“I thought Mom would want one-on-one time with Aunt Lynn,” Sadie said, and the defense sounded weak even to her own ears.
“Having Lynn around is good for your mom, but having her girls around gives her something to show off. Do you get that?”
He walked over to check the pressure on the final tire.
“I get it. I’m sorry. Things have been a little crazy at work, but I promise to try and spend more time with Mom.”
“And I don’t mind seeing your mug around either. I won’t be around forever, you know.”
A pang of emotion bloomed in her chest.
“You’re not sick, are you?”
“Nah.” He stood and dusted his hands on his pants.
“My blood pressure’s a little high sometimes, but the docs are taking care of that.” He put his arm around Sadie as they walked back toward the house. “Why don’t you ever bring around that Zack Bowman character? He seems like an upstanding kind of guy.”
“It’s complicated,” Sadie mumbled.
“It always is,” he said with a chuckle.
They walked back inside the house arm in arm. Sadie went toward the dining room to join the women, and her dad plopped himself back down on the sofa in the living room to channel surf.
“Looks like I can stay a little longer than I thought,” Sadie said, sitting down at the table next to her mother.
“We can use all the help we can get,” her mom replied.
Aunt Lynn sat, elbows on the table, chopping away at yellow construction paper.
“What are you making?” Sadie asked her aunt.
“They’re supposed to be baby bootees for wall decorations,” Peggy said with a look of disdain.
“Hey, I’m doing the best I can,” Aunt Lynn said. She held up a crookedly cut yellow bootee that looked more like a deformed cowboy boot. “What can I say? Glen was more crafty than I ever was.” She sighed. “Remember all those wooden butterflies he carved and nailed up on our fence?”
“Oh yeah,” Sadie said, smiling. She called out toward the living room, “Dad, remember when you tried to show me how to carve one of those wooden butterflies after I got back from a visit?”
“How can I forget?” He held up his index finger. “Five stitches taught me to never assume wood carving was easy just because Glen made it look like it was.”
Dad put his feet up on the coffee table and settled in to watch CNN.
“I still have the butterflies up on the fence,” Aunt Lynn said wistfully. “They’re faded from the weather, but I don’t have the heart to bring them down. You know, when I brought him home to die, he told me he’d been dreaming about the butterflies and missed them.” She sniffed and reached for a tissue.
“I always thought Uncle Glen died in the, um . . .” She groped for the PC word for lunatic asylum and the best she could come up with was, “Hospital?”
“Nope he was determined as all get-out to go home for a visit. It was like he knew he wasn’t long for this world and wanted to pass away at home.” Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she carefully cut out another lopsided baby bootee. “He was only home a few days before the stroke hit.”
“Yes, it’s almost as if he knew,” Peggy said sadly. “It was nice that Brian happened to be out that way and got to see him.”
“They had a great visit too,” Lynn stated, finishing off the baby bootee and starting on another. “I left them alone to chat and Glen was having one of his few days when he wasn’t talking to the dead.”
Sadie’s hand jerked and she drew a blue line right across the diaper she’d been working on.
“Wh-what did you say?” Sadie stammered, her gaze fixed on her aunt.
“Look what you’ve done,” her mother exclaimed, snatching the ruined diaper from Sadie’s hand and giving her a new one. “Try and pay attention,” she said, clucking her tongue.
“Aunt Lynn, what did you say about Uncle Glen talking to the dead?” Sadie repeated, ignoring her mother.
“Well, that’s what he always said.” She shrugged and held up her yellow construction paper bootee to eye it critically. “He thought the voices inside his head were ghosts. The voices of dead people who had messages for him.” She tilted her head and looked quizzically at Sadie. “Oh, you mustn’t look so upset about it. He sure wasn’t the only one. There was one guy in the institute who thought he was Abraham Lincoln.” She shook her head and chuckled at the memory. “He really believed it too, just like your uncle believed people who had died talked to him. He insisted on it even in his last couple hours. Poor Brian sat there and listened to him ramble on, and when he had the stroke, your brother was just so upset. It’s too bad he was in the room when it happened, but, you know, it was nice too for Glen to be surrounded by family.”
Sadie’s head felt woozy. The Sharpie marker she’d been holding slipped from her fingers and rolled onto the floor.
“Are you okay?” her mom asked. “You look pale. I bet you haven’t eaten yet today.” She got to her feet. “I’ll check on the pot roast. It should almost be done.”
Sadie got to her feet.
“I’ve got a bit of a headache. I’ll go splash water on my face.”
She went down the hall to the powder room. She closed and locked the door and ran the water before tugging her cell phone out of her purse.
“What are you up to?” Sadie asked as soon as Maeva answered the phone.
“I’m sitting back and relaxing with a glass of wine while Terry massages my feet.”
“Oh, that sounds tough.” Sadie felt a pang of jealousy.
“Well, I had a tough day. The usual skeptics and sincere believers came in for psychic readings, but we had a knock-’em-dead sale on crystals in the store side of the shop and I was on my feet more than I’d like.”
“Then how about going on a nice leisurely drive with me tonight?”
“Where?”
“Redmond.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“Redmond, Oregon.”
“That’s like three hundred miles!”
“Yes, but I’ll do all the driving and you can just sit back and relax.”
“I’m sitting back and relaxing now and I’m getting a foot massage. Did I mention that Terry’s got marinara sauce simmering on the stove?”
“You can eat your pasta first, since I’m committed to consuming a dried-up pot roast at my mom’s.” She lowered her voice. “Look, I’m willing to massage your feet if you’ll come with me.”
“You must be desperate. What or who is in Redmond, Oregon?”
“My dead uncle.”
20
“I’ve gotta tell you, Sadie. There’s a real good chance this is a complete waste of time,” Maeva said, reclining the passenger seat of Sadie’s Honda until it was as far back as it would go. “It’s been six years and—”
“You talk to spirits all the time that have been dead for a lot longer than six years. Sometimes you reach people from the last century.”
“True.”
“And you get results.”
“Most of the time.” She brushed her fingernails against her chest and smirked. “I’m pretty good, aren’t I? You were the biggest skeptic I’ve ever converted.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a believer now.”
“I just don’t want you to be disappointed,” Maeva said softly. “I know I’ve told you before it’s possible you inherited your ability from a deceased family member, but it’s just as likely that your uncle was simply plain crazy.”
“I need to know for sure.”
“But it won’t change anything.”
Sadie didn’t reply. It was after ten and not much traffic greeted her on the highway. She checked the speedometer and pressed down a little more on the accelerator.
“If Uncle Glen did talk to the dead, I don’t believe he passed that on to me,” Sadie said seriously.
“Then why are we traveling hundreds of miles this late, and why did I leave a perfectly good
pedi-massage that promised to turn into hot ’n’ heavy sex?”
“I think Uncle Glen handed down his ability to Brian.”
“What?” Maeva jolted her seat back to the upright position and stared at Sadie for a full minute without speaking.
“You think Brian inherited speaking to the dead from your uncle and then passed it along to you when he killed himself?”
Sadie slid her friend a sidelong glance before turning to stare out at the white lines on the highway.
“Yes. If Uncle Glen had it and he died while Brian was visiting, then it’s possible, right?”
Maeva tapped a finger to her chin.
“Yes. I guess it is.”
They didn’t say anything more.
Maeva drifted off to sleep as Sadie cruised the highway out of Washington and into Oregon. Sadie’s mind was more awake than after a Starbucks triple-shot latte. She could hardly wait to get to her aunt’s house.
After two and a half hours Sadie was a block from her destination. She steered down a wide residential street lined with quiet middle-class bungalows on spacious lots. Childhood memories flooded her. She remembered riding her bike down these roads, racing Dawn and Brian to the corner store to buy bagfuls of penny candy. She remembered camping in Aunt Lynn’s backyard under the stars with nothing in the yard with them except for Uncle Glen’s butterfly wood carvings that watched them from the fence boards.
She recognized the butterflies before she even noticed the small house. The one-level home looked half as big as she remembered it, but those damn butterflies, though faded from years of rain and sun, looked the same. There must’ve been forty at varying heights on the front fence that lined the driveway to the street, and more continued into the backyard. Some of them had lost the wiry antennae glued into their wooden bodies, but Sadie saw them through the eyes of her youth.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Sadie said, taking her key from the ignition.
Maeva yawned, stretched, and looked around.
“Holy crap. What’s with all the bugs?”
“My uncle carved them.”
“I don’t like bugs,” Maeva said, grabbing the tote bag at her feet and opening the car door.
“They’re not bugs,” Sadie said, opening her own door and closing it softly behind her. “They’re butterflies.”
In the dark the streetlight glinted off the metal antennae.
“Okay, maybe they’re a little freaky looking if you’re not used to them,” Sadie admitted.
“A little?” Maeva chuckled as she joined Sadie to walk up the stone path to the front door. “Are you sure your uncle didn’t think it was dead bugs he was talking to, instead of human spirits?”
At the front door, Sadie stood on tiptoe and ran the tips of her fingers along the top of the doorframe until she found the spare key that had been kept there since her childhood. She slid the key into the dead bolt, and the lock slid open easily.
They stepped inside and felt around for a light switch. The house smelled like lemon furniture polish and floor wax. The smells had her memories working overtime. She half expected her aunt and uncle to run over and give her a bear hug.
“So, what’s the plan?” Maeva asked, kicking off her flip-flops and surveying the rooms.
“I’m not sure,” Sadie admitted. She walked into the familiar open area that combined a living room and dining room. A country kitchen with rooster wallpaper was down the hall to the left. To the right, overstuffed sofas and chairs boasting faded yellow wagon-wheel patterns sat in front of an old TV.
“God, this place looks just the same as when Dawn and I visited as kids.”
“You sound surprised. When was the last time you visited your aunt?” Maeva asked.
“She’s come up to Seattle for Christmases, so I haven’t bothered to come here,” Sadie said, feeling guilty.
Maeva sat down on a sofa and put her feet up on an oak coffee table with a carved wagon-wheel wood inlay.
“This place is like stepping back in time to the age of tacky furniture,” Maeva said. “What’s the theme here? Circle the covered wagons?”
Sadie didn’t reply and she didn’t sit. Her butt still felt asleep from the long drive. Plus the more she walked around the small house, the more she felt an excited hum vibrating just under her skin.
“I’m feeling good about this. I think we might be able to reach Uncle Glen.” Sadie looked at Maeva. “Let’s do this thing.”
“Okay.” Maeva rolled her shoulders and turned her neck this way and that until the bones cracked. Then she hoisted her small tote bag and unpacked a large pillar candle, a Bic lighter, and a romance novel.
Sadie pointed to the book. “I don’t think that’s Uncle Glen’s kind of reading. I remember him as being more of a Lawrence Sanders fan.”
“This is for me. In case Uncle Glen’s stubborn about showing up, I don’t want to just sit here bored out of my mind.”
“Gotcha.”
Maeva lit the candle and a mellow vanilla scent wafted through the air. The medium settled back down on the sofa, closed her eyes, and began to hum “We’re Off to See the Wizard” from The Wizard of Oz. A small smile played on Sadie’s lips.
“Still the same ol’ song, huh?”
“Why mess with what works?” Maeva replied, and resumed humming.
Sadie knew from past experience that Maeva’s humming wasn’t about visiting Munchkins in Munchkinland or helping the Tin Man find a heart. It helped Maeva summon the dead.
After about ten minutes Maeva’s forehead had broken into a fine mist of sweat despite the fact that Sadie had cranked the air conditioner.
“No luck?” Sadie asked, breaking her friend’s spell.
“Not a thing. Sorry.” Maeva offered her a tight-lipped smile.
Sadie sat down for the first time and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. Exhaustion and crushed hope left her feeling an emotional wreck. She bit back tears.
“We’re both tired. How about if I make some coffee?” Maeva suggested, getting to her feet and walking toward the kitchen. “An infusion of caffeine will help us decide what we need to do next.”
“Maybe what we need to do next is just give up and drive back home,” Sadie said to herself.
She heard her friend opening and closing cupboard doors down the hall in the kitchen.
“You always did give up too soon,” a male voice spoke from across the room.
Sadie startled and looked to the sound of the voice. “Uncle Glen!” Sadie exclaimed, wanting to rush over and hug the old man standing next to the television.
“Yup. Even as a little girl. We’d play Monopoly and if I was beating your ass badly, you’d just want to give up.”
“Only if you were cheating,” Sadie exclaimed, a smile playing on her lips.
“I didn’t cheat, unless it was to let you win on account of you being too damn stubborn about losing.”
“I beat you fair and square. You never once let me win,” Sadie said indignantly. She closed her eyes with relief and let out a long breath. “It’s so good to see you, Uncle Glen.”
“You too,” he replied, his voice tender.
“I’m so sorry I never came to visit you at the, erm, in the—”
“Loony bin?”
Sadie cringed and her discomfort caused him to chuckle.
“That’s okay. I didn’t want visitors there and Lynn knew that. Damn depressing place what with everyone walking around talking to themselves.” He paused. “Me included.”
“About that . . .”
“I wasn’t crazy, Sadie. At least I don’t think so. I just couldn’t stop the voices inside my head. They’d only get louder if I didn’t reply to them. The docs put me on all kinds of meds. Said I was schizophrenic.”
“Were you?” Sadie asked quietly.
“No. The pills didn’t help. The docs thought they did, and that’s why they convinced Lynn to keep me there on account of she could never get me to take them a
t home.”
“Auntie Lynn never should’ve put you in that place,” Sadie said, feeling angry.
“Whoa, now, it sure wasn’t your aunt’s fault,” Uncle Glen said, and he waggled a finger at Sadie. “And you won’t be telling her about any of this, will you? It wouldn’t be right, her being made to feel guilty about something she couldn’t possibly understand.”
“I won’t say anything to her. I just wish I’d known that you had the gift and then I—”
“Gift?” He let out a bark of laughter. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? A gift?” He sat down on the love seat next to the sofa where she was, or actually he just kind of hovered over the cushions. “I sure as hell never thought of it as any kind of a gift. Listening to the voices of the dead was nothing but a curse. I kept it inside as long as I could. A guy I met in the institute told me when I passed it would go on to my loved ones. I sure as hell didn’t want that to happen. Especially not to Lynn.” He sighed. “But I should’ve let it go to Lynn, right? She had a good full life.” He looked over at Sadie, his face twisted in pain. “If I’d known it would go to Brian . . . and he’d kill himself because of it, I never would have—”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Sadie said. “You couldn’t help what happened.”
She felt a surge of sharp pain in her chest, thinking about how Brian would’ve thought he was crazy.
“And that’s how you ended up with it too?” he asked.
“Yes,” Sadie said.
He sighed and shook his head. “I guess I got it from my aunt Emma. They locked her away at twenty and she died inside a sanitarium after living there for nearly forty years. At least I got to live most of my life on the outside.” He pointed a finger at Sadie. “Those summers you and Dawn came to visit, those were the best of times for us. Without kids of our own, you were all we had.”
“Us and the butterflies,” Sadie joked.
“Yeah. The butterflies.” He shook his head sadly. “One for every soul I helped go over.”
Devil May Ride Page 22