When she left her bedroom, she could hear Sarah talking, and gathered that the client was there already. Amy. When she got back to the front of the cottage, the groceries were all put away, but Amy wasn’t there yet. Instead, Sarah stood with her arms at her side, looking down at the cat. He looked up at Sarah.
“That looks very nice,” she approved. “Gives a client confidence.”
Reg nodded and smoothed the glittery green skirt. First impressions were important. Clients wanted to believe, and she had to give them something to believe in. The show was what people came for. They didn’t want an unemotional, logical answer to their problems. They could get that from their bankers and lawyers. They wanted drama and passion, something moving.
The doorbell rang, and Sarah went to answer it, greeting her acquaintance at the door and then bringing her in.
“Reg Rawlins, I’d like to introduce you to Amy Calvert.”
Reg held herself still as she gave Amy a thorough look up and down, heightening the tension. Then she gave a nod and extended her hand.
“I’m so glad you came, Ms. Calvert.”
Amy Calvert was around Sarah’s age, as spare and uncomfortable-looking as Sarah was plump and grandmotherly. She gave a nervous giggle as she shook Reg’s hand, a reaction so thoroughly unexpected and incongruous that Reg almost dropped her hand in shock.
“I suppose Sarah has told you all about me?” Amy asked in a breathy, little girl voice.
Reg held Amy’s hand in both of hers, evaluating her for a moment before releasing her and answering.
“She told me that you wanted to talk to your mother. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Amy squeaked. She looked around the room and caught sight of the black and white cat. “Oh—you have a kitty!”
Before Reg could do anything to stop her, Amy dove at the cat, apparently planning on making friends and picking him up. The cat shrank back, all of his fur fluffing out on end as he hissed at her. Amy jerked back her hand just in time to avoid being bitten or scratched, and held it to her breast.
“The cat is not a pet,” Reg said sternly. “He is my helper and he deserves to be treated with respect. You need to give him his space and let him work. He enhances the psychic energy of the room, but it won’t work if you upset him.”
“Oh.” Amy’s voice was small. “I’m sorry, Kitty.”
The cat drew himself up into a tall sitting position and started his bathing ritual once more. Reg nodded.
“He’s meditating and cleansing the room of contrary spirits. It’s very important to have a clean room to make a good connection.”
Amy nodded, her eyes wide.
“Why don’t we have a seat while he does his job,” Reg suggested. She motioned to the grouping of light, upholstered wicker furniture in the living room conversation area.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” Sarah advised, giving Reg a smile. “I put the kettle on to boil and it should be ready—”
The teapot began to whistle noisily at that instant. Sarah gave a little wave and left the cottage.
Reg took the kettle off of the hot plate and turned the hot plate off. The tea things were arranged on a tray nearby, so Reg poured the boiling water into the teapot and took the tray over to the coffee table in the living room, and they both helped themselves. Reg wasn’t much of a tea person, especially loose leaf tea, but with enough honey, it was palatable, and the leaves swirling in the bottom gave her something to ponder as she considered her new client.
“Tell me about your mother,” she suggested.
Amy raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me about her? Usually, you people try to tell me things about her to convince me that you’ve really made contact and it’s not just a hoax.”
“I assume since you came to me that you already believe in my gifts and don’t need me to prove anything,” Reg said with a shrug. “It’s not an audition. It’s much easier for me to get a good connection with your mother if I know things about her and can feel your connection with her. There is a thread that runs between the two of you, and it’s much easier for me to follow the thread from you to her than it is for me to just reach out aimlessly and hope that I get her.”
Amy apparently liked the analogy. She nodded sagely, and it was enough to open her up.
“This might surprise you… in fact, it’s a little shocking… you would assume that I was very close to my mother, and that’s why I’m still trying to talk to her after all these years. But actually… we were never close at all. She was very strict. Not a warm and friendly person. I feel like… we have a lot of unfinished business.”
Reg nodded. It was not an uncommon scenario. Not everyone was best friends with their mothers, and deaths often left the survivors with feelings of guilt and loss that were difficult to come to terms with. Suddenly the opportunity to know the deceased was gone and all of the ‘somedays’ turned into ‘nevers.’
“Was she an unhappy person in general?”
Amy nodded. “Yes. She didn’t really get along with anyone. Didn’t have any close friends. She and my father stayed together until she died, but they hadn’t been happy for years, and he was like a different person once she was gone. He’s been reinventing himself.”
Reg noted the wistfulness of Amy’s words. “Did you have siblings?”
“One other sister.”
“You’re the elder?”
Amy shook her head, surprised. “Yes. How did you guess.”
Reg would recognize that firstborn’s guilt and responsibility anywhere.
“Your sister didn’t have as hard a time as you. She was more relaxed. Maybe even irresponsible. Your father spoiled her.”
Amy was nodding along with all of these suggestions, getting more and more vigorous. Reg was confident she had the relationships and family dynamics worked out. She took one last sip of her tea and put the teacup down in the saucer.
“Did you bring something that belonged to your mother with you?”
“Yes.” Amy opened her purse and found a locket in a clear plastic zip bag. Reg was afraid she was going to give it to her still in the bag and not let her touch it, but Amy apparently had been to enough psychics to know the drill. She opened the bag and handed Reg the large, somewhat tarnished locket.
Reg held the locket enclosed in both hands, warming it up and thinking about what she would say. She had some idea of what it was Amy needed, but Amy would have to lead her the rest of the way there.
“I feel cold,” Reg said. “Do you feel that?”
It was a hot day, but Reg had the air conditioning turned up high enough that an errant shiver was not out of the question. Amy gave a little shudder.
“Yes, I feel it too,” she agreed. “Does that mean she’s here?”
“She’s here,” Reg agreed. “And she wants to talk to you.”
Amy’s expression wavered between eager and anxious. “Mom…? Are you there?”
Reg rolled her eyes back in her head, blacking out the room and giving herself an instant headache she knew from experience would last for several hours, but it was a very effective method for convincing people that she was channeling a ghost. Or having a seizure.
“Amy?” Reg imitated Amy’s voice, but made it deeper, with strident overtones. “Is that you?”
“It’s me, Mom. I just wanted to talk to you again… I miss you…”
“Why are you bothering me again? Haven’t you interrupted my eternal slumber enough times?”
Reg lowered her eyelids so that it would look like her eyes were closed, but she could still see Amy’s expression through a narrow slit. Amy’s mouth dropped open, shocked. Reg was a little shocked herself. Where had that come from? She’d been planning to soft-pedal for the first little bit until she knew what it was that Amy needed to hear. But she had said the words that came into her mind as she tried to put on the persona of Amy’s not-so-beloved mother.
“I’m… I didn’t think I was bothering you…”
“Y
ou think I’m at your beck and call? It’s not enough that I had to take care of you two and your father in life, you keep making demands on me in death as well?”
“No, I just wanted to visit. I just wanted to talk to you again. Because I miss you.”
“Don’t you have a life? You should be living your own life instead of disturbing my afterlife.”
Reg had taken drama in high school. She had loved method acting and improvisation, and had been really good at both. But she had never gotten quite so carried away by a part. What was she doing telling Amy not to keep contacting her mother, when Sarah had just said she would be a repeat customer? Reg should have been encouraging Amy to visit even more often.
“I do have a life,” Amy protested. “I just… wanted someone to talk to.”
“Well, why don’t you give your uncle a try? I’m getting tired of these constant demands to appear.”
“Uncle Marvin?”
“I’m sure he’d love a visit from you. You should expand your social circle. Maybe start talking to some living people too.”
“I do… sometimes… usually mediums…”
A wave of irritation washed over Reg. What an insipid milksop the girl was! “For heaven’s sake, stop being such a mama’s girl and stand on your own two feet. You spent your whole life trying to live up to my expectations, but I stopped having expectations years ago. It’s time to grow up, Amy. You’re a grown woman, not a ten-year-old girl. Isn’t there anything you want out of life?”
Amy considered it, frowning. She brightened a little. “I always sort of wanted to take up gardening. I kept telling myself that once I retired, I was going to do that.”
Finally, a clue to what Amy needed to hear, the guidance she needed in her life. “Then why aren’t you doing it?” she demanded.
“You always said gardening is a waste of time when we have flower shops and grocery stores.”
“I didn’t need one more responsibility on my list. But if gardening is going to make you happy, then why would you care whether I enjoyed it or not? Go plant something. A flower pot. A border. A community garden. You want to still be sitting around talking to your dead mother when you’re ninety-five?”
“Oh, I won’t live to be ninety-five. I always figured I’d die young.”
“Well, I hate to tell you, girl, but you missed that boat a long time ago. If you were to die next year, would you want to have spent that year gardening or talking to dead people? You’ll have plenty of time to visit with dead people when you’re dead yourself.”
“Will I really? Will I be able to see you then?”
“Do you think that only the living can talk to the dead? What a ridiculous notion. Of course you’ll be able to see me after you die. And you won’t have to use a ridiculous-looking gypsy fortune-teller to do it!”
Reg felt like someone had shoved her forehead, making her rear back in her seat. A bit too much method in her acting. Maybe Sarah had put something weird in the tea. Catnip or some Chinese herb that was supposed to help her to open up her third eye.
“She’s not ridiculous,” Amy protested. “I thought she looked very lovely!”
“Ridiculous,” her mother’s voice repeated. “Go start your garden. Go make a real life for yourself instead of a pale shadow of mine. Do what your father has done and enjoy yourself. And while you’re at it, tell that addled sister of yours that thirty cats will never make up for a mother’s love, and it’s time to clean house. Literally.”
Amy nodded, her mouth open.
Reg’s body slumped. She could normally carry on an act for longer than that, but Amy’s mother had taken a lot out of her. She closed her eyes all the way, hoping that her headache would go away faster if she did. But she still felt like she was looking at Amy, who sat there with sort of a pink halo around her, trying to process the claptrap that Reg had just fed her. They both sat there in silence for a long time. Eventually, the cat came over and rubbed against Reg’s leg and gave her an irritated little meow like he was telling her to wake up.
“Well!” Reg bent down and petted the cat, then scratched his ears. “That was quite the session, wasn’t it?” She offered Amy the locket.
Amy took it back, her eyes still far away.
“I’ve never heard anyone channel my mother so completely… usually they’re all ‘your mother wants you to know she loves you very much,’ or ‘she’s trying to tell you something about a family member whose name starts with the letter M.’ I’ve never had someone actually use her voice and facial expressions. That was scary.”
“I’m sorry…”
“No, don’t be. If my mother was here… that’s just exactly what she would have said. I told you, she was never the lovey-dovey type. She was a hard, impatient woman who I could never satisfy. If I couldn’t satisfy her in life, why on earth did I spend forty years trying to satisfy a dead woman? I should have just been happy she was gone. I should have done like my dad and gone after my own thing.”
“I’m sure you’ve done some worthwhile things since she died. But now… maybe it is time to start living for yourself.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. Wow. That was really something. How much do I owe you?” She dropped the locket carelessly into her purse and pulled out her wallet. “Do you take American Express?”
Reg shut the door behind Amy and looked around her living room. She was exhausted. It must have been all of the previous day’s driving, because she wasn’t normally the type of person who needed a nap. She didn’t usually have any trouble going all day and half the night. After a few late nights, she’d spend a day catching up on her sleep and then be ready to go again.
“Well, Mr. Kitty, I think I’m going to have to have a cat nap,” she told the tuxedo cat as he stared at her.
He gave his head a shake, making a noise that Reg thought was his ears flapping with the quick changes of direction. Then he just sat and stared at her.
“Okay. Night night.”
Reg went to her room and practically fell into the bed. She crawled up to the pillows and laid herself down and was instantly asleep.
⋆ Chapter Four ⋆
She awoke later, not sure how much time had passed. When she moved, she found the cat curled up in a warm ball against her stomach. She gave him a nudge.
“Hey, no cats on the bed. What do you think this is?”
He stared at her with his mismatched gaze, as if he understood her perfectly, but wasn’t going to budge. Who was the boss here, after all?
“I am,” Reg insisted. “I am the boss. And the rule is, no cats in the bed. Or on the counters. Or in the bathroom. There have to be limits. We need boundaries.”
He stared at her, unblinking. Reg stared back. Her eyes started to burn.
“How do you do that? Don’t cats ever blink?”
He didn’t answer and didn’t blink.
“Off you get,” Reg told him, and started to push him toward the edge of the bed. The cat twisted onto his back and grabbed onto Reg with all four paws, claws extended.
“Ouch! Ouch, that hurts, you cut it out!” Reg tore her hand free, which was probably not the right thing to do, since the cat hung on and Reg ended up with scratches from all of the claws all the way down her arm. They burned like the dickens and instantly welled up with blood.
“Holy crap. Ouch, ouch, ouch! That was a nasty thing to do!”
Reg climbed out of the bed and hurried to the bathroom, where she ran cold water over her arm to calm the burn of the scratches and examined them more closely. The cons of cat ownership? How about claws like a miniature cougar?
“I might have promised not to get you declawed,” Reg growled at the cat when she re-entered the bedroom with her arms swathed in bandages, “but it isn’t like anyone is going to be checking up on me. There’s no excuse for this kind of attack. I was just getting you off the bed!”
The cat gave a snort, then rolled over on his back, showing off a beautiful white belly to be scratched.
“Hah, you think I’m going to fall for that? I’m not touching you without gloves until you’re properly trained.”
Reg’s stomach growled. The cat rolled back over and glared at her as if she had done something offensive. Reg pulled out her phone to look at the time. It was late afternoon and she hadn’t had anything since a meager breakfast before running errands. And tea.
“Time to eat.”
The cat jumped down off of the bed and mewed a silent mew, looking up at her expectantly.
“Yes, I said food. I suppose you’re hungry too.”
She headed for the kitchen. He followed close at her heel.
Reg had intended to make her own meal first and feed the cat afterward, but he apparently had other ideas. He kept winding around her legs and tripping her up, until Reg finally gave in and got out the cat food so he would leave her alone. She filled one bowl with cold water and another with dry kibble and put them down on the floor. The cat immediately went over to them and started sniffing them. Reg went back to work on her own dinner. She was feeling better after her nap, but still didn’t have a lot of energy, so she was thinking maybe just a tuna sandwich.
As soon as she put the can opener into the can, the cat was again underfoot, bumping up against her and meowing excitedly.
“Oh, no you don’t. This is my dinner. You go eat your own.”
She opened the can and started to scoop some out to mix with mayonnaise, and suddenly the cat was on the counter in front of her, sticking his nose in to help himself.
“No, no, no!” Reg shouted. She picked him up and put him on the floor before he knew what was happening, with no time to fight back against her. He stood up on his hind legs, resting his front paws on the cupboards.
“No you don’t. You want me to lock you up? Because if that’s what I have to do to keep you out of my food, I will.”
What the Cat Knew Page 3