“Oh . . . yeah, no, she’s not . . .”
“She’s not yet!” Sumi cried. “She will be!”
“Maybe we don’t mention this to her,” Josh said. He could already picture her eye roll. He already felt dirty himself.
“I’ll email you the list, okay? Or do you want me to come over?”
“Email is fine.”
“Okay, darling! Bye!”
Two hours later, there was a knock at the door. Josh got up from his computer and opened it to see the Kims and his mother.
“I couldn’t stop her,” Ben murmured as Josh was enveloped in Sumi’s hug. “Sorry.”
His mom came down the hall. “There you are,” she said. “I hear you’re going to try to make contact with the dead.” She raised her eyebrow.
“Mm,” he said. So much for Sumi keeping this a secret.
“You’re too skinny, so we thought we’d cook,” his mom said. “Do you want a glass of water?”
“I’ll take a beer.”
“Oh, you drink now? My only child doesn’t tell me that he’s lifted his self-imposed lifetime ban on alcohol.” She sighed dramatically, opening the fridge, then gave him a smile. Their own language . . . You could call a little more. I care about everything you do. I’m still here for you. He gave a nod. Message received.
Ben sat down next to him, holding his own beer. “Sorry about this,” he said. “I tried to hold them off.”
“No, it’s . . . it’s nice,” Josh said. He could almost hear Lauren’s laughter now. She loved how Steph and the Kims were almost a single unit and descended upon them at will.
He missed that laugh. God, he missed it.
His mother and Mrs. Kim fussed and sautéed, simmered and chatted, slipping Pebbles a treat here and there. No wonder the dog stole food.
But it was comforting, his two moms laughing and talking, Ben asking a few question about Josh’s latest project, taking a look at the plans. Ben had been an engineer himself before he retired, though his work had focused on city water systems. There was life back in the apartment. Fresh air and . . . well, a little happiness.
They ate, and then Sumi took out a piece of paper with at least twelve names on it, complete with phone numbers and websites.
“I can’t believe you managed to wait till after dinner,” he said.
“I know!” she said. “I’ve been dying to show this to you, but your mother said we should feed you first. So.” She pointed to the first name on the list. “This one I like because her tarot readings are good. Not phony. Hi, Pebbles, yes, baby.” She handed the dog a piece of pork, then pointed at the paper again. “This one, nice, but not always on, you know? When she is, she’s super. Angela? She’s amazing, but you can never get an appointment, she’s that good. If you’re lucky, a person cancels and you can get in. This guy here, I like him a lot, but sometimes I think he’s making things up. Every time I go, he tells me I’m about to meet my soul mate. Which, come on. I have a wedding ring on, mister! I already did that!”
Ben smiled. “True. She did.”
Josh cleared his throat. “How many of these have you been to, Sumi?”
She leaned back in her chair. “All of them. I’ve been doing it since my mother died in 1992.”
“Wow.” That was a lot of money down the toilet.
Ben glanced at him with a little shrug and a smile. “Whatever makes her happy.”
“Even I went once,” Mom said.
“What?” Josh almost choked with surprise.
She shrugged. “Why not? It was fun. He said there was travel in my future, and there was travel in my future.”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s travel in everyone’s future, a person could say.”
She laughed. “It was an experience, Joshua. Be open to new things.”
“I’m trying. I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“Why not?” she asked, sipping her tea.
“Because you tell me everything.”
“Clearly not.”
“Is there anything else you’re hiding? Do you have any more children? Did you secretly marry my birth father?”
“Joshua.” She gave him her best calm yourself look. “I have no idea where your father is or even if he’s alive.”
“Your psychic didn’t tell you?”
“I never asked.” She ate a piece of broccoli. “But in case you were wondering, your grandmother watches over you and loves you.” She winked at him.
Josh sighed. “I think this will probably be a waste of time.” He glanced at Ben. “Will you come with me?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it,” Ben replied.
* * *
HE CHOSE THE medium named Gertie because it felt like an honest name. There was one named Moonflower, another named Ariella Borealis, which Josh did not think was her given name and which therefore presented credibility issues.
Gertie Berkowitz, however . . . that was a name you could trust.
On the appointed day, he and Ben drove to Tiverton, a wealthy little town on Narragansett Bay notable for its meandering stone walls, water views and gracious homes.
Ben was the perfect person for this day, with his implacable sense of calm. Josh could’ve invited Radley, who’d come over the other night to watch a movie, but he had the feeling Radley would be too chatty. He could’ve asked Sarah or Jen, but . . . no. It might’ve been too emotional for them.
Josh had been careful when he booked the appointment, which he did simply by calling her 401 area code number (another good sign . . . it wasn’t an 877 or a 900 number). He blocked his own number before dialing so she couldn’t look him up that way. He gave his name as Joshua—no last name, in case she was the Googling type, picked a time, and that was it.
Being a man of science, he read up on mediums. Most would speak in generalities and watch you for clues. At best, Josh thought, they were simply very empathetic and good at reading people, hoping to give comfort. At worst, they preyed on the grieving by asking leading questions, then parroting back the information. “Was water significant to your mother? She’s showing me water.” Honestly. Who didn’t have some connection with water? People were 72 percent water on average. Everyone had some beach, river, pond, creek, salt marsh they loved. And then the bereft person would say, “Yes! We went to the beach when I was little!” and the psychic would say, “Yes, that’s exactly what she’s showing me.”
Not exactly proof of the afterlife.
He was only doing this for Lauren. She’d thought it would be fun. He wasn’t convinced.
It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the drive twisted through farmland laced with rock walls. He and Ben didn’t say much for most of the drive, which was their way . . . only speaking to observe something especially interesting. The five turkey vultures eating a dead raccoon, for example.
“Poor vultures,” Ben said. “They do us a service by eating carrion but get no credit.”
“True,” said Josh. There was a metaphor in there somewhere, but his brain was buzzing too much to find it.
He glanced at the clock. “We’re gonna be way too early,” he said.
“Should we stop at Dunkin’?”
“Okay. Yeah.” Being in Rhode Island, where there were more Dunkins per person than anywhere in the world, it wasn’t hard to find one. Josh pulled into the parking lot. “What would you like?”
“An iced coffee. Thanks, son.”
Josh went into the familiar, thick smell of the store. Since they were both Rhodies from birth, Josh and Lauren had never gone on a road trip of more than fifteen minutes without stopping for Dunkin’. Every time they went to the Cape, or Mass General, the airport, to Jamestown or Westerly, they’d hit Dunks and get their fix.
When was the final time they’d been? What was the last time he’d bought a coffee for his wife, such a small
thing, but so precious? It would never happen again. He wished someone had told him. “Hey, pal, your wife will die soon, so this is the last time you’re gonna buy her a coffee. Savor the moment, okay?” He wished he’d been able to know all the last times so he could have enjoyed them, taken in every detail, every molecule of each moment. The last time they made love. The last time she laughed. The last time they held hands while walking.
“Hi,” the teenager behind the counter grunted. “What can I get you?”
“One hot coffee, black, and one medium iced latte with whipped cream,” he said.
He ordered, waited obediently, then took their drinks to the car. It was only then he realized he’d gotten Ben the drink Lauren always ordered.
“I . . . I got you the wrong thing,” he said.
“It’s okay. This looks great.” Josh got in the car and wiped his hands on his jeans. “You okay?” Ben asked.
“Yep.” After a second, he remembered Lauren telling him to share feelings with people who loved him. “I’m a little nervous,” he said. “Do you believe in this stuff, Ben?”
“Well . . . I believe we have a soul, and it moves on.” He took a pull of his drink. “In Korea, we have all sorts of traditions honoring the dead to let them know we miss them. Then I married a Catholic, and some of that has seeped in. So the short answer is . . . sort of, but nothing specific.”
“I think it’s complete bullshit,” Josh said. “Lauren wanted me to do this, though.”
“Well, then, it can’t be too bad an idea. But it also could be complete bullshit, as you say.” His face crinkled like crepe paper as he smiled.
Josh started the car. If he did somehow get duped into thinking Lauren was “there” or “here,” whatever that meant, how would he feel? Would he spend the rest of his life at Gertie’s, chatting with his dead wife? You know what? He’d take it. But what if Gertie said, “Sorry, kid. I got nothing”? Would he be furious? Crushed? A dolt for hoping for any crumb whatsoever?
Gertie had said on the phone that he could pay her at his discretion. She had a thick Rhode Island accent, leaving off the last consonant of words and adding an R after a vowel, per state law. “Pay me whatevah y’ think the readin’s wehth, Jawshuer deah.”
“You have arrived,” announced his iPhone. Josh pulled into the driveway of a modest, well-kept gray-shingled Cape, the yard graced by what had to be a three-hundred-year-old tree, based on its circumference. It was a good sign, that tree. He didn’t know why, but it reassured him.
“Don’t give her anything to go on, okay?” Josh asked Ben as they got out of the car. “Try not to nod or say, ‘Yeah, his wife died from a lung disease.’ Just let her talk.”
“You’ve told me that three times, Josh. I think I’ve got it.” Ben clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll sit silent and stone-faced, okay?”
“Sorry. And yes. Thank you.”
Before they even knocked, the door opened, making Josh jump. “Hello!” said a small, white-haired woman. Her face was extremely wrinkled, her eyes hooded like a turtle’s. “I’m Gertie, your psychic medium. Come in, come in, sweetheart.” Her accent was thick and comforting. “You’re Josh—can I call you that?” He nodded, and she turned to Ben. “And you are . . .”
“Ben. Nice to meet you.”
They followed Gertie into her little house, which was full of photos of family members. Cardinals were her favorite bird, apparently, because images of the red bird were everywhere—on the curtains, throw pillows, framed photos and cross-stitched samplers. It looked like a classic old lady’s house—too much furniture, outdated carpeting and the comforting smell of lemon Pledge.
In one corner, there was a round table, covered with an orange vinyl tablecloth. They all sat. Josh had already begun to sweat. His neck muscles locked, and his fingers felt tight with anxiety.
“So here’s how it works,” Gertie said. “We sit here, and I light this candle and say a prayer, and we ask your loved one to come forth. They show me signs, and I tell you what they are. Sometimes, I’m not one hundred percent sure what it means, so you’ll have to help me.”
Ah, yes. The leading questions. They’d say, “I’m seeing the number four. Is that meaningful? No? Think about it. They’re telling me four means something. Birthday? Death? Anniversary? Fourth floor of the hospital? Number of kids? Did you have four cats throughout your life? Four tires on your car?” And you were supposed to think your dead loved one was floating around you.
Why was he here? It wasn’t as if Lauren would know if he blew off her suggestions. Great. Now he felt guilty on top of sweaty and anxious. Ben was studying his hands, stone-faced and silent, as promised.
Gertie patted his hand. “Josh, there’s nothin’ to be worried about. I’m a nice Christian lady, I go to Mass every week, so there’s no demonic spirits or the like, no sir.”
“Got it,” Josh said.
“The messages come fast, and I might miss something, see? But mostly, those who’ve passed on just want to reassure the livin’ that they’re right as rain, and you’ll be together again. This life here? This is just a tiny piece of our true lives.”
Okay, boomer. Straight from Mediumship for Dummies. Josh’s hopes were not high.
Gertie lit the candle, said the Our Father. The kitchen clock ticked loudly. A car drove past. Gertie had a little whistle coming from her nose every time she inhaled, and Josh suddenly wanted to laugh (or bolt). Ben caught his eye and squashed a smile.
Then Gertie tilted her head, seeming to look at the floor. “Oh,” she said, “you lost your wife.”
The urge to laugh vanished.
“Is that right?” Gertie asked. “Just say yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry, dear.” She closed her eyes again. The breath whistled in her nostrils, and Josh’s heart was pounding, and didn’t she hear that? Could he offer her a tissue? How had she known about his wife? Was it because he still wore his wedding ring? Had she Googled him after all? How many widowers did Rhode—
“Her name started with an ‘L.’ Laurie? Not quite. Lara? Laura?”
How the fuck . . . He cleared his throat. Ben’s eyes were slightly wider than usual. “Lauren,” Josh said, his voice strange.
“Right. Good. She’s showing me . . . a bed. Hospital bed. She was . . . she was real sick, aw, jeez. She was at the hospital a lot.”
Josh said nothing, but his heart was like a wild horse in his chest, kicking against his ribs. The clock ticked. Ben remained granite-still. Gertie’s nose squeaked.
Okay, he shouldn’t give her that much credit just yet. Josh was young. How many thirty-year-old men came to a psychic to speak to their dead grandfathers? Wife was a good guess, and saying she was very sick was a fifty-fifty bet.
But the name thing . . .
“You were with her at the end. You got in bed with her. She’s showing me the two of you snugglin’ there. Is that right, hon?”
He tried to control his breathing. “Yes.” Again, what self-respecting husband whose wife was breathing her last wouldn’t get into bed with her? The stallion in his chest kicked just the same. He did not want to remember that moment. At all. Ever.
Gertie smiled, but was still staring at the floor. A nose-squeaking breath. Another. “She’s showing me children. Did you have kids?”
Ah. Okay. She was just good at guessing, then. “No. We did not.”
“Did she have any before you?”
“No.”
“Well, she’s showing me two kids. The girl is a little bit of a thing. A toddler. The boy’s older. They’re . . . they . . . are they biracial? One of their parents is Black?”
Sebastian and Octavia. Holy shit. Josh managed to nod.
“My God,” Ben breathed.
“She’s showing me her name and pointin’ to the girl. Is the girl named after her? Not the first n
ame, but the second? A middle name?”
The horse in his chest kicked again. “Yes.”
“The boy’s name is . . . starts with a T. Tyrone. Is that right?”
“That’s his middle name,” Josh whispered.
“She’s showing me the number four.” Four was not . . . it didn’t . . . His mind was turning to tar.
“Is that meaningful to you? Birthday? The month of April? Did she die on the fourth of the month?” No. No. Nothing.
It was Ben who answered. “The little boy is four years old.”
Well, holy shit. That was true.
“The little boy sees her, too, sometimes. He talks to her. Kids’ defenses are lower, so they can do that.” Gertie blew her nose, and when she inhaled again, the squeak was gone, thank God, and shouldn’t he be concentrating? Gertie tilted her head and looked at the floor once more.
“Lauren wants you to tell their mother she watches over them. Is she their big sister? No. Aunt. She’s the aunt of those kids, and their mother is her sister. Oh, they were close. How she loved her sister.”
“Yes.” How the fuck did she know this?
“Now she’s showing me flowers. Lots of flowers. She wants you to see the flowers.”
“Okay.”
“No, nope, she’s stuck on the flowers. Is there something special about the flowers?”
“I . . . I sent her flowers a lot,” he whispered.
“No, not that. She’s bein’ specific with the roses. Somethin’ special there. Are roses special in any way? Do you know someone named Rose?”
“Rose was her middle name.”
Jesus God in heaven. And then, Valentine’s Day. Their anniversary, the rose petals on their bed.
How could Gertie know that? She handed him a tissue, and he realized tears were streaming down his face. It wasn’t a good feeling, this, this . . . uncertainty, this longing, the roar of grief that his Lauren was really gone, truly dead, on the other side.
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