Haunting Jasmine

by Anjali Banerjee

  “This is the first time I’ve done anything like this,” I say, lying in the crook of Connor’s shoulder.

  “You’re a wild woman. You must have been a wild child.”

  “Not really. The closest I’ve come to wild is playing doctor with Alvin Gourd, the neighbor kid, when I was seven.”

  “We can play doctor now, if you want.”

  “I like this better.”

  “What did you do with . . . Alvin?” Connor says, stroking my hair.

  “We took off our clothes and looked at each other with flashlights.”

  “If you’re feeling nostalgic, I’m up for playing that game. Got a flashlight?”

  I pat his chest playfully. “You’re silly. I wanted to see where all his parts were. Reminded me of shriveled fruit.”

  “I’m not shriveled.”

  “Not a bit. You’re more like the Superman of the human body.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, Wonder Woman.”

  “I did run around in a cape when I was about five. I thought I could fly.”

  “I wanted to run at the speed of sound,” Connor says. “But I was too slow, and I had no muscle. My nickname was Chicken Legs.”

  “I can’t imagine you slow, with no muscles, or with chicken legs. Impossible.”

  “I changed when I grew up.”

  “So did I,” I say. “When I was little, I thought I heard the voices of spirits. Deep, dark secret. Nobody knows except Auntie Ruma. And now you know, too.”

  Connor is quiet, his body suddenly tense. “You talk to ghosts,” he says finally.

  “I’ve seen them in the bookstore, too. There, I’ve said it. You think I’m crazy.”

  “Not at all. The universe is full of spirits. Why wouldn’t you see some of them? You’re not crazy.”

  “Robert would say I was. When I confronted him about Lauren, he said I was crazy at first.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “It wasn’t any one moment. I didn’t catch them in bed together. Nothing so dramatic. It was an accumulation of details. I suspected him for a long time, but I was in denial. I secretly wanted to stay with him. I’m ashamed of that fact. I wanted life to go back to the way it was.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “But that life was an illusion.” I sit up and fluff the pillows. “I pretended I had no clue, but I knew before there was any real evidence. I started checking the numbers he called on his cell phone. I sniffed his clothes, checked his pockets. I even stopped by the university, sat at the back of his lecture halls. I started following him in my car.” That desperate woman was someone else, another version of me.

  “He forced you to turn into a detective. Who can blame you? He was an asshole. He didn’t deserve you.”

  “Thanks.” The room darkens, as if my sadness is leaching light from the stars. “I felt like an idiot, sneaking around. I’ve never told anyone I did that. Now I’ve told you.”

  “You’re not an idiot. Not even close.” He touches my face, his tenderness bringing tears to my eyes.

  “Thanks for being my cheering section.”

  “Anytime. I can wait on you, too. Are you hungry? Do you want something from the kitchen?” He’s getting up, his gorgeous form moving toward the door, sans clothing.

  “A slice of cheesecake, but I don’t have any.”

  He makes a magician’s motion with his fingers. “I’ll conjure one for you. There, cheesecake. Abracadabra.”

  I press my hands to my cheeks, feigning surprise. “You did it. Wow! While you’re at it, how about conjuring some Indian desserts?”

  “Like what?”

  “Mishti doi, a smooth Bengali yogurt. Or jelabis—orange, sweet pretzels dipped in syrup. Those are south Indian, but I love them. Pure sugar.”

  “I’m already in a diabetic coma.”

  “Or roshagollas—breadlike balls of pastry, also dipped in syrup.”

  “Is there a river of syrup in Bengal?”

  “There are many rivers.” I watch his profile in the darkness. He seems to be made of many tiny points of light.

  “Let’s visit one right now.”

  I lie back against the pillows. “I wish we could. I feel safe with you. But that’s silly, isn’t it? You could be just like Robert. You could sleep around on me. Go off with another woman. Tell everyone my secrets. You could say, by the way, Jasmine, I made no commitment to you.”

  “No commitment? We’ll see about that.” He comes back to bed and pulls me into his arms again, and I’m riding a sailboat on a smooth lake, clear as glass, dreaming, falling, healing.

  Chapter 36

  As night peels away its veil of darkness, Connor appears almost surreal lying beside me, an imprint of the perfect man summoned from my imagination. Funny, the way his face remains unchanged. The stubble has not grown on his jaw since yesterday. The scar on his chest is a dark dent, jagged at the edges.

  What happened to you? I mouth to him silently.

  His lashes flutter open, and he smiles at me. How to explain to him the rush of emotion in my heart? “How are you this morning?” he asks in a deep, sleepy voice.

  “I’m great. You make me feel beautiful. When Robert left me, I felt ugly. I thought, if only I were more attractive, he would stay with me.”

  “You’re always beautiful. Don’t ever question that.” He pulls me into his arms, and I snuggle in close.

  “When you say it, I believe it.”

  “Why shouldn’t you?”

  I nestle in the crook of his shoulder. “Reading about what your father witnessed, and endured himself, in Africa makes me feel that I can survive anything. People have put up with much worse. When I get back to L.A., I’ll be able to face whatever comes.”

  He strokes my hair. “So you’re leaving me.”

  “I have to make a living. I have loose ends to tie up with Robert.”

  “Then why don’t you come back here?”

  The possibility had planted a seed in my mind. “On this remote island? This is my aunt’s domain. Tell me you’ll come and see me in L.A.”

  He’s silent a moment. “I would love to, but—”

  “But what? You have other obligations? You’re not married, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “No girlfriend? Fiancée?”

  “No and no. You’re suspicious.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “One day you will learn to trust again.”

  “Maybe; maybe not. But I feel hopeful again.”

  He nuzzles my neck. “And I feel like a living, breathing man. I love the way you smell. I forgot the smell of a woman, and not just any woman. You have your own smell, Jasmine. I could inhale you all day and night.” He shifts position so that he’s lying on top of me, his elbows propping himself on either side of my body, and for a while, I forget my worries, forget my fears, forget the future....

  “How did that feel?” he asks finally, cradling my head in the crook of his shoulder. We’re both breathless.

  “Out of this world,” I whisper. I’ve given all of myself, and I have survived. I get up, pull on my robe, and open the blinds. “I wish this could last forever.”

  “I’m here with you now.” I feel him come up to me, stand behind me. He wraps his arms around my shoulders. I lean back against him, close my eyes, turn in his arms. Oh, the feel of him, the warmth. He strokes my hair. I look up at him, his face distorted from this angle.

  He kisses me again, a long kiss full of promise, full of good-bye. Then he extracts himself from me and pulls on his cargo pants, T-shirt, and travel jacket, as always. Strange for a doctor to wear the same casual clothes every time I see him.

  My heart is heavy, and yet, I am also renewed. He comes back to me and takes my face in his hands. “I hate to leave you. What do you want? Tell me.”

  “I thought I wanted no strings attached. Now I don’t want to be away from you.” I take a deep breath. “But I’ve got things to work out, a life to decip
her.”

  “I know you do. You’re on your way.” He’s dressed and ready to go, right down to the antique watch, which needs winding. The hands are stopped at three o’clock.

  “I’ll come with you this time.” In a minute, I’m dressed and following him down the narrow staircase. His outline seems to shimmer ahead of me, as if a miniature sun is shining in front of him.

  As we enter the first-floor hallway, Tony’s voice drifts from the tea room. He’s singing a haunting melody that reminds me of a sad farewell. He must have come in early to do inventory. The lights are on. And he must have left the front door unlocked, although the store is not yet open, because a man steps out of the parlor into the hall. He’s dressed in a black T-shirt and camouflage pants, and he’s holding a yellow Labrador retriever on a leash—a patient service dog. The man’s head is shaved to rival the best Marine haircut. Sweat glistens on his face. His hands are trembling.

  Connor holds up his hand to stop me. “Be careful. Don’t get too close to him.”

  “Why not?” But in a moment, I understand.

  The man drops to the floor and curls up in the fetal position. He’s gasping for breath.

  “Sir?” I say. “Are you all right? Can I help you?”

  The man moans, but doesn’t reply. Tony sings in the tea room, unaware of what is transpiring only yards away.

  “Oh, no,” I say. “What’s happening? Connor, can you help him?”

  “Call 911,” Connor says. “I have to go.”

  I tug at his sleeve. “Right now? You can’t go.”

  The man moans, shaking violently.

  “Make the call,” Connor says, his voice soft, regretful.

  My throat dry, I rush for the hall phone and punch in 911. The dispatcher comes on the line. “What is your emergency?”

  “There’s a man having some kind of an attack.” I give her the address and hang up. When I turn around, Connor is gone.

  The dog whines and licks the man’s face, then paces back and forth, agitated.

  Tony bursts from the tea room. “What’s going on here? We’re not open yet—oh, no! Should I call 911?”

  “I already did,” I say, looking around for Connor.

  A woman rushes down the hall and elbows her way past Tony. Olivia. “I heard someone yelling. Oh!” She sees the man on the floor and presses her hand to her mouth.

  “The paramedics are coming,” I say. “My friend was just here. He’s a doctor. Did you see him? Tall, dark hair?”

  “I didn’t see anyone.” Olivia kneels to read the tag on the dog’s collar. “Your name is Hercules,” she says softly, patting his head. “That’s a good boy. Everything’s all right.”

  Tony runs his fingers through his sprayed hair. “Should we try CPR? I wish I had taken a class.”

  “The medics are almost here,” I say.

  A siren wails, growing closer, and then the paramedics arrive, striding in with their equipment. They’re asking questions, taking the man’s vital signs, moving him onto a stretcher. Tony is talking to them, following them outside.

  “I’ll watch Hercules for now,” Olivia says to me. “Don’t worry.”

  “Thank you, Olivia,” I say as she leads Hercules outside. The door closes; I’m left alone. I check all the rooms, but Connor has vanished. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know he spent the night with me. But why? What if he’s hiding a secret?

  This should not surprise me, after Robert, but I feel as though I’ve been picked apart, bone by bone.

  Chapter 37

  “The guy’s going to be all right,” Tony says in the evening, just before closing.

  “What? Who?” I’m dusting the tables in the parlor with a soft cloth, trying to stay busy.

  “The camouflage kid. He has post-traumatic stress. Just got back from a war zone. He’s going to need counseling.”

  I fold the cloth into a neat square. “Does he have any family to help him through this?”

  “Fiancée, parents. They went to the hospital.”

  “That’s good, that he has a fiancée.” Someone to be there for him in his time of need.

  Tony grabs his coat from the closet. “You haven’t heard from Dr. Hunt, have you? I can tell by your long face.”

  “Am I that obvious?” I try to smile.

  “Stop working so hard. Come out for dinner with me. Forget about Dr. Hunt for a while. He’ll come around.”

  I unfold the cloth and return to dusting. “Maybe he will, or maybe he’s like my ex-husband. Maybe I’m a jerk magnet.”

  “Give him the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure he has a reason—”

  “It had better be good. Look, I’ll stay here and close up. I’m tired anyway.” And Connor might come back. He has a lot of explaining to do.

  “Do something good for yourself. Soak in a bubble bath. Don’t worry about the good doctor. He probably fell for you and freaked himself out. He’ll be back.”

  I wave the cloth at him. “Go on. Get out of here.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “You, too.”

  After Tony leaves, the silence is almost unbearable. I should take him up on his dinner offer. Maybe I can catch him before he reaches the ferry. As I stride down the hall, the floor creaks behind me.

  “Leaving so soon?” Connor says.

  I whip around, my body already at war with itself—flush with relief and at the same time tight with anger. “I didn’t hear you come in! How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to hear what Tony said. He’s right. I did fall for you. But I didn’t freak myself out.”

  “Then why did you leave? Why didn’t you do anything to help that man? Are you not really a doctor?” I press my hand to my forehead. The hall seems to shrink.

  “I am a doctor. But I couldn’t help.” He looks tall and solid, casting his shadow in the hall.

  “You could have taken his vitals, at the very least. Why didn’t you?” I feel as though I have just stepped onto a moving ice floe. The cold wind blows over me, and every part of me is numb.

  “You know the answer. You read my memoir.”

  “Your father’s memoir—”

  “Not my father. I wrote that memoir. You admire my father. He is me. Was me.”

  I grab the banister, hold on for dear life. “But he’s dead.”

  Connor nods. “I was about to come home from Africa. I didn’t make it.”

  “That scar on your chest.” I need to sit down. I need air—

  “A poacher shot me in Nigeria. This is a gunshot wound, the shot that killed me.”

  The shot that killed me.

  I close my eyes, hoping this moment isn’t true.

  Outside, the rain splatters down in giant-sized droplets. “You disappear when you step out the front door,” I say, half to myself. “You show up at the worst possible moments. I thought it was coincidence. But you were always here.” Images of our lovemaking return to me. The places we did it—the positions. I didn’t even do those things with Robert.

  “The island was my home. After I died, I wandered for a while. Restless. I found refuge here.”

  “When did you first ... show up? Why did you appear to me?”

  “The first moment I saw you, when you cursed Robert’s family jewels, I knew. I knew I had to talk to you. I knew you could see me. You and your aunt share a special talent.”

  A special talent. Or perhaps a curse. “Were you watching me all the time?”

  “I gave you the privacy you needed. You were always safe with me.”

  “I thought I was safe with Robert, too.”

  “I’m not Robert.”

  “I know you’re not. But I thought—I hoped—I don’t know what I hoped for.”

  “If I could stay with you, I would. If I could love you forever, I would.”

  “But you went with me to Seattle. You ate pizza . . . you even had dessert. How can that be?” I wipe tears from my eyes.

  “The force of your will, and bringi
ng my memoir out of the store, allowed me to be with you for a while. But that time has passed, and now—”

  “Now you have to go,” I whisper. Tears blur my vision. “Your watch stopped . . .” The moment you died.

  Connor takes me in his arms. “Please don’t cry. My task was to help you. My last task here on earth.”

  I press my cheek against his chest. “I don’t want you to go. Please don’t leave me.”

  “I can’t remain here. I would be nothing but a wisp of smoke drifting through this bookstore forever.”

  “But I can hold your memoir, carry it outside, and you can come outside again with me—”

  “That could happen only once, for only one day.”

  “No, please. I love you, Connor, I always have.”

  “I love you, too,” he says slowly, “in every moment of light and darkness, in every wink of the stars. I love you when you sleep, when you first awaken in the morning. I love you all the time.”

  “Then stay!” I hug him tightly. I’m trembling, breaking. If I don’t let go, he can’t leave.

  “I have no choice,” he says gently. “Thank you for letting me feel the sunlight on my face, the island breeze, one last time. Thank you for letting me taste the wonder of the life I lost, of love.”

  “Connor, no.” But I have to let him go. He’s been trapped here, in this limbo.

  “You don’t need me anymore. You’re strong, so much stronger than you know. You’ll be all right now. Don’t turn away from happiness. Take the leap.”

  “You are my happiness.”

  “And you are mine.” He pulls away and rests his hands on my shoulders, but already their weight is dissipating.

  Chapter 38

  “I wish I could have seen him,” Tony says as we wipe down the shelves and windowsills, surfaces that, mysteriously, always end up dusty again. “I can’t believe that hunk of a man was standing right there all along. Is he still here watching us?”

  “I told you,” I say, “not anymore.”

  “I just can’t believe it. You made love with a ghost.”

  I nod and smile, remembering the fun Connor and I shared, the intimate moments that I hope he recalls in the Great Beyond.