ONCE UPON ANOTHER TIME

by McQuestion, Rosary

  I rolled over on my back. With my jiggle flesh flattened, the fire of Gavin’s body lying on top of mine soothed my anxiety. Like another place in time, familiar feelings of long ago washed over me like salty waters healing the wounds of my heart with overwhelming joy--passion--love. The earth moved and my heart, at last, felt whole again.

  Twenty-two

  Laura sat at the break room table with her head buried in her hands, as I stood at the counter staring down at the cheery looking turquoise and orange pamphlets advertising the South Beach diet.

  Mrs. Fendworth sashayed over to the bulletin board in sky-high stilettos. Her painted-on black slacks hugged her curves tighter than a tangled rope wrapped around a bulldog in heat.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this but pastries are too much temptation for Henry,” she said, as she tacked a flyer to the bulletin board asking everyone to ban all unnecessary sugary carbs from the break room. “Okay, done,” she said, and let out a fatigued sounding sigh and wiggled her way out the door, her high tight ponytail swinging from side to side.

  I casually looked over at Laura, who was still not speaking to me after I’d shared my opinion that I thought Gavin was psychic, and maybe he was somehow connected with Matt. Although I truly wanted to believe that theory, my mind kept taking me to other places--outlandish thoughts about reincarnation. Not that I knew anything about the subject, but I did know the theory involves a person dying and being reborn as an infant. This meant Matt would have had to die before Gavin was born, which made no sense.

  After I told Laura about the boat incident and explained my theory, she went silent. I said nothing while thoughts percolated in her head.

  “Okay,” she said as she shot up from the table. “We’d talked about this before and I got the impression you were on your way to getting better. But not letting go of Matt is, well…ugh! What you told me about Matt and Gavin somehow connecting? It’s absurd!”

  I was glad I’d kept my wits about not mentioning my mind reading episodes, my actual encounters with Matt, or that he’d relayed his thoughts to me by using the novel as his talking tool. Instead, I tiptoed around the subject and blamed any assumptions I’d had about Matt and Gavin having a connection on Mother Paula.

  “Okay, so maybe it sounds ridiculous, but how could Gavin have so many of Matt’s quirky habits, and why would he call me chaton? Who uses that term? And how would he know the name of our sailboat?” You know what Mother Paula said about it all.

  Laura rubbed her fingertips to her forehead and squeezed her eyes closed, then snapped them back open. “You’re an intelligent, sensible woman. How can you believe some quack fortuneteller who looks like a character out of Young Frankenstein?”

  “She really did see Matt. She knew he fell from a high cliff.”

  “I don’t believe it. Someone must have told her. Besides does Gavin have a birthmark in the shape of a star on his thigh like she’d said?”

  “Well, not that I could see.”

  “Told you.”

  “Yes, but she knew other things, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “She knew Matt and I had argued, that he had left our room and that it was foggy outside. You’re the only one I’d ever told. Did you tell Cacey or Katelyn about the argument?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, then how did Mother Paula know?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “My point exactly. She said that Matt and Gavin were one in the same person, which I don’t really understand, but maybe Matt’s…”

  Laura’s eyes narrowed as my voice dropped off. “Maybe Matt’s what?” she asked sternly.

  Do I dare say?

  “Well?” she said, “finish what you were going to say.”

  “Um…maybe Matt’s here?”

  “Now you’re really going off the deep end.”

  “Listen, I need some answers. We should go see her.”

  “See who, the quack?”

  “Yes, Mother Paula. Maybe she can tell me what’s going on and what she means by Matt and Gavin being the same person, but I don’t want to go by myself.”

  “Oh, no,” Laura said waving a finger at me. “You are not going to get me to go with you, ever.”

  * * * *

  Old red brick apartment buildings with cloudy windows lined the street of Mother Paula’s neighborhood. A jumbled sound of a jackhammer emanated from a manhole surrounded by a chain link fence, while a noisy garbage truck pulled out from an alley. Looking west into the late afternoon sun, I lowered my vehicle visor to block the brightness.

  “Are you sure this is the right neighborhood?” asked Laura.

  “It’s right there on the GPS,” I said, pointing to my dashboard.

  “I had the impression Mother Paula worked out of some hip little studio on a block with art galleries.”

  “There it is, right across the street between Annie’s Bookstore and Fred’s Pawnshop,” I said, as I made a sharp right and parked the vehicle.

  Laura looked out the passenger window and peered over her shoulder. “I’m questioning how safe this neighborhood is.” She opened the door and paused, waiting for the fiftyish looking man who was talking to himself to pass by before she got out.

  “Come on,” I said, as I looked across the street at the electronic LED sign in the window that flashed MOTHER PAULA, SPIRITUAL ADVISER/MEDIUM. Contact Your Dearly Departed, $55.00. Black velvet drapes inside the storefront window blocked viewing into the shop.

  A bell attached to the door jingled as we walked in. I’d expected the shop to be filled with dark corners, the smell of burning incense and have ceremonial sickles hanging from the ceiling. However, the atmosphere was bright and filled with colorful books with titles like “A Home for Healing,” “Spiritual Evolution,” and “Powerful Voodoo Spells.” An open archway to the left of the front door, led to the attached storefront of Annie’s Book Store.

  Straight ahead on the countertop next to the cash register was a point-of-purchase cardboard cutout sign of Mother Paula’s face with an arrow pointing toward the back of the shop. The clerk behind the counter, a young man with blonde spiked hair and extreme black eyeliner, nodded to us as we passed him.

  Headed toward the back of the store, we passed displays of spiritual supplies, Catholic saint’s items, candles, mojo bags, hand-made spiritual jewelry, conditioning oils, spell oils, voodoo candles, rosaries, and voodoo art.

  “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” Laura bristled.

  “Oh, look,” I said, as I waved a Big Lucky Hoodoo Chicken Foot Charm in her face.

  “Stop it!” She grabbed the charm and hung it back on the spinner display. “Now remember what you promised me. You are never to tell a living soul that I ever came here with you.”

  “Hmm,” I mumbled, as I looked around the corner of the dimly lit hall. “Guess she must be upstairs.”

  Laura hugged herself and nervously looked around as if something evil was about to break through the walls and grab her as we climbed the rickety, wooden stairs. “This really is a bad idea.”

  “Stop complaining,” I told her.

  At the top of the stairs was an old wooden office door with frosted glass. Black block lettering outlined in gold on the glass spelled out--MOTHER PAULA. We walked into the sparse looking waiting room with creaky hardwood floors and two red velvet settees. Lighting in the cramped waiting area consisted of four antique looking candle wall sconces mounted on either side of two walls. Behind a counter lined with various spiritual pamphlets and a sliding glass window was a reception desk. I poked my head through the opening, to find the receptionist.

  “Look,” said Laura, as she pointed to a framed certificate that hung on the wall to the left of where we entered. “I Hereby Certify,” she read, “that Annie Paula has passed the Three Levels of Spiritual Attunement. Oh brother,” Laura said, while rolling her eyes.

  “Interesting,” I replied. “Mother Paula must own Annie’s Bookstore.”


  A knocking sound suddenly came from the other side of the wall and a woman’s voice bellowed, “I feel his vibration, he’s here, and he’s coming closer. Yes, yes, yes!”

  “It’s Antonio!” called another woman. “How does he look? Does he miss me?”

  “Hello, may I help you?” said a flat sounding voice behind us.

  We both spun around on our heels. An attractive looking thirty-something woman with wavy, shoulder length blond hair peered back at us. Wearing a screaming bright chartreuse shirtdress, with a high flipped up collar, a string of pearls around her neck, bracelet to match and ten piercings in her ear and one in her nose, she looked like Cyndi Lauper doing an impersonation of June Cleaver.

  “Yes, I’m here to see Mother Paula,” I said.

  “Did you call for an appointment?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman walked through the doorway that led to the desk behind the counter. “Your name?” she asked while looking at a computer screen.

  “Aubrey McCory.”

  “Ah, yes, you called about your deceased husband.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And your name,” the woman said as she looked at Laura.

  “I don’t have an appointment, I’m just--”

  “Actually, she does have an appointment, sort of.”

  “Aubrey, I am not--”

  “Her name is Laura Wentworth,” I said, as I handed the woman my charge card. “I had asked if I could bring a friend for support. She’s just going to observe, not participate.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember,” the woman said, while clacking the buttons on her keyboard.

  A door to the left of the receptionist creaked open.

  “Grazie, grazie. God bless you Mother Paula,” said an elderly Italian woman, as she emerged from behind the door.

  Mother Paula stood at the doorway. “Thank you Mrs. Brandofino, we’ve made great progress.”

  Seated behind a table at Cacey’s party, Mother Paula somehow seemed taller, but her deep black hair with lightning bolt streaks of gray, and gash of red on her thin, straight lips was exactly how I’d remembered her.

  “I’ll see you next week,” she said to the Italian woman, and disappeared into the same room she’d just walked out of, while closing the door behind her.

  “Please have a seat,” said the receptionist. “We like to allow five minutes between appointments for smudging.”

  As Laura and I settled on the settee, I leaned over and whispered, “What’s smudging?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and picked up a magazine from a side table.

  I did feel a little silly. I’d spent my entire childhood thinking my parents were a little wacked for believing in spirits and fortunetellers. Yet there I was, hoping to find answers about Matt, worried he could be stuck between the world of the living and the dead. From all my online research and watching reruns of that woman who talks to ghosts, there was a consensus that when one dies they need to find their way toward the light. Perhaps Matt never found his way. More mysterious was the fact that Gavin was so much like Matt. I knew I was grasping at straws, but Mother Paula did know things about my life that had amazed even a non-believer like me.

  “Mother Paula will now see you,” said Mrs. Cleaver.

  Laura and I entered a dark room filled with dozens of burning candles in all shapes and sizes. The flames created shifting symmetrical patterns across what looked like ancient jeweled books, prayer scrolls, and artifacts that occupied a wall of bookshelves. Glowing incense burners dotted the room, while a mixed aroma of patchouli and myrrh mingled in the air. I’d read that psychics burned myrrh for protection and healing.

  A wingback leather chair sat behind an antique desk, while a surround sound stereo system made it seem as if softly tinkling wind chimes were coming from every part of the room. The sound I’d hear whenever Matt’s spirit used to be somewhere close to me.

  Rich looking tapestry drapes hung across one full wall, which I’d assumed were covering windows to block out the daylight. A round séance table draped in gold lame′, at which Mother Paula sat, was in the center of the room. Two empty chairs flanking either side of the table looked as if they were leftovers from a misplaced dining room set. The ensemble didn’t match the rest of the décor.

  I’d heard of celebrity athletes who were superstitious and wore the same article of clothing they’d worn the very first time they’d won a game, in hopes of it bringing them good luck for sequential games. Maybe it was Mother Paula’s lucky table and chairs from years ago.

  Dressed like a businesswoman about to conduct a boardroom meeting, she raised a nicely manicured hand and gestured toward the miss-matched dining room chairs. “Please, sit.”

  Her attractive clothing and expensive looking jewelry, told me she could afford a swanky downtown office. However, I could understand the charm of the old neighborhood and bookstore that gave her business perfect ambiance.

  “I remember you,” Mother Paula said softly, as her dark raven-like eyes studied me. “I was on a tight schedule that day with all the women I had to read, but I had hoped to spend more time with you. I feel as if we share similar gifts.”

  Laura stifled a laugh. “You two have something in common?”

  By “gifts,” I knew she meant my ability to see spirits and read minds. It wasn’t until that moment it occurred to me that somewhere along the way I’d lost both gifts. Nevertheless, I had to change the subject quickly, as I didn’t want Laura asking more questions.

  “So, how about we get right into the reading?”

  Mother Paula’s eyes widened as she peered at Laura. “Would you mind removing your elbow from the table and scooting your chair back slightly?” she said as she waved a hand over the table. Her platinum bangle bracelets jingled and glistened in the candlelight. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but don’t touch anything. It could cause karmas to mingle which would completely throw off the reading. I hope you understand.” She narrowed her eyes, her expression somber.

  Laura gave me that ha-ha-I-now-have-an-excuse-to-leave look. “I’ll go wait out in the reception area,” Laura said in a chipper tone as she stood up from her seat.

  I grabbed her arm. “Sit down. I need you here with me. I know you think this is a bunch of bologna. I did too. No offense,” I said as I glanced at Mother Paula. “But I need a witness. Think of it this way. If nothing comes about through the reading, you’ll get to tell me I was wrong. That should be a reward in itself.”

  Laura gazed upward as if the answer to her decision to stay or go were floating above her head. “Fine,” she huffed, as she sat back down.

  Mother Paula shuffled the deck of tarot cards. “You are here because you have questions concerning your deceased husband?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Please cut the deck.”

  I removed the top half of the cards and placed them on the glistening gold lame′ table cover sparkling with candlelight. Mother Paula took the remaining cards, set them on top of mine, and let them sit in the center of the table.

  “If you recall from your last reading, we will begin by closing our eyes. I want you to think about questions, things you want to know. Try to connect with your soul, your spirit,” said Mother Paula, as she closed her eyes.

  “It’s so dark in here I can barely see,” said Laura as she rummaged through her purse.

  I closed my eyes to concentrate on Matt and whether his spirit was somehow lost between two parallel universes. And why would Gavin be uncannily like Matt in his mannerisms, right down to the caveman way he’d hold his spoon when digging into a bowl of cornflakes or why would he feel I was someone he’d known from the past. How could he have recalled being on Matt’s sailboat, when that is impossible?

  Upon opening my eyes, to let Mother Paula know I was ready, I caught her looking at me with a penetrating stare. A look of mystery pooled in her eyes, while shadows from the candle flames flickered across her face. Although I’d felt relieved after it o
ccurred to me that I’d lost my mind reading abilities, staring into her eyes, I wished I’d known what she was thinking.

  “Are you ready to begin?” she asked.

  “Whenever you are.”

  Mother Paula shuffled the cards and fanned them out. I chose six cards from the deck.

  “Hmm,” she hummed as she flipped over the first card with a picture of two knights. “I see two men. There is a struggle of some sort. One of them is being dishonest. Do you currently have two men in your life?”

  I glanced at Laura whose eyebrow shot up as if to say, well, do you, or do you not have two men?

  Tricky question I thought and asked, “Would that include the dead?”

  Laura’s dramatic sigh made me want to slap her.

  “What do you expect?” I said, while glaring at her. “I’m here to get answers about Matt and besides--”

  “Excuse me,” Mother Paula interrupted. “Both men are very much alive.”

  “Ha!” Laura laughed.

  “That’s impossible,” I said, while feeling a tingly, strange feeling creep through my bones.

  Even Mother Paula looked confused. “Let’s look at the next card. It’s the justice card, meaning the past creates the future.” She paused. “Now I only see one man, a tall handsome man with very dark hair. Ah, I recall seeing this man in my mind the last time I’d read you. This man is your soul mate, is he not?”

  I nodded and glanced at Laura with an I-told-you-so look on my face knowing that Laura caught the drift that Mother Paula was talking about Gavin.

  “Your past relates to him directly.”

  “How so?”

  “It has something to do with your deceased husband. I have strong feelings about an unusual connection between the two men.”

  “The last time I saw you, you told me that they were one in the same.”

  “Yes, because that’s how I see them. Did they know each other?”

  “No, but an odd thing happened the other day. Gavin had a memory of being on a sailboat, but said he’d never been on one. More surprising was he remembered the name of the sailboat, which happened to be my husband’s sailboat.”