Making a Medium

by Erin Huss

  No. No. No. No. Just … no. Sitting behind the TR Kuss booth, with a name tag that reads TR Kuss, is a little old woman with a helmet of gray hair, a pink blazer, hooped earrings, and glasses. I know her! It’s Jenny Clark. Mrs. Clark. Who owns the beauty parlor. The Mrs. Clark who does my mom’s hair. The Mrs. Clark who does my hair. The Mrs. Clark who has, like, ten grandchildren.

  "Hi, Zoe." Mrs. Clark smiles and clasps her hands.

  Ok, I have nothing against the elderly. Nothing at all. But it's going to be difficult for me not to picture Mrs. Clark sitting behind her computer writing about burning loins and chiseled abs and creating the hot heroes of my fantasies.

  “I … I … I didn’t know you wrote … these books,” I say.

  “I didn’t know you read them.” She winks. “Guess we all have our little secrets. Would you like me to sign those?" She points to the books clutched to my chest.

  “Er … sure.”

  Mrs. Clark, aka TR Kuss, scrawls her signature on the inside jacket of each book. "Have you checked out the Hot Billionaire series yet? This time the heroine is the billionaire." She hands me the first book in the series, and I read the back cover.

  Willie peers over my shoulder. "Seductively domineering, huh? Sounds interesting."

  It does.

  So I buy the entire series.

  Sure, I was supposed to use the money for clothes (a gift from my dad), but I'd rather spend my time reading.

  "Can we go now?" Willie asks.

  "We can," I say. "Do you want to walk? Or should I have my dad pick us up?"

  "I don't want to walk."

  I call my dad. We agree to meet in the parking lot of The Gazette. I buy a donut and stroll down the sidewalk, swinging my bag of books at my side. "It's a nice day, isn't it?"

  "Your boyfriend is coming," Willie says.

  "Huh? Where?" I spin around and come face-to-face with Brian. He's wearing jeans, a baseball cap, and sunglasses. I've never seen him so casual.

  "There's donut on your lip," Willie says.

  I run my tongue over my mouth. "Hi," I say with a smile, checking my reflection in Brian's glasses to be sure there's nothing stuck in my teeth.

  "I'm glad I caught you," he says. "I've been meaning to stop by."

  "Don't worry. It's been a hard couple of weeks. I'm sorry about LeRoy."

  "Considering all that's happened, I don't think you have anything to be sorry about."

  I dump my donut into the trashcan. "Don't blame yourself, Brian. It wasn't your fault."

  "How did you know, though? When I spoke to you earlier that day, you were sure it was Ron. Who or what tipped you off? How'd you figure out it was LeRoy?"

  Those are good questions. "Um … the picture you ran in The Gazette. His car was facing the wrong way, and, um, what can I say? I just figured it out." I tap my temple.

  "How'd you like to put this”—he taps my temple, and his finger lingers—“to work at The Gazette?"

  "The internship?"

  "Not an internship. A mind like yours needs to be a reporter. We can shake things up." He lowers his sunglasses and winks. My insides do a somersault. I'd really like to shake him up.

  Willie waves a hand in front of my face. "Stop staring, person. You're getting weird."

  I can't help it.

  "Then I'll see you tomorrow?" Brian asks.

  I force my mouth to move. "Sures."

  "What the hell does that mean?" Willie snorts.

  "I meant to say yes, but it turned into sure, and … um … okay.” Willie tells me to stop talking. "I'll be there.”

  We say good-bye, and I watch Brian walk away. He stops at the Butter Bakery cart and buys a croissant.

  "He would have kissed you if you were wearing different shoes," Willie says.

  "Would you lay off the freaking shoes already?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Batch stop and give me a look. I point to the Bluetooth in my ear. "On a call," I say.

  They exchange a look then lift their bags of popcorn as if to say "cheers."

  I lift my bag of books, and they continue on their way.

  Phew.

  Willie and I head over to the parking lot to wait for my dad. I take a seat on the curb and open the first book in the Hot Billionaire series.

  "Turn the page," Willie says, reading over my shoulder.

  "Wait, I'm not done."

  "You're a slow reader. Hurry up."

  I read the last paragraph then turn the page.

  A shadow appears, blocking my reading light. I gaze up, using my hand as a visor. It's Rosa. She's hugging a clipboard with a pencil stuck behind her ear.

  "I see you met TR Kuss," she says. "What did you think?"

  "You never said TR Kuss was Mrs. Clark." I use a leaf to mark my page and close the book.

  "Hey! I was still reading," Willie says.

  “She kept her writing a secret for years,” Rosa says. “I’m not sure what suddenly changed her mind, but she told me she no longer wanted to keep her talents hidden. And here she is.”

  “And here she is …” I stand and dust off the back of my pants. "The day turned out wonderfully. What a fun idea."

  "I'm surprised how many people came out for the event." Rosa places a hand on my shoulder and frowns. "How are you doing? You've been through quite the wringer these past few weeks."

  There's an understatement.

  "I'm doing better, thank you."

  "Glad to hear it. Oh, excuse me." Rosa waves to the MelBorne Assisted Living van pulling into the parking lot. There's a picture on the side of an older man and woman playing cards with mega-watt smiles on their faces.

  False advertisement, if you ask me.

  The van parks in the handicapped spot. The door opens, and a wheelchair lift appears with a little old woman with jet black hair, a small face, and no eyebrows. Rosa gives the old woman a kiss on the cheek and speaks to her in Spanish.

  "Is this your mother?" I ask.

  "This is my mama." Rosa wheels her mother down the ramp. "Mama, this is Zoe," she says directly into her mother's ear then talks to her in Spanish. "Zoe, this is Mama Isabel, she doesn't speak any English, not since the stroke."

  I drop my books.

  Okay, there's got to be a thousand women the same age as Willie named Isabel, but the coincidence is enough to suck the air out of my lungs.

  "Are you okay, dear?" Rosa asks.

  My tongue has turned to mush. I bend down to gather my books off the ground. "W-w-where—how—um—did your mother grow up in Mexico?"

  "Yes," Rosa answers slowly. "But she has papers."

  I try not to get too excited. I mean, what are the odds? "Where did she grow up?"

  "In a small town north of Mexico City … are you okay? You look a little pale."

  I turn to Willie, who looks like a statue. It is Isabel! The Isabel. The great love of Willie's life! The one who got away. The one whose father didn't approve. The infamous Isabel had been living in Fernn Valley, one city away for … for … "How long have you lived here?"

  Rosa pushes her mother into the shade and down the sidewalk toward the park. "I brought Mama over from Mexico five years ago. She used to talk about moving to Fernn Valley all the time. I’m not even sure how she knew about this place. But she made it sound wonderful—it’s the reason I moved here."

  My thoughts are free falling, and I can't seem to put a coherent sentence together.

  Willie studies Isabel's face as we walk alongside them. "That's her!" He's now in my ear. "Say I'm here! Say I'm here! Say I'm here! Say it!"

  Um, sure.

  But …

  Uno problemo.

  Uno problemo is the only phrase I know in Spanish.

  I jump in front of Rosa, and she off-roads her mother into the grass. "Sorry, but I need to talk to your mom."

  "She only speaks Spanish," Rosa says.

  "That's fine. You can translate for me." I lower to one knee and grab Isabel by the hand. Her hands are leathery with bulging veins and
are warm to the touch. She doesn't pull away, instead she touches my cheek, her eyes glossed over. "Tell her Willie is here," I say to Rosa.

  Rosa hesitates then mumbles this in Spanish.

  Isabel nods along and responds.

  "She says she knows," Rosa says. "But who is Willie, and where is he?"

  "Tell her Willie only left to join the service so he could earn the respect of her father," I say. "When he came back, he discovered she had moved on …” I pause to regroup. It's hard not to get emotional. I live for a good romance.

  "Who is Willie?" Rosa asks, exasperated. "You're not making any sense."

  "Just tell her, please?" I ask.

  Rosa relents with a sigh and translates. Isabel responds in Spanish.

  "Mama says that she didn't know he'd come back for her. She wished he'd said something because … because … Mama?” Rosa backs Isabel's wheelchair up and drops to her knee. She takes her mother by the hands and speaks to her in Spanish. I have no idea what she's saying but based on the fluctuation and tone of her voice, she's not happy.

  "What is she saying?" Willie demands. "What is she saying?"

  "I don't speak Spanish," I mutter out the side of my mouth.

  Rosa and Isabel are going back and forth in Spanish for a while.

  A long while.

  Rosa throws her hands up in the air. "Mama says that …” She massages her temples. "She says that she found out about the baby after Willie had left, and my abuelo forced her to marry to hide the family shame."

  "Um … huh?”

  Rosa shakes her head. "According to Mama, this Willie person is my biological father."

  I drop my books.

  "I knew my biological father was a soldier, but she never spoke his name until now. Goodness me." Rosa smooths back her hair. "And this man is here? How'd you know about him?"

  Willie has gone sheet white, and I realize this is why Willie is still here.

  Not because of LeRoy.

  Not because of Daniel.

  Not because of his money or his murder or his parking space or his cars.

  Rosa is why he's here.

  After all these years, all those women, and a vasectomy. Willie MacIntosh has a daughter, and grandchildren, and a legacy.

  Holy crap.

  "Rosa." I touch her shoulder. "I think you should sit down for a minute and, please, have an open mind."

  Chapter Thirty

  And just like that, Rosa is a multimillionaire.

  Of course I didn't tell her the truth. I told her I was a friend of Betty's, and we had suspected that Willie had a love child. I may have implied I was more of a PI than a medium, but whatever. I have a sinking suspicion that she knows the truth anyway.

  The judge deemed the will invalid, and the fate of Willie's fortune came down to good ol' California law. Being that Betty and Willie didn't have any common property, everything was essentially split between her and Rosa—his daughter.

  A ruling neither women had a problem with.

  Daniel is a different story.

  As soon as the judge bangs her gavel, Daniel huffs and puffs and storms out of the courtroom like he's about to blow someone's house down. I'm not sure how he'll pay for his renovations now, but as Rosa says, agua queen no has de beber, dejala correr.

  No idea what that means, but I feel the wisdom in those words.

  Also, I want to take a Spanish class.

  Betty, Rosa, Willie, Jackson, and I leave the courthouse in a chatter of excitement.

  "I can't believe it," Rosa says, for at least the nine hundredth time since the DNA results came back. "I just can't believe it."

  "You better believe it." Betty gives her a side hug. "What does Willie think about the ruling?" she asks me.

  "Um … not sure what he thinks, since he's dead." I give her the signal. A sign we came up with the day I asked her to stop telling everyone I was a medium. I touch the tip of my nose when Willie is around. Then I wink if he's happy and suck in my bottom lip when he's not.

  Right now, I'm winking.

  Which isn't exactly accurate.

  After he found out about Rosa, he wanted her to have everything. But I was able to convince him this was the path of least resistance and Rosa would be fine with one hundred and fifty million dollars.

  But he appears to be taking the news better than I thought. Too well. He's been unusually quiet all day.

  All of Rosa's children and grandchildren are waiting outside the courthouse and engulf her in a flurry of hugs and kisses on her cheeks. I watch from a short distance, giving her the space to celebrate with her family.

  "I'm happy Willie knows about his daughter," Betty says.

  "Me too."

  Jackson looks heavenward.

  "We'll make a believer out of you." Betty nudges him with her elbow. "Just you wait."

  "I need a drink," he says. "We'll speak later." He gives Betty a kiss on each cheek and shakes my hand good-bye.

  "Willie says you still need to work on your pitch shot," I holler after him.

  Jackson thunks the heel of his hand to his forehead and continues walking.

  Betty laughs and interlocks her arm in mine. "He knows you're legit, but he's just afraid to admit it."

  I'm not sure about that. "So what are you going to do with your money?" I ask.

  "I know exactly what I'm doing with it. But first, there's a little business to take care of." She reaches into her purse and pulls out an urn.

  "Please tell me that's not me?" Willie asks, horrified.

  "It's Willie." Betty flashes a smile. "I picked him up yesterday."

  Willie runs his hands down his face. "I don't want to be kept in a jar. Why’d you let her pick that urn? I hate it. It’s ugly."

  "Why'd you bring him … um … here?” I ask Betty.

  "Because he doesn't belong to me anymore." She steps over to Rosa and thrusts the urn into her hands. "It's Willie."

  Rosa glances down at her dead father. "Oh … thank you."

  "He wants to be scattered in the lake, but that was before he knew about his daughter."

  "No, I want to be in the lake!" Willie is in my ear. "In the lake!"

  "He wants to be in the lake," I blurt out. "I mean. That's what his final wishes were. So, um, you should scatter him in the lake."

  Rosa's son steps forward. He's a middle-aged man with a cul-de-sac of hair and three chins. "He wants to float around with a bunch of fish crap? And who knows how many dead bodies are there?"

  Willie cocks a thumb. "The kid makes a point. Keep me in the urn."

  "Why don't you decide," I say to Rosa. "But I need to get going."

  Rosa gives me a tight hug. "Thank you for everything."

  "My pleasure. I'll still see you at the library? You're not going to quit now that you could buy the place yourself, right?"

  "Of course not."

  I give Betty a hug good-bye and trot down the steps, stopping to give a dollar to the same Davy Crockett hat-wearing man from last week.

  Brian wants a full account of how the hearing went. I place my Bluetooth in my ear and pull out my notepad. "We need to figure out how to … Willie?” I turn around. "Willie?

  I backtrack toward the courthouse and find him standing beside Rosa and laughing as her family … his family … talks.

  My heart is full.

  This medium gig is pretty special.

  I wave to get his attention, and he appears.

  "You ready?" I ask.

  "I am, person. It's been a pleasure." He tips his hat.

  “What are you talking about?"

  "It's time to go."

  "Go? No, no." I start to panic. "I don't want you to go. We have so much to do."

  "Like what?"

  "Like … I don't know. Who is going to pester me about my hair or clothes? Who is going to make snarky comments when my mom goes on one of her rampages? Who is going to keep me company? Don't you want to know how the Hot Billionaire series ends?"

  Willie is
shaking his head before I even finish speaking. "You don't need me anymore. You're good. I'm good. They're good." He jerks his head towards Rosa. "Just remember. You are a capable and smart person." He winks. "You have way too much to offer this world to be hiding out. Get your own place. Your own car. Dress your age. Live a little. Hell, live a lot. I'll catch you on the other side, Zoe Lane."

  I'm trembling all over. Tears clog the back of my throat. I'm not ready to say good-bye. “Please," I choke out, but it's too late.

  Willie is gone.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Four months later.

  "Attention! Attention!" Tam Woo, the mayor of Trucker, taps the microphone, and the crowd hushes. "Can I have everyone's attention please?" He pauses to smile for the camera then continues. "It is with great pleasure that I hereby dedicate the pediatric cancer wing as the Willie MacIntosh Center." Tam hands Betty the giant scissors, and she cuts the ribbon.

  I shove the notepad under my arm and clap along with the crowd. Instinctually, I check around to see if Willie's here, even if I know he's not. Rosa is, though, and she's beaming with pride.

  Willie was right, Betty would maintain his legacy. She donated one hundred million dollars to the pediatric cancer center at Trucker Hospital in his name. She also graduated last month and plans to use the rest of Willie’s money to open a counseling center for the youth.

  Betty catches my gaze, and I wink. Our sign. Even if I can't see Willie anymore, I know he's happy.

  I move with the crowd toward the reception area, where a long table is adorned with baskets of baked breakfast goods and an assortment of jams. I grab a blueberry scone and a napkin.

  Rosa comes up from behind and helps herself to a chocolate muffin. "Isn't this lovely?" she asks. "What an honor for Willie."

  "It is. How are you doing?"

  "I'm fine," she says, playing it off. I can tell she isn't fine. I'm honing in on my ability to feel others’ feelings.

  "It was a beautiful funeral," I say.

  She tears off a piece of her muffin and gives a feeble nod of her head. "It sure was."

  Isabel died the day after Willie left. There is no doubt in my mind that the two are reunited. I can't wait to see them together. Well, I mean, I can wait. I don't feel like dying anytime soon. But it will be a nice reunion.