by Edie Claire
Oh, no.
“Do you know anyone buried here?” Zane asked.
I nodded grimly. “Kalia is buried here. My parents looked up her grave when we came in March, but I wasn’t with them.” Because they knew I hated cemeteries. Already, I struggled to block the intruding feelings. I could see countless shadows standing about the grounds, and the edges of my mental blind kept stubbornly rolling up on me. Sadness. So much sadness…
“Are you going to be able to do this?” Zane asked, watching me closely. “Maybe it would be better if I went in alone. Maybe it’s something she can show me—” His gaze moved suddenly upward, out the windshield. He exhaled with a sigh, then turned back to me. “She says no, Kali. Whatever it is, she needs you to see it.”
My stomach cramped. As well as I had been doing with the blocking techniques, a shopping mall was one thing and a cemetery was another. The dozen or so graves at Striker’s Schoolhouse were nothing compared to the hundreds and hundreds in the memorial park ahead… and once I was inside, there would be no running away. The shadows would be everywhere, encircling me. And they would all be in horrible pain. If the experience hadn’t been highly emotional for the people the shadows represented, the shadows wouldn’t be there.
“It could be,” I said slowly, making a lame attempt to sound brave, “that what she’s trying to show us is a shadow.” I swallowed. “A shadow at her own grave. So yes, I have to go.”
You have to, Kali. Now get a grip!
I took a deep “cleansing breath,” as the other empaths in San Jose had recommended. Then I brought down the blind and pulled it tight. “Okay, go ahead and drive in.”
Zane began navigating the car slowly through the park, and although I would have preferred to shut my eyes, I forced myself to stay watchful. In other circumstances, it would have been a beautiful, peaceful place. The stones were all flat to the ground, flowers were everywhere, and the lanes wound through tropical trees, all in the shadow of the towering mound of Diamond Head. If only that was all I could see. But to my eye, the acres were packed full of semi-transparent grief-stricken mourners, each and every one of them radiating bitter anguish.
Blind down. Blind down. Blind down…
“Here?” Zane said aloud, though not to me. “Okay… we’ll do the rest.” He cast a concerned glance in my direction. “Are you still okay?”
No. Even focusing as hard as I could, the blind couldn’t stop it all. The accumulated weight of grief was too heavy, and I was too inexperienced. But the pain that wracked me from all sides was at least reasonably bearable — as opposed to what I had endured at Pali Lookout. I could do this. I had to do it. “I’m good,” I said unconvincingly.
Zane walked around, opened my car door, and helped me out. “Here,” he said, taking my hand and locking his arm firmly around mine. “Maybe this will help.”
Warmth. Safety. Peace…
“It does,” I said gratefully. “Thanks. Let’s just do this thing, okay?”
We walked around in the vicinity of the car, looking for a relatively new floral arrangement. I thought I remembered my mother saying she had bought silk roses. But it was not the flowers that ultimately attracted my eye to a plot about fifty feet from where we had parked. It was the shadow.
I stopped in my tracks, holding onto Zane’s comforting, solid hand with both of mine. The sadness and grief were everywhere; deep, pervasive, so very painful… but his touch was like a campfire in a snowstorm. “That man,” I said weakly, pointing toward the shadow ahead. “He’s my grandfather.”
I opened myself up, ever so slightly, to perceive the shadow’s presence more fully. Instantly I was hit with a sensation of grief so intense my whole body trembled. Zane dropped my hand and put his arm around my shoulders, hugging me close to his side. Soothing waves of warmth spread through me immediately, and the trembling stopped. “Have you ever seen the shadow of a relative before?” he asked gently.
I shook my head. “I’ve never been this far inside a cemetery before. And I… I couldn’t do it without you here. Thanks.”
He continued to hug my shoulders, rubbing the outside of my arm briskly as if he could feel the chill inside, despite the bright sunshine beaming down on both of us. “Are you able to go closer?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “But I need to try.”
The shadow had disappeared now. But slowly, step by step, I pulled Zane with me toward the spot where it had been standing. I wanted terribly to keep the blind down, but I knew I couldn’t, not if I was going to pick up whatever Kalia wanted me to pick up. I would have to feel and hear the shadows as well as see them. When we reached our destination, a couple feet away from where I had seen my grandfather, I stopped and took another deep breath.
Zane loosened his hold on me. It was only for a second, and probably only because he was shifting positions, but the instant I lost contact with his side, a rush of bitingly cold pain belted me like a blizzard.
“No!” I shouted, pulling him back toward me.
“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, rubbing my arms again. “This really helps, then?” he asked doubtfully.
I looked up at him with the closest thing to a smile I could manage. “Zane,” I said wryly, “You’re like a freakin’ space heater.”
His eyes twinkled. “I’ve been waiting my entire life to hear a beautiful girl say that to me.”
The joking helped. I looked around.
My grandmother’s flat, rectangular memorial stone lay on the ground before us. Loving wife and mother. Kalia H. Thompson. Born in 1935; died in 1956.
“Barely twenty-one,” Zane said sadly, keeping his arm tight about my shoulders. “Your grandfather must have been devastated.” He looked at me closely. “Do you still see him?”
I shook my head. But even as I did, a swirl of shadow erupted at our feet. I pulled Zane backwards with me.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Another shadow,” I answered. I opened my senses again, only to be struck — harshly and immediately — by the full force of this new shadow’s anguish. He was a young man, and he kneeled before Kalia’s stone on the ground, nearly prostrate, his head and thin shoulders heaving with convulsive sobs. He was dressed shabbily; he carried nothing. He said no words that I could make out. His grief was beyond intense — it burned with a fury, a fury against injustice and unfairness. But there was also shock. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He couldn’t bear it. It was not to be borne…
Both of Zane’s arms were now wrapped around my middle; I was leaning back against his chest. My knees had almost given out on me. “Sorry about that,” I whispered.
Would the shadow never disappear?
In an instant, it had company. My grandfather stood not four feet from me, tall, young, and hauntingly handsome in his crisp officer’s uniform. I would know him anywhere, despite a face still puffy from recently shed tears and strong muscles that, by the time I knew him, had wasted away from age and illness. He stood straight and tall as a tree, almost as if at attention, showing the world a man of steel even as his heart was breaking. And it was breaking. I could feel the pain in him every bit as strong as that of the sobbing man not far from his feet, and my defenses were now nearly worthless — the only thing keeping me from flight, from collapse, or both, was the equally incredible, soothing warmth that Zane’s touch radiated into my body.
“My grandfather’s here again,” I squeaked. “He and another man are mourning her. They’re miserable. Horribly miserable. And they’re both so… so angry.”
I looked more closely into my grandfather’s eyes. He was not looking at the grave. He seemed to be watching or listening to something else — quite possibly a minister at a service. But even as he pretended attention, his eyes swept around the area, looking for something. For what? His eyes passed over the weeping man. He made no response to the other shadow, but as his gaze returned to what had probably been the speaker, his jaws clenched suddenly. Anger.
He was furious. The shadow on the ground let out a particularly piercing wail, and my knees weakened again, a faint moan escaping my lips as I felt Zane’s grip tightening. In another second, my feet were off the ground. He was carrying me.
“That’s enough,” he said firmly, moving me away from the grave.
“No, wait!” I protested as the pain lessened. What was I missing? Zane stopped a moment, and I looked back at Kalia’s grave, but the shadows were gone.
“They’ve left now,” I said. “You can… put me down. I’m okay.”
I didn’t want him to put me down. I wanted to stay in his arms the rest of my natural life — and beyond. But between the warmth I felt from being so close to him and the protection of the blind I could now pull fully back down… I really was all right.
He looked at me skeptically and continued walking. “You don’t look okay. But let’s not talk about it yet. I want to get you away from here first.”
I didn’t argue. All too quickly, he reached the car and bundled me inside. As he let go of me to walk around and get in himself, I missed his touch horribly, and only when he drove out of the cemetery and back onto the street could I force myself to let him have his right hand back.
The misery of the mourning shadows was gone now, and I sighed with relief.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much,” I answered. “Thank you.”
He smiled at me. “You’re a brave one, you know that?”
It occurred to me that there were probably any number of girls who would gladly go through everything I just went through if it meant that a guy like Zane would sweep them off their feet and carry them away to safety. But I didn’t tell him that. I was pretty sure he already knew.
“I didn’t feel so brave at the time,” I argued. “But thanks.”
He turned the car towards home, and for a while we drove in silence as my mind replayed the scene I had just witnessed.
“Do you feel like talking about it yet?” he asked finally.
I felt a twinge of guilt, having completely forgotten that although he was the one being guided by Kalia, he wouldn’t have seen or felt anything at her gravesite.
“There was another man there,” I began, “besides my grandfather.” I described the scene as completely as I could, and realized, as I tried to process my own story, that I had no more answers now than I’d had before. I only had more questions.
“I understand that anyone would be angry at Kalia’s dying so suddenly, and while she was so close to having another child,” I said, thinking out loud. “But with the shadows, both of them, it was more than that. They were angry at other people, I think.”
“Were they angry at each other?” Zane asked.
I remembered my grandfather’s cool stare, which swept right over the weeping man’s figure. “I don’t think so,” I answered.
The car went quiet for a moment. “Do you think the second man could be your biological grandfather?” Zane asked.
I blew out a long, slow breath. I had not gotten a good look at the man because his head was low to the ground and buried in his hands. His hair had been dark and wavy, and from what I had seen of his face I would guess he were at least part Asian or Hawaiian, but details like skin color were hard to read in a shadow. I got the impression he was young, but I wasn’t sure why. He had looked so unkempt, so very world-weary. Only one thing I knew for sure. He had loved Kalia H. Thompson with all his heart.
“I think it’s possible, yes,” I answered.
“If he looked Hawaiian,” Zane suggested, “there is another possibility. He could have been one of Kalia’s brothers.”
I thought a moment, then shook my head. “Maybe, but I’ve always been told that none of Kalia’s relatives went to her funeral. That was one of the reasons my grandfather decided to leave Hawaii. Kalia’s mother adored the baby when she was alive, but she died before Kalia did. No one else in the family seemed to care that Kalia had left a son behind, so Albin had no support system here. The fact that none of Kalia’s brothers even bothered coming to her funeral left my grandfather so hurt and furious, he never made any other—”
I stopped in mid-sentence. “That’s why he was so angry!” I explained. “He was at the funeral when I saw his shadow.”
“That makes sense,” Zane agreed. “Are you sure you didn’t feel any hostility between the two men?”
I considered. The weeping man seemed aware of nothing beyond his own grief. My grandfather had looked at him, but I sensed no particular reaction. “I’m not sure my grandfather knew who he was,” I said uncertainly. “If he knew that man to be the father of his wife’s child, surely he would have some feeling about him.”
“Uh… for sure,” Zane said heavily. “But if Albin didn’t know his identity, wouldn’t he at least be curious, considering how upset the man was?”
My eyebrows knit with confusion. “I didn’t feel curiosity,” I explained. “I only felt… a cool indifference.”
Zane shook his head. “Well, I’ve never been in any of those situations, but Kali… I don’t think your grandfather could do that. I don’t think any man could. Seriously… he loved her. He loved the baby. Indifference? No way. There’s got to be some piece we’re missing.”
I pictured the scene again, from start to finish. It didn’t help. “None of it makes sense!” I cried with frustration. “If that man was the father of Kalia’s baby, and he loved her so much, why on earth did she marry my grandfather Albin in the first place?”
Zane looked suddenly uncomfortable, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. But he didn’t say it out loud, and I didn’t want to either. Because he was poor, shabby, and miserable, and Albin Thompson was an Air Force officer.
The familiar sick feeling returned to my stomach.
The life of the party.
***
Zane and I stood together in a sheltered area just inside my carport. Sheltered, at least, from the prying eyes of anyone trying to look out the front windows of my house. I didn’t know any of the other neighbors yet, so for now, they didn’t matter.
He was about to drive back to the North Shore, and we were saying goodnight. We had delayed his departure as long as possible, trying to give Kalia a fair shot to clear up some of the hopeless confusion I considered her to have started. But the ghost did not appear. I had called Kylee back with the promised report, and her opinion was that we shouldn’t be surprised. Kalia’s street-corner appearances had probably cost her plenty, and she needed rest. Unfortunately, my parents needed rest too, which meant that despite another lovely evening of unpacking, sorting, and organizing to the tune of six thousand of my dad’s stories about his and his buddies’ hijinks at the Academy (I would get Zane for that), my guest had been politely kicked out for the night.
“I think it’s all pieces of a bigger puzzle,” Zane assured as we went over everything once more. My dad’s day at work had been uneventful, and we had no reason to believe he was in immediate danger aside from the fact that Kalia had appeared beside him in the first place. That she feared something, was desperate to protect him from something, was clear. But the more clues she delivered, the more sure I became that the threat hovering over my father was no out-of-control SUV.
“We just have to be patient and let her tell us more,” Zane continued. “Probably the scene at her grave won’t make any sense until then, no matter how many times we go over it.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed.
His tone brightened. “So, where shall we go for your swimming lesson tomorrow? Back to the pool, maybe? It’s the safest place to get out into deeper water.”
I groaned. Now was as good a time as any to break it to him. “Zane, you’re a very good teacher, but in my case, that’s irrelevant. It isn’t going to work. Didn’t today’s lesson prove that to you? I’m a failure. I can’t do it. I’m never going to be able to do it.”
“My, my,” he clucked, “Such unbridled negativity! What a mystery you don’t g
et better results.”
“I suck and you know it! I can’t do any of it.”
“Actually,” he said seriously, “You can do all of it. You’ve done all of it already. Just not at the same time. If you would only put that freestyle stroke into gear the same time as your kick, you’d be tearing across the water. The only thing you lack is self-confidence.”
“I appreciate your efforts. Really, I do. But I can lead a perfectly full life without ever learning to swim.”
“And motivation,” he said sadly. “You lack that, too.”
He looked so disappointed. Maybe some of it was put-on, but he was such a blasted good actor, I couldn’t tell. “Oh, fine!” I conceded, unable to bear it either way. “Let’s go back to the pool, then. As long as we get you back to the beach after. I heard some guy at Ted’s say the forecast was for three to five tomorrow.”
His eyes twinkled again. “Deal.”
He looked so handsome, standing there in the dim light of the streetlamp, I could almost not control myself. It had been such a long rollercoaster of a day — in parts magical; in others, horrific. But he hadn’t touched me once since we returned from the cemetery, and sometimes, a girl just needs a hug. If he didn’t pull me into his arms in about two seconds, I was to going to scream.
Nothing happened.
Oh, to heck with it!
I launched myself forward and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my head in his shoulder. Ripples of warmth, serenity, and security — and something else — shot through me from head to toe. “That’s better,” I said contentedly.
His arms had gone around me reflexively, but still, I could feel him pull back a bit from the shock. He remained tense. “Kali,” he said gruffly, “You’re making me crazy, you know that?”
“Mm…” I murmured, my head still buried. He smelled of seawater. Divine. “Sorry,” I replied.
“You are not.”
I chuckled. “Nope.” I raised my head and looked at him. “Is this so terrible?” I teased.
His jaws clenched. “You know it’s not terrible. It’s… amazing. But it’s also scary intense.”