“Yes,” we both say.
The waitress leaves, and Regina looks at me with questioning eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Have you always liked blueberry pancakes?”
A strange question, but I’ll respond. I’ll answer any question she has. “As long as I can remember. My grandmother had a great recipe, and it’s been passed down through our family for years. Why?”
Her eyes moisten. “Robert loved blueberry pancakes with banana slices on top. When he was in fifth grade, he went to a camp and had them for the first time. The cook gave my mother the recipe. It was his favorite breakfast food.”
I hesitate then say, “Do you have that on social media anywhere?”
“No, it’s not. I’m sure it’s a coincidence,” she says, averting her eyes.
I lean back in my seat. “So why did you want to meet?”
“Yesterday, I spoke with a friend I respect. She told me I should give you the benefit of the doubt. She said a lot of things I don’t quite agree with—”
I lean forward, curious about what her friend said. “What kind of things?”
She clasps her hands as though she’s about to pray. “It’s too out there to even repeat.”
“Hey, I’m a filmmaker. I’m open-minded.”
“She thinks my brother Robert might be reaching out to me through you.”
Heat erupts from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. The waitress, now approaching, sets our drinks on the table, and I grab my orange juice, hoping it’ll cool me down. I guzzle, thanking god for the segue.
“That doesn’t sound out there to me. Regina, I’m glad you called me. First of all, I never would have written a movie about Robert without your family’s blessing. As I told you when we first met, for the past two years I’ve dreamt about a man who I believe is your brother. Those dreams inspired me to write my screenplay. Somehow, I intuitively knew that Robert was a football player who lived in Shady Grove and died there at the age of twenty-four. I didn’t read or see that anywhere.” She looks at me, shifting in her seat, nodding. Okay, I’m ready to tell her everything.
Chapter 16
Regina
Gretchen’s mouth is moving, but I’m struggling to focus on the words spilling out in a flurry. I look around at the other IHOP customers, wondering if any of them are in my situation. Most of them are my mother’s age and probably retired, enjoying the Wednesday special. The thin waitress in the aisle opposite us reminds me of Kate. I take a sip of my water and nod at Gretchen, who’s trying to convince me she’s the real deal. She doesn’t know I might be open to what she has to say, especially after what happened yesterday after I left Veronica’s place.
******
I decided to go back to our old house and sit out front for a moment. I have no idea why. Then the white lady I saw the first day I went back there looked out her window. I started to drive away, but she ran out of the house and flagged me down.
“Excuse me. Are you with the film?” She combed her fingers through her long, black hair and walked up to the driver’s side window of my Honda.
I lowered the window, my eyes searching her face. “What film?”
“The one about the football player. The writer and producer were here a week ago. They wanted to film here. I told them I wasn’t comfortable with it. If you’re here to try to convince me, I haven’t changed my mind.”
Her question rendered me speechless. I finally forced out, “They wanted to film at 12150 Brickman?” I pointed to our old house.
“Yes. I’m sorry, but my elderly mother lives with me, and she can’t be moved or disturbed.”
“I understand. By the way, did one of the women have red hair?”
“Yes, the writer did. I think her name was Greta.”
“Okay. I’m sorry they bothered you.”
“No worries.” She shrugged and ran back to the house.
I got goosebumps. How did Gretchen know where we lived? I don’t have our old house on any of my social media pages. And I don’t remember our house being on the news. There was footage of the street, but not our house. Okay, it’s time I get some answers—some real answers.
******
A waving hand jars me back to the present. “Regina, are you okay? Our food is here.”
My gaze dips to the plate in front of me and then shifts to Gretchen. “How did you know where we used to live?”
She sets down her fork and scrunches up her face. “Excuse me?”
“Where are you shooting your film?”
“We have multiple locations. Why?”
“What about on the west side of Shady Grove?”
“We did try to secure a home there, but the owner turned us down.”
“Do you remember the address?”
She reaches for her phone, swipes her finger along the screen a few times, and says, “It was at 12150 Brickman. A white brick house.”
“That’s where we used to live. Why did you go to that house?”
“We looked at a lot of houses in the area, and that one spoke to me. It felt right.” She clears her throat and shifts in her seat. “Regina, I need to tell you something, and I hope you’ll hear me out.”
“You need to tell me something, because things are getting a little weird.”
“I believe … I … Regina … I don’t know how to say this.”
I take a deep breath, wishing she’d spit it out. “What is it, Gretchen?”
“I believe … I believe I’m the reincarnation of Robert.”
I stare at her with sympathy-filled eyes. Now I get it. She isn’t some ambitious millennial stealing my brother’s story. She’s a nut—a psycho. She’s cray cray. A functional crazy. If she’s not, then she’s punking me. Maybe Cookie put her up to this. I swivel my head, looking for a camera, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to run out. Or maybe she’s working with that show What Would You Do? What would anybody do if a woman that they were going to audition for told them they were their brother reincarnated? I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to get the hell out of here. I reach for my purse and get up from the booth.
“Regina, where are you going?”
“Gretchen, you need help.”
“Please don’t go. Let me explain.” She reaches for my arm, and I jerk away. She blurts, “That’s the bracelet Robert bought you. And he was buried with the necklace.”
My legs turn into wet noodles, and I lean on the table to keep from toppling over. The room spins, and I try to grip the table edge. Gretchen gets out of her seat and reaches for me, but I fall onto the waitress, who’s passing by with a plate of food in hand. Pancakes, eggs, and bacon go airborne then land on the floor. Gretchen ushers me to my seat, and I sit in a daze. She helps the waitress clean up the mess and apologizes on my behalf.
“She’s not feeling well. We’re so sorry,” she says, grabbing napkins.
“That’s okay. I’ll have the busboy clean it up,” the waitress says.
I’m embarrassed, shocked. No one knew Robert was buried with my necklace. Not even my mother or the funeral home. During our private viewing, when no one was watching, I slipped it on his wrist. He had a closed-casket funeral. There’s only one conclusion to make: Gretchen is telling the truth. She has been dreaming about Robert in his casket.
Things settle down, and she sits across from me. “Are you okay?” she says.
“I’m numb. Gretchen, there’s no way you could have known that.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’ve dreamt about Robert in his casket for two years now. He was in a blue suit with a purple tie. And he was wearing your necklace on his wrist.”
“Purple is my favorite color. I bought him that tie to be buried in,” I say, tearing up. “You’ve been dreaming about him for two years?”
“Yes. It started when I turned twenty-four.”
“The age Robert was when he was killed.”
I don’t know if she’s the reincarnation of Robert,
but her dream is real. My god, this is scary. “Gretchen, I’m sorry about what I said, about you being crazy. This is different. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. My friend said Robert may be reaching out to me through you. I think that might be true. But why do you believe you’re Robert reincarnated?”
“Because when I found the water bottle, I went into this other dimension. I became Robert. It happened this morning too. I was at his birthday celebration. We danced in the Soul Train line. Lorraine came. She said she was carrying my baby, Robert’s baby. That was a lie. I can go on and on. You were wearing the necklace and the bracelet.”
My armpits get wet and itchy, and I feel like I’m suffocating. “Gretchen, I need some air,” I say, standing. I grab my purse and leave. I stumble down the aisle and out the front door. I run to my car and flop on the hood. Images of Robert flash before me. All the things he taught me to do. He even taught me how to fight when I came home crying because the school bully stole my lunch money, when he threw his first touchdown, and so many heartwarming, unforgettable moments. I burst into tears.
The thought of his spirit embodying this beautiful redhead, who two days ago was a stranger to me, rocks me to the core. I look up and see her coming my way. She runs to me and holds me in her arms. I cling to her. Her heart’s pounding. I shut my eyes and imagine she’s Robert.
“I miss him so much, Gretchen. I miss my brother.”
“I know you do.”
Gretchen pulls out of our embrace, and we lock eyes. We stand in the silence, ignoring the passersby staring us down, speaking to one another with our minds, our hearts. I feel her. I feel Robert.
“Are you okay?” she says.
“Yes. I’m overwhelmed, but I’m okay. I feel like a million pounds have been lifted off me. I feel like I can breathe again, like there’s hope. I want to find out who killed Robert. Can you help me?”
“Hell yes, I can help you.”
“Where do we go from here?” I ask, still feeling jittery.
“We need to take it step by step. I’ve been doing some research. We need to have a meeting, brainstorm. I think we should reach out to the detectives who were on the case.”
I shake my head and cover my face with my hands. “This is so huge. I feel like I’m crazy, like we’re both crazy, but at the same time, I feel this is real and that Robert is working with us.”
“In a way he is. Reincarnation is when a soul returns in another form, another body. I believe Robert has come back as me. Of course, we don’t look alike, and I’m myself, a separate individual with my own tastes, likes, and idiosyncrasies. There are some similarities. But the experiences and memories are what proves that the spirit within me is the same one that was in Robert. I believe that spirit is unsettled because Robert’s murder was never solved. So in a way, you could say Robert is reaching out to you through me, but it’s really the unsettled spirit driving me. I believe that’s why I’ve had the recurring nightmare, and I’m not going to be able to rest until we find Robert’s killer.”
“That’s deep,” I say, still blown away.
“When do you think you can meet again?”
“I have a print job on Friday. And to be honest, I need a few days to decompress. To process all of this. Can you meet Saturday?”
“I mentor kids on Saturday, but I’m done at 3:00 p.m. Maybe we can meet halfway.”
“I can come there. Are you familiar with Kate & Al’s Diner on Angel Way in Shady Grove?”
“No. I’ll Google it.”
“Let’s meet there at 3:30 p.m.,” I say, thinking about how jazzed Kate will be when I tell her she was right.
“It’s a date,” she says. “Are you okay driving? You look a little shaky.”
“I’ll be fine. I have to go by my mother’s house.”
She gives me a curious look and says, “You may want to be careful about who you share this information with. I told my fiancé, and he arranged an intervention.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep. Regina, if I weren’t experiencing this firsthand, I’d think I was crazy too.”
“I feel you. I’d better head out. And thank you for having the courage to tell me what was going on, Gretchen. I’ll touch base with you before Saturday.”
We hug, and I get in my car. She waves goodbye, and I pull away, still in shock.
******
I arrive at my mother’s modest brown and white house in Inglewood, still reflecting on my meeting with Gretchen and what she revealed to me. Sitting in my parked car, I think about my mother and how she’d react if I tell her Gretchen is the reincarnation of Robert. She’d probably call the men in white coats and have me committed. My mother is a traditional Baptist woman. She believes you’re supposed to accept Jesus as your personal savior, and then when you die, you go to heaven. If you don’t accept Jesus, you go to hell. You don’t come back as a lion, a bird, or a fish, and you definitely don’t come back as a human of the opposite sex and race.
I look around for my stepfather’s carpet cleaning truck. He doesn’t have a set schedule, but most weeks he works Monday through Friday. My mother, who does in-home care, is off on Wednesdays. Curt’s truck isn’t here, but … wait a minute. I do a double take when I see Taylor’s truck a few houses down. “What is he doing here?” I exit my car, glancing at the other houses, many in need of paint jobs. I let myself in the front door, with the key my mother gave me when we moved here twenty-five years ago.
I stand in the foyer, looking to my left at the living room and to my right at the dining room, both decorated in shabby-chic style. The three bedrooms are upstairs—the master, my old room, and Robert’s trophy room. The awards in that room are the ones my mother couldn’t fit in the living room or dining room, both filled with his trophies dating back to kindergarten.
“Ma, where are you?”
“We’re in the kitchen.”
I make my way down the hallway, passing the guest bathroom. My heels make soft clicking sounds on the hardwood floor. I reach the peach and white kitchen and stand in the doorway, looking up at Taylor in blue coveralls, on a ladder, patching up the ceiling.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“Hey, babe. I didn’t either. Your mother asked me to stop by. There’s a leak.”
“We had to put buckets in here on Monday.” Leaning against the sink, my mother thrusts her hands into the pockets of her green corduroy pants, which perfectly match the green blouse she’s wearing.
“Ma, you didn’t mention that when I talked to you the other night.”
“You were going through it. I didn’t want to pile on. I texted Taylor, and he said he’d come today.”
I nod, glad it all worked out, but if I get honest, I feel a little left out.
“You look pretty today. I love that purple dress,” my mother says.
“I agree. You look nice,” Taylor chimes in. “How was your meeting with Greta?”
I place my purse on the island, sit down at the table, and kick off my shoes. “Interesting. And her name is Gretchen.”
My mother sits across from me, wide chestnut eyes and an open mouth, ready to get in my business. She looks so much like Robert, or I guess I should say that he looks like her. They even have the same chin dimple. She pushes her fingers through her short, brown hair that she refuses to let gray.
“Who’s Gretchen?”
“Ma, she’s a writer and director out in Dancing Hills.”
“The lady you were supposed to audition for, but you ran out on her.” I glare at Taylor. “Don’t get mad at Taylor. He didn’t snitch. Cookie told me.”
“Ma, I couldn’t go through with it. The story is too close to home. The main character is a football star that’s murdered, and the case was never solved. He was killed when he was twenty-four, and he lived in Shady Grove.”
She sits back in her chair and shakes her head. “That is Robert’s story.”
“Ma, it’s deeper than that.”
> “Hold on, Regina. I need to get off this ladder before I fall off. No tellin’ what kind of bomb you’re about to drop.” My mother and I watch Taylor descend the ladder. He sits in the empty chair between us. “Robin, Regina had coffee with the lady yesterday, and she told Regina she based her film on a recurring nightmare she’s been having that coincidentally involves a young black guy who’s murdered. She’s white.”
“That’s an interesting coincidence,” my mother says.
“Okay, don’t think that I’m crazy.”
“Girl, that train already left the station,” my mother says, laughing.
“I’m serious, Ma. The young black guy this lady, Gretchen Holloway, has been dreaming about is Robert.”
My mother and Taylor exchange incredulous looks. “What do you mean he’s Robert?” my mother says.
“I didn’t believe her at first, but she knew things no one could know.”
“What things?” Taylor and my mother ask.
“She knew Robert was buried with the gold heart necklace he bought me.”
“She sure does know things, because that’s news to me. I’ve always wondered what happened to that necklace.”
“Ma, no one knew. But she did. I nearly fainted at IHOP today when she told me.”
Taylor tugs on his goatee, as though he’s trying to think of a logical explanation for Gretchen knowing about the necklace. But there isn’t one.
“That’s strange,” my mother says.
“It gets better.”
“What else?” my mother says, shifting in her seat.
I take one look at her twisted face and decide I’d better take Gretchen’s advice and keep my mouth shut.
“What else?” she says again.
“Nothing, Ma. Nothing … okay? She didn’t say anything else.”
“That ‘nothing’ sounds like a whole lot of something.”
“She … she.” I know I’m going to regret this, but I know my mother. She’s not going to let me leave without telling her something. Before I can craft an alternate story, I blurt, “She says she’s the reincarnation of Robert.”
The Truth About Gretchen Page 13