Foods, Fools and a Dead Psychic

by Maria Grazia Swan

  I have to say, J.S. did a great job considering all she had to work with was an empty house with outdated carpets and a few accent walls covered in wallpaper from way back before stainless steel appliances became so popular. As for the walk-in tub, there was no hiding that but maybe it would be a good selling point for the retired crowd. I immediately forwarded the complete package to Kay and the sellers. Playing catch-up had its advantage; it kept me focused, not letting my mind meander about Tristan’s whereabouts. At some point I would need to call him, to thank him, to acknowledge the — gift? Settlement? Not sure what to call it... except money of course.

  Kay’s unmistakable laugh drifted up from her office. The doors must be open, meaning she was alone, a good time for me to go pick her brain, again.

  She waved me in. I noticed the different outfit. So, she went home to change, like that was any of my business. My listing photos looked terrific on her computer screen. Kay agreed with me.

  “Nice, the girl is a lousy reporter but a good photographer. I’ll ask to be switched to her list. And I hear they are adding drone service for aerial views. Our industry is changing by leaps and bounds but I’m not going to do the drone unless the listing is over 500K. By the way, is your aunt still booking catering jobs for December or is she full?”

  “I will have to check on that.” I said.

  Suddenly last night’s sight of Brenda’s house ablaze in lights and then her standing in the center of her pantry deep in thought. What was that all about? I never even asked. I only cared about my stomach... and my heart.

  Today was Tuesday. I counted on my fingers and figured out the house with the tub would be officially for sale to the public by Thursday morning. Time to get the realty sign up. I could go by tomorrow to install the lock box in case some interested party kept an eye on the subdivision. We would be the only active listing. Whoo hooo, no competition. And then I remembered Scott, somewhere in Utah, skiing. Damn. And the tire — had to take care of that. The last thing I needed was another flat tire on the way to meet a client.

  I pulled out my monthly planner and called my mechanic. He could have the tire in the shop by morning and I would need to sit and wait for about forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes in mechanic speak meant about double that. I sighed. Made a note, car/tire, 9:30. And then I made the mistake of looking at the actual date. An alarm went off in the pit of my stomach. I was late, really late.

  I’d been subconsciously blocking it off. And that was probably the main reason I didn’t want to listen to Max’s messages. The thought made me crazy. How could it even be possible? I had never been one to take chances on that subject. No siree, never. The angst at the pit of my stomach had a name: unplanned pregnancy? I felt sick, no not the morning sickness, the other kind that gets you when you’re faced with the possibility of being a complete irresponsible fool, one who’s probably ruined your life forever.

  Breathe, Monica, breathe. I didn’t even know how many days one had to wait before rolling the dice on a store-bought kit. Would check on that with my home computer. The quiet of the office, so unusual, crept under my skin. Anxiety and anger grew. I had to do something before I exploded. I walked up to Kassandra’s desk. She was engrossed in the latest issue of People magazine. Talk about a slow day at the office.

  “Where is everybody? I haven’t seen Sunny in two days. And what about Scott? I need the sign installed. Did you see the photos? That’s J.S.’s work. I think she did a good job. Kay is going to start using her also.” I spit all that out without coming up for air.

  Kassandra listened, her eyes on me, not blinking. She closed the magazine slowly and laid it on her desk. Then she tilted her head and seemed to study me. For a very long time. “What the hell happened to you? If you need to talk to Sunny I’m sure you know how to use a phone. If you need a post installed, it would be a good idea to fill out a request form or do you think you’re so special that Scott can just read your mind? You know what? I think I do need to read your cards, but not while you look at me with crazed eyes.”

  Lucky for me she spoke without raising her voice. I was this close to start crying. How was that for all-grown-up Monica Baker? And just like that, puff, all my anger dissipated and I ran into the kitchen and blew my nose and caught a wandering tear before it ever had a chance to roll off the slippery slope of my sad face. Time for me to go home.

  I made it as far as the parking lot and sat in the car, bargaining with myself and with God. The last time I did that was when my grandmother was in the hospital. My bargaining didn’t work then, would probably not work now. Time to bite the bullet, or in this case buy the pregnancy kit. Dear God. The idea of doing that made me want to die. I would have to find a drug store, not close to home, with a woman cashier, about my age. Sooo embarrassing. Pay cash so it couldn’t be traced back to me. My cell interrupted my important scheming project. “Are you still sitting in your pink can in the parking lot?”

  Kassandra. Could she see me from her desk? Shit. I started the engine.

  “Was.” Could only manage a word before choking up.

  “How about you come back in here and tell me what’s going on? And don’t start on the Tarot cards. That’s for b-e-f-o-r-e, not after.”

  “You know about it? How? I haven’t told anyone. Hell, I’m not even sure myself.”

  Silence.

  “I meant you get a reading when you’re seeking help on making a decision, a choice. Stop acting like a dumb ass and come tell me what’s going on. I’m closing up as soon as Kay leaves. But I can’t run out there.”

  My car inched toward the main road. “I am, no, I think, I may be pregnant.”

  “And?” Did she say ‘And?’ What was wrong with her?

  “I need to find out.” I whispered.

  “Speak up, I can hardly hear you.”

  “I don’t know for sure.”

  “Let me guess, you’re what? Five, ten minutes past the time you think you should start menstruating and you are coming unglued. I’m sure if you were over twenty-four hours late you would have already done your pee test, right?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Part of me felt offended, but the wiser part knew she was on target, and she was a friend.

  “No, I’ve been debating where to buy one of those things, you know, the pregnancy kit like they show on TV?”

  “Well girl, this is your lucky day, debate no more. If you can wait until morning I’ll bring you one and you can satisfy your curiosity.”

  “No, no, I don’t mean for you to go buy... oh, I could pay you back. But at the office? How?”

  “I keep a half dozen in my fridge at home. It’s cheaper buying in bulk.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was being funny to cheer me up or if... after all, this was Kassandra I was talking to.

  “You just show up and I’ll walk you through it. Now go home and get drunk because if you are and... never mind. The phone is ringing. Do as I said.”

  I was stunned. A car to my right honking urgently snapped me back to reality in a jiffy. My Fiat was half on the main street and half on the sidewalk. Way to go, Monica. I instinctively straightened out the car and headed home. Had to get myself together in case I ran into Brenda, or worse yet, Brenda and Bob. Brenda and Bob. B&B. Like the name of our catering company. How about that? She could easily kick me out and have Bob as a business partner and...

  What was I thinking? Enough nonsense for one day! My cell chimed again and I was oh, so tempted to roll down the window and toss the phone. I didn’t.

  “Hello, Monica, is this a good time to talk?” J.S. Smith.

  “Huuuh? I — yes.” I swallowed hard, “Sure, I’m driving and I’m alone, go ahead. What’s up? Oh, by the way, very nice job with the pics.”

  “You’re too kind. That’s sort of why I’m calling. My manager told me that one of the top high-end agents asked to use my services based on the photos I did for you.”

  “You mean Kay. Yes, she’s in my office and yes, she sells high-pri
ced properties. Maybe you don’t remember her, but she was at that open house where we met for the first time.”

  She sighed. “Hope she doesn’t remember me. I was working for that gossip magazine and making a pest of myself. Anyway, I created some color fliers for your listing. They turned out pretty good, and I also put together a folder with all the photos for your sellers to keep. Can I come by your office first thing in the morning and show you?”

  I’m not good at driving and talking; I tend to slow down to snail pace to the extreme annoyance of all the other drivers behind me. I was collecting a nice sample of hateful looks and a few finger signals. “I have to take my car in to get a new tire at 9:30 and will probably be sitting and waiting for an hour or so.”

  “How about if I come and rescue you from the waiting room, we run over to your listing, set up the little display I made and I’ll drive you back. You won’t get bored and I’ll feel great for helping you out.”

  I turned left, taking the back road that ran by Tristan’s house. Just how sick-minded was I?

  “Sounds terrific, Jessie, as soon as I get home I’ll text you the address and phone number of my mechanic. Perfect timing, too, I’ll put on the lock box. We are releasing the listing Thursday morning.”

  The Dumont home was dark except for the outdoor low-voltage lights, probably solar. I couldn’t call Tristan after business hours; it would be too personal. Plus it might annoy his wife if they were having dinner together. My mind went wondering about the kind of food they would eat. Who did the cooking? Lois Thomas, Angelique’s personal assistant? And how was that any of my business? I had more serious problems to tackle.

  I finally left 36th street and started to relax, until I arrived in view of home. I noticed Bob Clarke’s car first. Blocking the driveway. My driveway. Okay, shared driveway, but still. Wait... was that Tommy’s Harley? What the hell was going on? My ex and Officer Clarke? Who else? Was this a family party minus me?

  I parked my car on the street, as close as possible to the sidewalk, and caught a glimpse of the widow across the street peeking from behind her drapes. I had barely locked my car door when Dior came barreling down the driveway and nearly knocked me off my feet. If Dior was loose, something must have happened to Aunt Brenda. I grabbed the Great Dane’s collar and marched up to the house.

  THIRTEEN

  “SLOW DOWN,” MEANT nothing to Dior. We flew up the concrete driveway to the open back door of Brenda’s place. Wide open, same as the garage door. I recognized two of Brenda’s dining chairs sitting outside, by the garage. Her Honda Pilot parked as far in as possible and the rear door of the SUV also wide open. Voices could be heard inside the home. Well, voices, clatter, grinding noises, a cacophony of sounds I had a hard time identifying, except for Brenda’s raspy laugh, trademark of lifelong smokers. I had so missed that laugh.

  What was happening? Was someone moving? Moving in or out? A sense of panic found its way down my chest where angst and fear had been doing the tango ever since I discovered that I was late with my period. I doubted anyone knew of my presence until Dior let out a rather assertive series of barks. The Great Dane had a knack for gathering an audience in a split second.

  Tommy and his curly black hair materialized first. Peeking out from the open door.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “Wait.” He called out, “Aunt Brenda, your dog is here in back, with Monica.”

  “What? How did he get out?” Brenda called.

  The automatic security lights came on as I stood there, mouth open, holding Dior’s collar until Brenda appeared.

  “Oh, hi Monica, I didn’t hear your car. Where did you find that bad boy?”

  Brenda was still talking when Bob appeared behind her. In jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked hot and his wide forehead shone with perspiration, but he was smiling.

  I couldn’t think of a thing to say, so I just did a little balancing dance from one foot to the other and waited.

  “We’re making room for the home gym, but some of my stuff will have to go.” Brenda walked over and got hold of the Dane.

  “The home what?” I gasped.

  I could feel Tommy’s eyes on me and it made me extremely uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure why.

  “Gym, gym.” Brenda laughed again and it occurred to me this was the first time since the ‘incident’ that I had seen her so happy and relaxed. And in spite of her nephew’s presence. Incredible.

  “I have some chicken breasts in the oven. Nothing fancy because we need to get this done tonight. You’re welcome to join us.” She waited for my answer.

  I looked from Bob to Tommy and my response was clear. “Huh, that’s okay, I have paperwork to do. I’m taking my car in in the morning for the tire. So, thanks. You three go ahead, get your gym done.”

  Bob had already disappeared into the house and I could hear furniture being moved, scraping the floor.

  “I tell you what, I’ll send Tommy over with some dinner when it’s done. OK? Wait, where is your car?”

  “On the street. I’ll get it later.” I turned around and headed to my own place. I couldn’t stand Tommy’s stares. They made me feel self-conscious, like he knew something about me that he wasn’t supposed to. Yes, I had gone completely bonkers.

  In spite of all my good intentions, I ended up changing into sweats and Googling all kinds of idiotic scenarios regarding unplanned pregnancies and false alarms. My stomach growled, but now that Brenda had offered me some of her chicken, nothing taking up room in my fridge looked appetizing. And just then, a light knocking at the door. I slipped on my chunky hiking shoes, because I was familiar with Tommy’s dirty tricks.

  I opened the door, barely ajar, and promptly placed my foot on the threshold where I knew he would try to insert his to keep me from closing the door. He held a plate in his hand and an ambiguous smile in his dark eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  “No. I’m sure Brenda and Bob need you there.”

  I grabbed the edge of the warm plate and he pulled back.

  “Okay then, have it your way.”

  I moved back and put my weight against the door, aware if he really wanted to force his way in, I didn’t stand a chance. Tommy may have been rotten, but he wasn’t totally stupid. He handed me the dish.

  “By the way, I’ll be moving in next door, to help Aunt Brenda get the gym set up.”

  And on those words of forthcoming doom, he left. Good riddance, for now. The idea of my ex moving in, even if temporarily, messed up my appetite. But nothing a glass of wine couldn’t fix. The quiet of my place felt spooky. So my chewing the fabulous chicken swimming in a mild cheesy sauce surrounded by potatoes and broccoli must have sounded like a Great Dane ripping apart a large bone.

  Between being late, knowing that my abusive, former husband was spending the night a few yards from my bed, and having to choose between leaving my car parked on the road overnight or go ask Bob to move his car and chance having Tommy tailing me to the Fiat, well, I didn’t have enough wine in the fridge to improve my mood.

  I turned on the television and watched a rerun of Two Broke Girls even though I didn’t like the show or the way they portrayed working women. I ate every little bite of my dinner, skipped dessert and sent a mental goodnight to my poor Fiat 500 sitting alone in the cold Phoenix night. After rinsing the dish and the silverware, I filled my stem glass with ice cubes and water, turned off the television and the lights, tucked myself into bed in my sweats and cried myself to sleep.

  Morning light found me in the same why me kind of attitude that had lulled me to sleep. As I brushed my teeth I remembered Kay and her catering question. I never mentioned it to Brenda just as I had never listened to any of Max’s voice mails. I hated myself. Love or hate, I needed to look the part. I wore a skirt, boots, and a sweater with matching cardigan, what I called my old lady outfit. With everything I would need for the day neatly packed in the briefcase Brenda gave me two Christmases ago.

  Trying
not to alert Dior of my presence, I tiptoed out of the house and down the driveway to my lonely pink beauty with the long scratch left by Celine’s key as obvious as a battle scar in the early sunlight. The seat cover felt cold against my bare legs. Note to myself, wear longer skirts on winter mornings. After all, it was a frigid 60 degrees out here. I made it to the mechanic with ten minutes to spare. And my new tire had yet to be delivered. Great.

  I poured myself a cup of Mark the mechanic’s awful, strong coffee, texted Brenda about Kay’s catering question, and while I debated calling Max, J.S. arrived all bubbly and cheerful. I let Mark know about my quick escape to the new listing and he promised to keep me posted via texting.

  J.S. drove the R.E. Assist small van. I liked the way the seats were higher than normal cars and I had a better view of the road and surroundings. An empty Starbucks container sat in the cup holder of the center console. “I have the sellers’ folder and the fliers in the back seat,” She said. “Are you excited?”

  I nodded. “There is something different about this listing,” I said. “I’m not sure how to explain. Maybe because of the age of the home and the sense of nostalgia it projects.”

  “Or maybe it’s that walk-in tub,” she chided. None of us mentioned Tristan Dumont, but the air in the van was filled with the vibes of amber eyes.

  When we arrived at the house, she punched in the numbers I called out and the big metal gate opened with a low groan.

  “Well, I expected more activity on the streets,” I said. “Aren’t old folks supposed to be early risers?”

  “It’s after nine,” she laughed. “Probably almost nap time.”

  A truck with a landscape logo sat askew by the side of the road, a few men were busy raking, and others made a racket with a leaf blower. By the time we reached the house, we left the din behind. I felt invigorated, maybe because of J.S.’s bubbly energy permeating the van or maybe because with all the green around and the small man-made lake in the distance, it felt more like a day in the country than work.