by Sheila Lowe
The prayer ended and a young man who looked a lot like Mr. Rogers in a cardigan and chinos took a seat at the piano. He began to play and they all sang:
Let there be peace on earth.
And let it begin with me.
Let There Be Peace on Earth.
The peace that was meant to be…
As Jessica began to sing, an unexpected lump clogged her throat and choked off the words. She sneaked a hand up to wipe away a stray tear, hoping no one noticed. But someone had. Sage leaned in with a gentle nudge. She glanced up into his face and was struck that somehow, he understood. The knowledge both comforted and rattled her at the same time.
“For the soul to grow,” Bella began, “you must listen to what others are thinking and feeling. Do you butt into conversations? If you do, you will end up not listening to spirit any more than you listen to other people in a human body. Be aware of what is going on in the world so we can send our thoughts out to help those affected by tragedy. Send out a healing, send out soothing balm. Light a candle, say a prayer…”
The spellbinding gentleness of her voice set Jessica’s mind adrift. The room faded away and the image of a small boy came to her. His pale face shone through a heavy darkness that Jessica understood was symbolic, not real.
Ethan. Where are you? Ethan…
Her ears, latching onto what Bella was saying, jerking her back to the sermon.
“…if you are receiving a name from spirit, let yourself go into the name. Register it on all levels. Allow yourself to know who it is and how it relates to a person who is here in the physical realm. Relate to the name…” Bella’s gaze turned on Jessica. A slight smile curved her lips as their eyes met and the pastor appeared to deliver the message directly to her.
Closing her eyes, Jessica concentrated on the name, Ethan. An impression of impishness in his eyes reminded her of Justin. Was she confusing the two boys? She dragged her attention back to the reverend.
“What has your soul made you aware of in the last few months? Have you been moving through a time that felt empty and cold? Go inside yourself, investigate the experience. Every tragedy or trauma holds a lesson. You wouldn’t be where you are today if you had not first been there. What is your soul telling you? What is unfolding in the next chapter of your life?” Bella’s gaze had been traveling around the room. Once more, it rested on Jessica.
“Have you lost a child? Remember, love can never die. Life never ends. Mediumship is about proving the connection between this world and the next. There is no death; only life after earth.”
The words overwhelmed her, leaving her emotions stripped raw and exposed. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, trickling down her cheeks and onto the hands tightly clasped in her lap. She was aware of Sage at her side, digging into his pockets, searching. He slipped a clean handkerchief into her hand.
In the years since Justin’s death, the events that triggered her emotions were unpredictable. At times, his short life seemed unreal, nothing more than a beautiful dream. At other times, it was as if the accident had happened five minutes ago. Grief was an unreliable foe, always at hand, rearing its ugly head at its own amusement.
What if she disappeared without having to explain herself? Sage would never have to know about the crazy that lived inside her. How would he react when the information came out, as surely it would if they started seeing each other?
We’re already seeing each other.
The group sang more songs, a woman in the audience made announcements about an upcoming potluck luncheon, then Bella uttered a closing prayer and stepped off the stage to greet the church members who hurried to huddle around her. Soon, the room was awash with the hum of conversation.
“It won’t take long for the herd to thin and I can introduce you,” said Sage. Then, apparently reading the truth in Jessica’s eyes, “Or would you prefer to meet her some other time?”
She managed a weak smile. “Another time, I think. I enjoyed the service, but I’d better get home. Headache.”
His handsome face fell. “I was hoping to take you to lunch, show you around the Center. I bet we have some ibuprofen there.”
“Could I get a rain check? Please? I’d love a tour, but I’m not up to it right now.”
“Of course.”
Retracing their steps to the Center where her Mini was parked, their talk stayed impersonal. The trees and plants, the local restaurants.
For Jessica, some of the pleasure had gone out of the morning.
TEN
Jessica was walking up the path to the cottage when she felt a vibration, like the wings of a bee near her face. It came and went in a blink. Then a soft, high voice spoke next to her ear.
“Momma.”
“Justin?” She hurried inside, listening with all her might. Again, as clear and recognizable as if her boy was standing right beside her, she heard him.
“Mom. Please help my friend.”
Now that he had her attention, the voice had moved inside Jessica’s head. She answered him the same way, telepathically, reaching for names and faces of children Justin might have played with during his short life. “Which friend, sweetheart? Can you tell me a name?”
“My new friend. You know, Mom.”
An image flashed and took her breath away. Right in front of her was the face of the boy from her trance. Before she had time to react, the image of his melted face switched to skin as soft and clear as a newborn’s, a face shining with a beautiful smile.
Is this the friend you want me to help?
As she framed the question to Justin, the truth of it pinged throughout Jessica’s entire being. Yes. The next question was, what did he need help with and was it within her power to do what he needed? She would do anything for her son and if that meant helping his friend, she would be glad to comply with the request.
Who is he, baby?
“Mason. My friend. He needs you.”
The words were not as clearly formed as they were an impression. The urgency in them made her listen. “What can I do for him, sweetheart?”
“Tell his mom he’s okay.”
How do I find her?
Another picture flashed. Mickey Mouse ears.
I don’t understand. Mickey Mouse—Disneyland?
She waited for an answer, wondering how Mickey Mouse tied in with Mason. What would a seven-year-old boy use mouse ears to symbolize? When nothing happened, she asked another question.
Is it his mom’s name—is it Micki?
No. The mouse ears flashed again. And again, and again with each guess. Jessica plopped onto the armchair and racked her brain for the meaning of the mouse ears. Reverend Bella’s sermon came back to her. She’d said to focus on the name.
Visualizing the name Mason, and the boy’s healthy face, she focused her attention on it.
Sleeping Beauty’s castle popped into her head. Disneyland again.
Spirit shows me a picture and I’m supposed to guess what it means? This is like playing charades. Why don’t they just tell me what they want me to know?
Sleeping Beauty. Disneyland? This isn’t making sense.
Mickey Mouse hat with mouse ears.
A memory of Jen and her taking Justin to the Magic Kingdom came into her mind. The echoes of his delighted squeals made her smile even now. Having his picture taken hugging Mickey Mouse was the highlight of his day. Justin neither knew nor cared that the cartoon mouse suit was inhabited by an actor.
Jenna had insisted on buying him a mouse ears hat from one of the insanely expensive gift shops in the park, just like the one he was showing her now. She’d spent half as much again having her nephew’s name embroidered on it in a premium font. Justin wore that hat everywhere, even to bed. For the next week, Jessica had to wait until he fell asleep before removing it and placing it close by so he could see it when he woke up.
Why was he showing her that hat now?
A huge letter “A” appeared in the air in front of her. Then the scent of orange blosso
ms. That was new; she’d never had olfactory visions before.
The puzzle was starting to come together. Oranges—Orange County—Sleeping Beauty’s castle—Disneyland. Disneyland is in Anaheim.
Justin, does Mason’s mom live in Anaheim?
The hat stopped flashing. Sweet relief. But how in God’s name was she supposed to find some random mother in the tenth largest city in the state of California?
Even as the question formed in her mind, a holographic image appeared that made her laugh. A long-haired, black and white guinea pig that Greg had brought home for Justin during one of their better periods. Justin had named it Piglet.
What’s Piglet have to do with it, Jus’?
The image switched to a brown, short-haired guinea pig.
She heard, “Binky.”
Binky? Okay, we’re playing a guessing game. Is Binky like Piglet? He’s a guinea pig, too?
“Tell Mason’s mom. Binky is with him.”
Okay, baby, I will. But I need more than that.
Next, she got the image of a house on fire. Of course. Mason had died in a fire and he lived in Anaheim. Jessica sighed.
Couldn’t you just give me the address and phone number?
Apparently not. She booted up her laptop and launched a browser. Mason was not a common first name. If Justin was able to impress upon her the information he already had, it must be possible to find his friend’s mother. She Googled the few facts she had, “Mason, child, fire, Anaheim.”
An article from the OC Register popped up from a year ago, detailing the story of a deadly house fire.
Franklin Carpenter of West Anaheim arrived home late Thursday afternoon to find black smoke and flames billowing from his home. Roneisha Carpenter was in the front yard with their infant daughter in a hysterical state. Their son, Mason, was inside the home. The fire department was not yet on scene.
Mr. Carpenter was able to carry his eight-year-old son from the house, but sustained serious injuries to his hands. Unfortunately, Mason Carpenter succumbed to second- and third-degree burns and smoke inhalation two days later.
The articles left Jessica wracked with sadness for the family. In a very real sense, she was one of them. A member of the club no one wanted to join.
Now that she knew their name and location, her next task was to find a way to pass along their son’s message.
The face of the horrible man at the grocery store popped into her mind. His reaction to her attempt to deliver the message from his father had given her a very real scare. That was one experience she was eager not to repeat.
The thought came to her, if someone wanted to give her a message from Justin, there was nothing she would not do to get it.
She had to find Mason’s mother.
Once again, Jessica felt her life taken over by another world, one shrouded in mystery.
As she thought how to go about the task, the words of Bella Bingham’s sermon came back to her again. “…go into the name. Register it on all levels. Allow yourself to know who it is and how it relates to a person who is here in the physical realm. Relate to the name…”
Mason Carpenter.
It took time, but the images came. Flashes of scenes from the child’s life. A sweet boy who loved to help his mother in the kitchen, wearing an oversized apron, a floppy chef’s toque, and a happy grin as he slathered mayonnaise on bread and constructed a bologna sandwich.
Mason’s father, Franklin Carpenter of Anaheim, had a Facebook page. His profile picture showed a good-looking African American couple in their late thirties, a small baby on the mother’s lap. Mason stood beside his father, wearing a grin. Another photo, dated a month ago, showed the baby grown into a cute toddler. The too-recent tragedy was written on the parents’ fixed smiles.
Jessica hesitated. As she was not their Facebook friend, they might not receive a private message. Considering what had happened with Grocery Store Guy, a phone call might be safer than an in-person visit. The family was listed on a White Pages site. She wrote out the phone number and let it sit while she pondered over whether to make the call.
How would these people accept the news Justin wanted her to give them?
“Tell her, Mom,” Justin said, flashing alternating images of Mickey Mouse ears and Piglet and Binky. “Tell her. Mason. Binky.”
Okay, Justin, I will, but please, baby, stop the pictures. You’re making me dizzy.
She spent a few minutes deciding what to say, then reached for the phone.
A pleasant female voice answered on the second ring. Jessica’s mouth went dry. Everything she had planned was suddenly erased from her mind.
“Hello? Can I help you? Hello?”
Jessica cleared her throat and forced herself to speak, stumbling over her words. “Is this Mrs. Carpenter? Hi, um, my name is Jessica. This is going to sound kind of strange but, I, um…you don’t know me.”
“Who did you say this is? What is it you want?” The woman’s voice had turned suspicious.
“My name is Jessica Mack, and I had a son who died.” Even without seeing the woman at the other end of the line, Jessica felt her stiffen.
“What? What did you say?”
“Please, let me—lately, I’ve experienced some—um, unusual things. I have a message to give you. Does the name ‘Binky’ mean anything to you?”
After a long silence on the line, Jessica heard a faint, “Oh, my Lord. Who told you—? What is it you want? Who are you?”
“I’m just a person. I—I’m not a professional medium or anything, but my boy brought your son to me. Mason wants you to trust that he’s fine and that he has Binky with him.”
Roneisha Carpenter began to sob, which made Jessica want to cry, too. Holding back her own tears, she gave Mason’s mother time to regain her composure before she continued. “I’m so sorry to burst out with it that way, but I didn’t know how to—”
“What is it you want?” she asked for the third time. “Money?”
“No, no, I don’t want anything, just to give you the message.”
“How do you know about little Binky?” Roneisha Carpenter demanded, her tone heavy with suspicion.
“My son in spirit, Justin, showed me a picture of a brown guinea pig he used to have.”
“That poor little creature died in the fire.”
“I’m sorry about your boy, and I expect this must sound crazy to you…”
“Wh-what did you say your name is?”
“It’s Jessica.”
“Jessica,” Roneisha Carpenter echoed. “Praise the Lord. My Mason loved his Binky. I’m so happy to know his pet made it to heaven with my child. God is good.”
Mason’s face appeared to Jessica, who was limp with relief that his mother had accepted the message. “He’s smiling. He has such a beautiful smile.”
“Yes, he did indeed.”
“He still does.”
“That makes me so happy, I can’t even tell you. What else did my Mason say?”
“He wants you to know how much he loves you and his dad, and—” Jessica listened to the boy in spirit. “He says it wasn’t your fault. He wants you to stop blaming yourself.”
A wail burst from Roneisha Carpenter. It tore at Jessica’s emotions but she was convinced she had done the right thing in making the call.
“He liked to cook, didn’t he?” she said, when Mason’s mother was calmer. “He shows himself wearing a chef outfit.”
“Oh, my good God, he did love to help me. If only I…” Roneisha Carpenter excused herself and went to blow her nose. When she returned, she said, “I left him alone in the kitchen and went outside to talk to the neighbor, just for a couple of minutes. I’d told him to watch the soup I had on the range. The firemen think maybe it boiled over; that he was trying to move the pot and a dishcloth caught fire.” She wept some more. “I’m always so careful not to keep those dishcloths near the flame. If I only…”
“It doesn’t help to say I’m sorry, but I am,” said Jessica, wanting to spare
the mother from more self-recrimination. She knew all too well how easy it was to lapse into hating oneself for an unintentional act that could never be undone.
“Why can’t I hear him myself?” Roneisha wailed. “Why does he have to go through you?”
“I can’t answer that.” Jessica searched for the right words. “Hearing from people on the other side this way is very new to me. From the little bit I’ve learned, I’d guess that your grief is so strong it’s made it hard for him to get through to you. There’s nothing wrong with that; I totally get it. But maybe now that you know he’s around you, even though you can’t see him, it will help. I know he’ll find ways to say hello if you look for them. The most important thing I’ve learned is, there’s no such thing as death.”
“Thank you, Jessica,” said Mrs. Carpenter through her tears. “Thank you, thank you. If it means I can feel him near me, I’ll never cry again.”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Jessica smiled. “Talk to him like you did while he was here. He’ll hear you, and he’ll show you that he’s with you.”
“How can he do that?”
“It might be lights flickering or a song on the radio that brings him into your mind, or maybe a certain smell, or a butterfly,” Jessica said, recalling what she had read on some of the spiritualist websites.
“I will talk to him,” Roneisha Carpenter said fervently. “You better know I will. And I will listen for him, every minute of every day. Did you say you lost a child, too, Jessica?”
“Yes, in a car accident. He would have been three the next month.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry for you, too. How long has it been?”
“Five years.”
“Five years,” Roneisha echoed. “Tell me, does it get any easier?”
Jessica blew out a sigh. “Honestly? In my experience, the pain doesn’t away. You just learn to live with it. Knowing that my child is alive, though he’s growing up in another place, helps me.”
They chatted for a few minutes longer, then Mason’s mother said she couldn’t wait to share her son’s messages with his father. She asked for Jessica’s phone number and thanked her a dozen more times before ending the call.