ONCE UPON ANOTHER TIME

by McQuestion, Rosary

  “I suppose,” she said. Thanks for wrecking my excitement of telling you about that milestone in our relationship. Finally making it to his penthouse was huge.”

  “Sorry I ruined it. So tell me, was going to his penthouse everything you dreamed it would be?” I asked gamely.

  She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her chair. “Yeah, like everything and so much more,” she said with a sly smile. Laura had the voice and aloofness of Samantha Jones and the stiletto fetish of Carrie Bradshaw. All of which seemed to translate into focused confidence, while I was more the Miranda Hobbes type.

  “But enough about me, I’ll tell you the rest later when I have more time,” said Laura as she slid back in her seat. Her face took on a serious expression. “Let’s talk about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Throughout the entire three-hour arbitration hearing, I detected that look in your eyes.”

  “Look?”

  “When are you going to stop obsessing over Matt?”

  When I can finally talk to him and get everything straightened out about his accident.

  “Granted, I’ve never lost a husband, through death, that is,” Laura said sharply. “Although Robert did almost drive me to killing him,” she mumbled.

  She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’ve tried to understand the hurt you went through because of Matt’s unexpected death, but it’s been years--many years. It worries me when you take on this bleak, depressed state of mind every year when the anniversary of his death rolls around. You’ve got to stop torturing yourself, it’s not healthy.”

  If she only knew.

  I peered numbly at the yellow number two pencils in the holder on my desk. One was uneven with the rest so I pulled it out of the holder. “Laura, I never claimed to be a poster child for perfect mental health, but it’s not for lack of trying.” I jabbed the pencil into the electric sharpener. “I’ve tried to find a good therapist, but none of them seem to be able to relate to me.” My voice quavered, while I kept my eyes riveted on the sharp point of the now even-sized pencil and placed it back into the metal holder.

  All the years I lived with the guilt of thinking I’d caused Matt’s death, I never told anyone. I kept it to myself mainly because I didn’t believe in pity parties, not to mention I didn’t have all the facts.

  “There comes a point in everyone’s life,” Laura hissed under her breath, “when a person has to step up and take charge of their own destiny.”

  My eyes shot up from the pencils to give Laura an icy stare. “Excuse me, but I resent your accusation of me not being in charge of my life.”

  “What?” Laura’s eyes narrowed as she thrust her head forward. “How did you know I was--um--what I’m trying to say is that I never said that.”

  “You most certainly did! Saying it under your breath didn’t keep me from hearing--”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Dammit! There had to be a trick to this mind reading stuff, but until I figured it out, I thought it best that I look directly at the person to make sure their lips are moving during a conversation.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” I said. “It’s not as if I can’t read your mind after all these years. That is what you were thinking, wasn’t it?” I turned an ear toward her.

  Laura shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind, just listen. I worry about you. It’s like you destroy every relationship you have. Like Jack, you’ll probably never go out with him again. And you know why, because no one measures up. You stopped dating Greg because you didn’t like his wardrobe and--”

  “Oh, come on, Laura. The shiny black faux-leather jumpsuit? The long yellow scarf?”

  “How about Dan? You said he was too hairy and--”

  “The man had a braided chest!”

  “Michael?”

  “Peanut toes.”

  “Alex?”

  “Ex-priest, need I say more?” I said, returning the boring volley.

  “Thomas?”

  I paused. “Hmm, are you familiar with Greek Mythology the Sphinx in particular?”

  Laura gave me a curious look.

  “All right, I’ll tell you. The Sphinx is a creature with the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle and the head and breasts of a female.”

  “Here we go!” Laura said, throwing her hands in the air. “Have you ever wondered if the problem was you?”

  Sticks and stones and all that crap.

  “Why can’t you make an effort to be happy and enjoy life? Remember, you’re among the living--Matt is among the dead.”

  It felt as if my best friend had kicked me in the stomach. And by the look on Laura’s face I knew she had read the sadden stare in my eyes.

  “Honey, I’m sorry. That just slipped out the wrong way. What I meant to say is that Matt would want you to be happy. You need to loosen up. If you were half as good at relationships as you are at being a mother and a lawyer, your life would be perfect. Besides, if you were more relaxed it might ease your neurosis. It doesn’t work to try and put life into perfectly organized little compartments trying to control every aspect.”

  I placed my hands squarely on my hips. “I am not neurotic,” I said while thinking about the pigeon poop on the ledge outside my window. I’d called building maintenance twice, to get the schedule of the window washers who come twice a year.

  “Come on now be honest. You have underwear with the days of the week spelled out on them. You’re particular to the point that even the trash in your office wastebasket appears artfully arranged. And don’t think I haven’t seen the canned goods in your kitchen cupboard lined up like little tin soldiers with labels faced forward. I could go on but I won’t.”

  I gave a ruminative pause and folded my arms across my chest.

  A therapist once told me my OCD for perfection was overcompensation for something that was affecting my life that I felt was totally out of my control. I knew it had to do with that missing piece in my life, the trauma that occurred that blocked out my memory of why Matt would have gone jogging in fog, thick as pea soup, not giving mind to the fact that the edges of the bluffs corrode over time leaving them soft and dangerous.

  “And your point is?” I said.

  “My point is I just want you to be happy, and be the person you were before Matt died.”

  “With the exception of my gloominess, as you put it, that kind of thing only happens once a year. I happen to think I’m a pretty upbeat person.”

  “I’m not talking about that. Something up here,” she said tapping her index finger to her temple, “is off kilter. I want you to be able to fall in love again. That’s what I meant.”

  “Yeah, like that’s not going to take a miracle.”

  “Miracle,” Laura said, seizing on the word. “There’s always Jack,” she said in a singsong voice.

  I felt my face take on a pained look, the furrows between my eyes were practically cramping. “I’ll think about it,” I said, just to get her off my back.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” she said. Her lips transformed into the smile of a Cheshire cat, as she twisted the band of her Rolex to see the face. “I have to go,” she said and sprung to her feet. “Fendworth has me on a short leash today. She reached the door and dramatically whirled around to look back at me, like she was doing an outtake for Scarlett O’Hara.

  “You have to admit, Jack is cute,” she said with a giggle, and slipped out the door.

  Laura was right. I had allowed Matt's death to define me and my life. I never looked at losing Matt as a difficult challenge in my life to overcome, but as the obstacle in my life that was forever holding me back from being the person I used to be. It had made me broken, which separated my life into “before Matt died” and “after Matt died.” But seeing Matt’s ghost was majorly messing with my mind. I knew if I could figure out a way to talk to him, it could solve everything.

  Five

  “Aubrey, goodnight, see you tomorrow,” Laura said, as s
he poked her head in the doorway of my office.

  “Yes, tomorrow,” I said as I glanced up at her.

  With the exception of a luncheon engagement and an hour in court that afternoon, I had spent a good part of the day thinking about Matt. Periodically, I had wandered back to the boardroom feeling as if I’d misplaced an appendage. Each time I entered the boardroom I’d whisper into the air, “Matt if you’re here, give me a sign.”

  I had wondered if Matt was as desperate for communication as I was. I opened my desk drawer, pulled out a book I’d recently purchased and placed it on my desk. It was a research book on ghosts. I opened it to read the paragraph I’d bookmarked.

  Ghosts want what everybody wants--to be heard. Everybody wants to tell their side of the story. Ghosts stay, or get stuck because of this powerful need. Listen to me, they say. This is what really happened. Listen to me. This is my house. Listen to me. I mattered to somebody, once. Listen to me. I'm frightened. Listen to me. I am so sorry.

  That got me wondering. How does a spirit manage to manifest itself in the first place? Do some spirits have more oomph or skill it takes to appear as a full apparition as opposed to a ball of mist or an outline? Are some ghosts just really, really better at it than others? Has Matt been honing his skills all these years? Is that what took him so long?

  My phone vibrated, crawling across my desk. It was a text message from my mother.

  Nicholas said 2 remind u 2 stop at the store 4 cereal. R u still picking him up at 6:30?

  The woman didn't know how to program TiVo, but she had the texting skills of a teenager, surprising for someone who still maintained some of her flower child ways. Petite with silky long black hair and bearing a strong resemblance to Cher, my mother still preached holistic dieting, awareness of the universe, the power of crystals, and the twelve steps to somewhere to reach something with twin flames and angels.

  If I wanted, I could ask her about ghosts. My parents believed in anything and everything having to do with spirits and parallel universes, while I’d spent half my lifetime disputing their beliefs.

  For the second time, my phone had an incoming text. It was a picture message from Laura, depicting her beaming face sipping a martini. Just met up with David. Join us 4 a little bubbly. Max is here 2. Wink, wink. LOL!

  The last time I saw Max was in October. He had one too many drinks and tried to get me to go to the Halloween store to try on a naughty nurse’s outfit.

  I sent my mother a text letting her know I was on my way to the grocery store.

  * * * *

  “Mom, when people die they go to heaven like my dad, right?”

  Picking the comic book up off the floor, I turned to study Nicholas as he sat cross-legged on his twin-sized bed, framed by walls of skylark blue and tan. With jutting knees and tousled sandy hair shooting out beneath his Yankee’s baseball cap, he stared curiously at the dead chameleon in the palm of his hand.

  “Um, yes, when good people like your dad die, they go to heaven.” I placed the comic book on top of the dresser next to a small empty cage with a hamster wheel. Nicholas insisted the chameleon would want to play on the bright blue plastic wheel.

  “But you told me when Greenleaf died he went to heaven, too.” He wrinkled his nose as he stared up at me beneath the peak of his cap.

  “Well, I guess what I didn’t explain is that Greenleaf had gone to animal heaven.” Removing Nicholas’s baseball cap, I placed it on the night table, and sat down beside him.

  “But Mom, how can Greenleaf be in heaven when he’s still right here?” Nicholas adjusted his pillow to make more room for me. “And if my Dad went to heaven, how can he be buried in the ground at the cemetery? Can they be in two places at the same time?”

  Things were much easier when Nicholas was three years old and I first explained, “Daddy’s far away in heaven.” Somehow, he had made a connection with his Teletubbies’ video where they go far away. To him, his dad was hanging out in lands of big grassy knolls overrun with plump little creatures.

  “Well, actually Daddy’s body is here on earth, but his spirit is in heaven. Same with Greenleaf, his spirit went to heaven.”

  “Is a spirit like a ghost?”

  “Hmm, I suppose.”

  “Can you see ghosts?” Nicholas’s deep brown eyes widened.

  Oh sure, your father popped up just this morning.

  “Okay Partner, it’s time for you to go to sleep.” Slipping out from beside him, I fluffed up his Spider-Man themed pillow, and placed Greenleaf on the night table.

  “But Mom we were talking about ghosts and--”

  “End of discussion for tonight. We’ll talk about it another time,” I said, as I squeezed my palms against his cheeks, planted a kiss on his forehead, and switched off the bedside lamp.

  I padded downstairs to the study to catch up on the e-mails from work that I hadn’t had time to respond to. As I switched on the desk lamp, Buster startled me. I wasn’t expecting to see him camped out on my chair. His eyes were like half-drawn window shades, as he stretched out his jungle body.

  “Yeah, I know it’s a rough life but you have to move.” Lifting him off the chair, I placed him down on the leather loveseat.

  As I sat at my computer, thoughts of seeing Matt that morning played in my mind like a looped recording. I wondered how it was possible. My eyes traveled from one bookshelf to another. Tucked between the multicolored rows of spines were several photographs that told the story of my life. Perched on the shelf between To Kill a Mockingbird and Dating for Dummies, was a silver framed photograph of Matt and me on our wedding day. The intense emotion of the love, excitement, and happiness from that day suddenly came forth in a rush like a flash flood in a slot canyon. It felt as if time had rewound.

  Matt looked flawless in a black silk tuxedo and blindingly white shirt. His shoes polished and his bow tie perfectly straight under his strong, dimpled chin. Miniature pink roses and baby’s breath crowned my head, while my hair fell to my shoulders in loose spirals over a flowing strapless wedding gown. I was so nervous. I kept twisting a tiny stray piece of green floral tape that wrapped the stems on my wedding bouquet of pink centered white peonies. But when I looked into Matt’s eyes, a great calm washed over me.

  We spoke our vows on the north gardens of Blithewold Mansion against a spectacular sweeping view of the Narragansett Bay. Rows and rows of friends and relatives seated on white wooden folding chairs with satin bowed backs, cheered and clapped after we were pronounced husband and wife.

  As I stared at the photograph, I half expected something to happen, but what, I didn’t know. I reached for my briefcase sitting on the floor to the side of my desk. Next to the briefcase, a book laid open with pages face down, LOVE SPIRIT shown in neat gold letters on the gray linen spine.

  I leaned over, slipped my fingers under the book, and flipped it right side up. The top corner of the page was dogeared. I lifted the flap. The paragraph on the page spoke about a woman who owned a house haunted by a beautiful spirit. The woman considered the house her special refuge during sadness and struggles and that the spirit inhabiting the house had helped ease her pain.

  How the book had found its way to the floor next to my desk, when the wall of built-in shelves was on the opposite side of the study, I couldn’t imagine. As I closed the book and set it on my desk, the familiar soft sound of distant wind chimes caused my heart to lurch.

  I looked up and saw tiny sparkles with shimmering bursts of light swirling in the air like fairy dust, circling the framed wedding picture that rattled and danced on the bookshelf like a playful marionette.

  A smile crossed my lips as I stood up and stared in amazement, yet more amazing was my cavalier attitude about swirling fairy dust appearing out of nowhere and the wedding picture moving all by itself. I think I had half expected Matt would be there in my study, making his presence known. As I waited in anticipation for him to materialize, all at once, the sparkles shot out through the open French doors like the tail of a ki
te and into the flower garden sprinkling the night like tiny fireflies.

  My heart rattled with joy while thinking it was like something out of a fairytale. I knew it was Matt, of course, displaying his romantic, playful self, like how he’d express his love for me through poetry. His words so beautiful, so meaningful, that at times they took my breath away. I saved each and every poem, put them in a shoebox, and tucked them away in my closet.

  Even in college, he had a romantic side. We’d spend long, lazy afternoons at Baker Park listening to “Unchained Melody” while sipping cheap wine and feeling the grass between our toes. Once, Matt damaged the environment by using his car keys to carve our initials into a tall white oak. That same day he’d given me a beautiful bracelet with a heart-shaped pendant. The inscription on the back read, A. B., I Love You, M. P. M., initials for Aubrey Becker I love you, Mathew Paul McCory.

  He was amazing. He’d look at me and make me weak. Then he’d slip his strong arms around my waist, pull my body to his, and whisper in my ear while kissing my neck, “Mon petit chaton,” my little kitten, he’d say in his endearing New Jersey accent. I’d wrap my arms around his muscular shoulders, and let them slip down to his narrow waist. The trees in the park could have burned down around us, but as long as Matt’s mouth covered mine, I couldn’t care less.

  While smiling and thinking back to that world of shimmering reflections and the sound of laughter, I watched as the sprinkled sparkles in the garden diminished. Disappointed that Matt didn’t appear to me, I picked up the book from my desk to put it back on the shelf, when I became dizzy. I reached to grab hold of the arm of my office chair to steady myself, but missed and collapsed to the floor like a ragdoll that had lost its stuffing. Everything went black.

  Six

  A tall man with an aloof smile and thick brown hair swept back from his thin face, stood to the right of me as I rode the crowded elevator up to my office. He skillfully punched out a text message on his smart phone with a single thumb, while carrying a large saddleback briefcase. The elevator jerked as it stopped on the eighth floor. The man exited, but not before his briefcase inadvertently jabbed the bruise on my outer thigh, making me wince.