam approached the parrot and offered his arm. The parrot eyed him, then moved sideways along the perch onto Sam’s arm.
“He’s heavy,” Sam said in wonder. “Say something to Meredith,” he told the parrot.
“Get out,” the parrot said.
Sam threw his head back and laughed.
“I love him,” Sam said. “I truly do.”
Meredith could feel something inside her breaking apart.
“Does he say more? Can I teach him to say whatever I want him to?”
“You can try. I have no idea what his vocabulary might be. He was a foundling. George named him Connie.”
“Does the murderess know about this?”
“Cynthia has a heart,” Meredith said. “Somewhere in there.”
“What about the old bastard?”
“Sam,” Meredith warned. “Cynthia will talk your dad into it. If you want to keep it.”
Sam sat on the bed and stared at the parrot.
“What you’re doing is too dangerous, Sam. If you keep on with all these drugs I’m going to switch to the other side. I’ll tell them to send you back to rehab.”
“It’s done. I swear it.” Sam meant it at that moment. But he’d meant it many times before. This much was the truth: “I can’t afford it anyway. I’m broke and it’s such a waste of money.”
“Just so we both understand: the parrot is a bribe.”
Sam turned to her and grinned. “The best bribe ever.” The usual whirring inside Sam’s head had slowed down and he could feel something straight on. It was almost like happiness, if only it wasn’t so slurred. It was damn close. Close enough.
Sam allowed Meredith to hug him. “Enough,” he told her, pushing her away when she made some sappy comment about what a great kid he was. “Let’s not go overboard.”
Meredith went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea. She stopped when she saw John Moody stationed in the living room. At first she thought Cynthia had told him about the parrot, and that he was waiting up to give Meredith a piece of his mind, maybe even fire her, but his attentions were elsewhere. There was the woman in the white dress sitting across from him. Meredith had to concentrate and block out everything else in order to see her, but she was there. A faint haze, fine as soot.
Meredith sank down on the last stair and peered under the banister. John Moody was crying, no noise, just his hands over his crumpled face. It was the hour when the grass outside looked silver and time moved so slowly it seemed to stop. A second lasted forever, and then, just as quickly, was gone. John Moody’s first wife was fading into the chair, like the edges of a cloud. Even her red hair was evaporating into nothingness. The entire room was washed out by darkness, shadow upon shadow, so that a person had to squint to see anything. There was only one bit of color, a dark blue feather on the floor, the color of the sky when it’s broken in half and the core of the universe can be seen.
IF LOVE COULD TIE YOU TO A PLACE FROM WHICH YOU never wished to roam, then wouldn’t it be sensible to suppose that after death it might also tie the atoms that made you to that very same place?
The younger physicist, Daniel Finch, a graduate student at Yale, posed this question to his audience of twelve semi-interested people in the reading room at the library. The brain itself functions because of electrical impulses. Who was to say such impulses ceased to exist at the time of death? And if they did not dissipate, wouldn’t they remain in place at the time of death rather than travel with a lifeless body, nothing but a shell now that it was not animated by whatever one cared to call the force within us — the soul, the anima, or, more rationally, the web of neutrons and protons at the core of life.
The older physicist, Ellery Rosen, sighed heavily. He had seen excited young men believe in things before; the older one was, the more unattainable faith became.
“Actual proof that electrical impulses remain intact outside the body is nonexistent,” Rosen said.
The two men were writing papers for the same journal. Their differences were so extreme one might think they were enemies, but in fact, Daniel had been Ellery Rosen’s student; they had lunch together at least twice a week.
Professor Rosen began to cite studies that refuted Daniel’s theory. It was rather dry material, statistics and the like, and right away they lost one of the twelve in the audience — Myra Broderick, who had to pick up her son at soccer practice.
“See you next week,” Myra called to the librarians. The upcoming speaker was an astrologist who had published a book called Stars in Your Eyes. Everyone was looking forward to that event.
“Is there proof of God?” Finch asked. “Most of the tenets of our culture and education are theoretical. Why do we need proof that a force animates the human being just because we have not yet correctly named it? And why do we assume this force doesn’t endure after death?”
They lost another member of their audience, Henry Bellingham, whose wife signaled to him now that she’d found all the books and tapes she needed for that week. Good thing, because Henry didn’t like the mention of God in what seemed to be a negative way.
“Well, tell me this,” Rosen said as the hour ended. The two speakers each seemed far more interested in what the other had to say than their audience did. There was a good bit of rustling in seats. “Have you yourself ever directly experienced the sighting of a ghost — or energy beyond the confines of the human body?”
“Actually, no,” Daniel Finch said. And then cheerfully: “At least not yet!”
There was a smattering of polite applause at the end of the lecture. The physicists packed up their briefcases; they were riding back together in Ellery Rosen’s old Land Cruiser.
“I’ve experienced it.” Meredith Weiss had come up to the podium and was standing beside Daniel Finch. Startled, he turned to her so quickly he nearly tripped off the raised platform. He hadn’t even heard her approach.
“Be forewarned,” Rosen whispered to his ex-student. “Kook alert.”
“Why would a spirit be attached to a place?” Meredith asked. “If you even want to call it a spirit, but let’s just use the term for convenience’ sake. The place has changed. It’s no longer the same place as when the person’s energy impulses were there. Here’s my theory: wouldn’t it be more likely that time was the element a spirit would be attached to? That would mean a ghost is an entity that can’t let go of what was and isn’t anymore.”
Daniel Finch was staring at Meredith as she spoke. She had extremely dark eyes, that was what he noticed first. She was about his age, give or take a year or two, but she seemed younger somehow. Her ponytail, that was probably it. Or the fact that she wore no makeup. She was nearly thirty, but she looked like the students he taught. Only much more serious. More beautiful. And that wasn’t all; she was a woman with a theory. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“Yes, yes, and next you’ll insist that ghosts want ice cream and chocolate sauce I suppose,” Ellery Rosen said. “Can we go?” he asked Daniel. “New Haven awaits.”
“I could drive you back to New Haven, if you wanted to discuss this.” Meredith was suddenly aware of how bold she might sound. She added, “Or not.”
“Don’t be bamboozled by her looks,” Rosen said, thinking he was whispering again. “She could be hopping mad.”
“I certainly am not.” Meredith was wearing a plain wool coat and had a sensible striped scarf around her neck. She had recently taken up knitting and had found it soothed her nerves. “I was an art history major at Brown.”
“I think I’ll stay,” Daniel Finch told Ellery Rosen.
Rosen clapped him on the back. “Idiot,”
he said warmly. He turned to Meredith. “He was my favorite student. Promise me you’re not a lunatic.”
She crossed her heart. “I swear.”
“Well, I suppose, given the evening, any statement can be considered empirical evidence. Enjoy each other’s electrical impulses.”
When Ellery left, Daniel and Meredith found seats at the nearest table.
“So is this interest of yours personal?” Daniel asked.
Meredith’s legs were so long their knees knocked against each other; they both had to make a conscious effort to sit back in their chairs so it wouldn’t happen again.
“I think I’m living in a haunted house,” Meredith said. Definitely a whisper. Daniel leaned in close.
“Any mental illness involved?”
“I beg your pardon?” Meredith’s cheeks flushed red.
“I didn’t mean you, necessarily. There are theories that upset, stressed-out people can create the same effects as a true haunting. Most poltergeist incidents are said to take place where there are angry or upset teenagers.”
“Well, we have that, but the teenager in the household seems to have nothing to do with what’s happening. I’m a nanny. I’m overqualified.”
Daniel went on to explain the correlation between the living and the dead in a true haunting. The qualities most often noted in the living who experienced such contact were innocence, sorrow, or guilt. Meredith was nodding, listening to every word. She had the darkest eyes Daniel had ever seen.
“Is there someplace we can have coffee?” he asked.
“No. Everything closes at nine. Small town,” Meredith explained.
The librarians, Daniel noticed, were staring.
“The library, too,” Meredith said apologetically. “Nine p.m. is closing time. And this is the late evening. Usually it’s six. I think we’re wearing out our welcome.”
They went out, saying good-bye to the librarians, pushing open the glass doors. There were only three cars in the parking lot, one of them Meredith’s VW.
“I’ve experienced physical manifestations. Voice, dishes, and soot,” Meredith confided.
“The signs of a specter.” Daniel Finch nodded. “Some people say birds often accompany a spirit. I’ve just been reading about it. Swallows in the chimney. A starling suddenly caught in a room. The birds seem to be startled by the surge in electrical impulses.”
“There are so many birds on the lawn in the morning I can’t even see the grass some days.”
“How did you come up with your time/specter theory?”
“Time/specter theory. I like that. Well, it’s because every time I’ve seen her she’s in a different place. I feel that she’s stuck in time. She follows different people in the family around.”
“Does she follow you?”
“Oh, no. Although I can see her. Mostly she seems to follow her husband.”
“Love,” Daniel said.
“Or the opposite of love.” They had crossed the parking lot. Meredith unlocked the VW’s door. “Shall I drive you to New Haven?”
“Actually, I’d like to see the house. If I could.”
Driving there, they were quiet. Their breath fogged up the windshield and they laughed about that, then fell silent. Daniel wished the ride would last forever. Meredith cut the headlights at the start of the drive so as not to disturb anyone in the family. They approached in the dark; the Glass Slipper appeared above the hedge of boxwoods like an iceberg. It was always such a shock to see, even to those who lived there.
“Wow,” Daniel said. “Modern. Not what I expected.”
He hadn’t expected Meredith, either. Neither one wanted to leave the car. They were in a bubble. Yellow leaves fell through the dark night. The last few cabbage moths wandered from lamppost to lamppost.
“You expected some haunted gloomy hall? It’s the Glass Slipper. It’s famous. The owner is an architect, and his father was the architect who designed it. The birds I mentioned are always trying to fly right through it.”
They got out and walked in the shadows of the boxwoods.
“How old was your ghost when she died?” Daniel said.
“Twenty-four or -five.”
“Young.”
They followed the slate path in the dark.
Meredith held on to Daniel Finch’s coat sleeve so she wouldn’t stumble, or so she murmured. Perhaps it was for another reason entirely. She felt drawn to Daniel in some weird, deep way. He was tall, with dark hair; he had a generous mouth and an easy way of carrying himself. When he listened, he truly listened. Meredith felt like a moth. Fluttering. Confused. It was a chilly night, with the possibility of frost. Daniel huddled close to Meredith, his heart racing.
“We should be quiet,” Meredith whispered.
Daniel was having second thoughts. He was a theoretical physicist, not a ghostbuster. What if his mentor had been right? If so, Daniel was here with a crazy woman and he didn’t even have transportation of his own.
“Look down at the path,” Meredith said.
On the slate was a ribbon of black soot, leading them on. They followed around to the patio. They had the urge to hold hands, but neither reached for the other. All the same, they were stepping into something together and they knew it; something more than pools of darkness in the crisp night. Anything could happen. Spirits summoned; spirits sent away. There was the faint echo of voices. Daniel felt his skin go cold at the sound. But it was nothing fantastic waiting for them, only the children of the family sitting at the patio table — a tall, skinny boy of seventeen who had a parrot perched on his shoulder, and a blond girl of eleven who had a copy of Edward Eager’s Magic by the Lake in front of her. Actually, from a distance they looked quite charming. Until you noticed the boy’s surly expression.
As soon as Meredith and Daniel stepped from the shadows, the girl went to Meredith and threw her arms around her.
“Sam said we had to get out of the house,” Blanca said.
Lately, Sam was sleeping nearly all day. There were purple circles under his eyes. The more he slept, the darker they were. The family and Meredith no longer discussed his condition. Sam tried to keep his word about staying clean, but he never did. He was back at it. Meredith knew he was going through her purse, stealing more bits and pieces from the house. Candlesticks. A silver tea set. Whatever he could get his hands on. His one interest outside of procuring drugs was the parrot. He cut up oranges for the bird, bought fresh lettuce, made certain there was plenty of seed and biscuits; he spent hours trying to teach the bird a few choice curse words. Fuck a duck was the one Connie had recently learned to repeat.
“You have a date,” Sam said as Meredith and Daniel approached. “Where’d you find him, on the side of the road?”
“At the library,” Meredith said.
“Get out,” the parrot said. “Fuck a duck.”
“I was trying to teach him to say Fuck you, Cynthia, make it really personal and meaningful, but he simply won’t do it.”
“He just says You,” Blanca said.
Sam was studying Daniel. Six feet tall, shaggy hair, wearing an old overcoat, his briefcase in hand. A teacher type for certain.
“Dump this guy, Meredith. He’s a nerd. Just look at him. Who the hell carries a briefcase around?”
“I’m a physicist.” Daniel Finch sat down across the table from Sam. He could see how dilated the kid’s eyes were. He noticed the scabs on Sam’s face. Opiates were itchy.
“Yeah, well, why don’t you tell me what our purpose on earth is if you’re so fucking smart?”
“That’s for the philosophers to figure out. I don’t deal with the meaning of life, just the essence.”
“Touché,#8221; Sam said. “Good one. Who needs meaning, right? Fuck meaning.”
“Sam,” Blanca said.
“Ef meaning. Is that better? We all know what it effing means, we just don’t say it. That’s the proper way to live in the world. Avoid truth at all costs.”
Sam had lost a good deal of we
ight since the incident with the chalk. He didn’t seem like anyone’s little boy anymore. He looked worn, and when he got ornery like this, bitter. Sometimes Meredith felt she could see the old man he would become in the way his face was settling. His hands shook when he was high and Meredith noticed they were shaking now.
“So are you going to fuck him now or later?” Sam asked her.
Blanca put her hands over her ears. “Stop saying that word!”
“Sorry, Peabee.” Sometimes Sam forgot Blanca was only a kid. She seemed so old. He probably said too much in front of her. Showed her too much of what was inside him. “I’m on a talking jag,” he apologized to one and all. “Don’t listen to me.”
“He said Cynthia might kill us,” Blanca told Meredith. “That’s why we had to get out of the house. That’s why we’re out here. She was a murderess who would kill us in our sleep.”
“I meant she would kill us emotionally,” Sam said. “Spiritually. She’s already murdered me.”
“That’s not what you said,” Blanca insisted. “You said she would come after me with a carving knife. That we might have to fly away.”
“Well, she might!” Sam said. “You know we can’t trust her.”
“Sam!” Meredith said. No wonder poor Blanca always looked worried.
“I don’t know what I said,” Sam told his sister. “I was rambling. It was just a what-if situation. Do you think I’d ever let someone get to you with a carving knife? I’d cut them in two first.”
Blanca looked cheered. “Really?”
“Maybe in three parts.”
“I’ll get them to bed,” Meredith told Daniel. “Don’t disappear.”
“Yes, my sister is an infant and I’m six,” Sam said. “Put us to bed, nanny dear.”
“It’s chilly out here for Connie, did you ever think of that?” Meredith asked him.
Sam slipped the parrot into his coat pocket. “I thought you were used to the cold climate of Connecticut,” he said to his pet.
While Meredith guided the kids inside, Daniel was considering her theory — that the deepest attachment of all was not to a person or a situation, but to a time. He was thinking about the way he couldn’t stop looking at her.
Skylight Confessions Page 13
