Kindred Spirits

by Jean Marie Bauhaus

  Back at his desk, he found a DVD case with a sticky note on the front. He picked it up and read, Here are the clips. Enjoy your vacation. —B. Of course, Brian had known already. No doubt, Mark had discussed the situation with him before sending him to fetch Derek.

  With a sigh, he tore off the Post-It, crumpled it up, and tossed in the cylindrical file receptacle before tucking the DVD safely in his computer bag. He undocked his laptop and packed that up, too. Technically, it was station property, but since he wasn’t actually fired, he assumed he could hang onto it.

  He surveyed his desk for anything else he should take with him. His action figures should be safe enough until he came back. His gaze landed on the picture of himself and Jimmy. After a moment’s deliberation, he grabbed that and packed it up, too.

  His stomach growled, prompting him to check his watch. Almost noon already. He might as well eat before heading home. That should give Jimmy plenty of time to finish recovering. Hopefully, he’d be awake and talking by the time Derek returned.

  With another look around at everything he’d be missing for the next three weeks, Derek slung his bag over his shoulder and realized he wouldn’t actually miss it that much. Maybe this enforced vacation wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The rooftop patio of El Guapo’s filled up fast. Chris sat alone at a table for four, munching on chips and salsa and regretting her decision to order lemon water instead of a margarita. Her dad had chosen this place, which had surprised her. He was normally more of an Outback Steakhouse kind of guy. She’d arrived ahead of the lunch crowd, only to discover that he’d even called ahead and reserved a table.

  She’d expected to be led to a small table for two and had been surprised when the hostess had led her to a larger table with four chairs. She hadn’t said anything then, but as the patio filled up, she felt guilty taking up so much space. She was about to flag down a waiter to ask to be moved to a smaller table when a voice behind her boomed, “There’s my girl!”

  Chris turned to see her dad, handsome as ever, weaving through the crowd. She smiled and stood up, holding her arms out for a hug as he reached her. He wrapped her in a bear hug and murmured, “Good to see you, baby girl.”

  “You too, Dad.” She kissed his smooth cheek. He still smelled like Old Spice, even though his girls had stopped buying that stuff for him years ago. Chris was glad. She always found that smell comforting. It was a dad smell.

  As he let her go she opened her mouth to suggest changing tables. But the words froze as she noticed a woman standing behind her father, watching them expectantly as if waiting to be introduced.

  “Honey,” her dad said, following Chris’s gaze, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He stepped back and slipped an arm around the mystery woman’s waist. “This is Marsha.”

  “Marsha,” Chris heard herself repeat, her mind going numb. “Like the Brady sister,” she blurted, her mouth having switched to auto-pilot.

  The woman’s smile flickered—no doubt that was the eleventy-millionth time in her life someone had made that reference—but it steadied and grew wider as she held out a hand. “That’s right. And you must be Chrissy. I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like we’re practically best friends already.”

  “Is that right?” Chris felt a big, fake, deer-in-headlights grin plaster itself across her face as she shook the woman’s hand. She took the opportunity to size her up. She looked to be about ten years older than Chris—if that. She wore a bright yellow “ladies who lunch” sun dress. Perfectly pedicured toenails peeked out of open-toed pumps and glossy brown hair hung in perfectly sculpted waves past her shoulders. A pair of over-sized white sunglasses perched on top of her head.

  Chris released her hand and looked at her dad, who beamed at Chris like he’d just presented her with the pony she’d spent most of her childhood begging for.

  “Marsha, huh?” was all she could think to say.

  “She’s why I’m in town. Marsha’s got family here, too, and when she said she was coming up to see them—”

  “We decided to come together and make a weekend of it,” Marsha finished for him. “We thought about calling ahead, but then we thought it would be fun to surprise you.”

  “Well, I sure am surprised, all right.” Chris gave her dad a look that she hoped said, “You should’ve called.” The slightly sheepish look he gave in return signaled that the message came through loud and clear.

  “Why don’t we sit down?” he said, a little louder than necessary. He pulled a chair out for Marsha while Chris seated herself. She wished Ron was there. At the same time, Chris was really glad she wasn’t there to see this.

  A waiter appeared to hand them two more menus and take their drink orders. “I’ll go ahead and have a margarita,” Chris blurted before anyone else had a chance to order.

  Her dad frowned.”It’s only noon.”

  “But they make the best margaritas here,” Marsha spoke up. “I’ll have one, too.” She winked at Chris as though they were co-conspirators in noon-time cocktails. Her dad made a show of caving in. “Well, in that case I guess you should make that three.”

  The waiter nodded and promised to be back soon with their drinks. Then he left them there, staring at each other over the half-eaten bowl of chips. Marsha reached out and helped herself to one.

  “Don’t you just love this place?” She scooped up a mouthful of salsa. “I always make it a point to come here whenever I’m in town.” She popped the chip in her mouth and beamed at Chris as she chewed.

  “This is actually my first time here,” Chris admitted. At Marsha’s surprised look, she added, “I don’t eat out much. I generally prefer take-out in my PJs.”

  Marsha jabbed a perfect, French-manicured nail at her as she swallowed her chip. “Your father told me you don’t have any attachments.”

  “Did he now?” She turned her frozen smile toward her dad, who focused intently on the chips.

  “We were discussing it on the drive up.” Marsha pressed on, undaunted. “You know, I’ve got a nephew your age. He’s in his final year of law school. He’s very handsome, and he’s going to be very successful. And he’s very unattached.”

  All Chris could do in response was stare at her dad. He met her gaze and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Marsha, maybe this isn’t—”

  “Oh,” she said, cutting him off and pressing on, “and he shares your little hobby.”

  “My…hobby?”

  “Yeah, you know.” Marsha grabbed another chip and broke it into smaller bites. “Haunted houses? He’s seen every single episode of Ghost Hunters. You two should meet. I’m really thinking you’d hit it off. Drew, don’t you think they’d hit it off?”

  “I, um.” Drew Wilson stammered, still looking uncomfortable, which gave Chris a certain amount of satisfaction. “Well, I mean, he is studying to be a lawyer.” He looked at Chris. “You could do worse.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Marsha. “Anyway, if you’re not doing anything this evening, my parents are having a family barbecue. He’ll be there. You should come.”

  Chris was speechless. Her mind started racing, trying to find a way to back out of this gracefully. And also trying to decide whether she actually wanted to be all that gracious about it. Suddenly, a life preserver appeared before her eyes. She blinked to make sure she was seeing correctly as a man who looked just like Derek Brandt followed the hostess to a little table at the edge of the patio.

  “Actually, I’m already seeing someone,” she blurted. Her dad and Marsha both looked at her in surprise. Marsha did a poor job of masking disappointment. “Since when?” her dad asked.

  “Since recently. He works downtown, and I asked him to meet us here for lunch. Oh, hey, there he is now. Excuse me.” She got up and went to intercept Derek before he was seated.

  “Hey!” He smiled at the sight of her. Then he frowned in confusion. “What are you doing here?” />
  “Lunch with my dad. Listen, I don’t have time to explain, but do you really want to be my hero?”

  “Um, sure.” He didn’t sound entirely certain.

  “Great. Come with me and play along.” She grabbed his hand before he could change his mind and led him back to her table, where both Marsha and her dad watched them with interest. “This is Derek,” she told them. “Derek, this is my dad, Drew Wilson, and his…um.”

  “I’m Marsha.” She extended a graceful hand with a smile, sidestepping the question of what, exactly, she was to Chris’s father.

  “Nice to meet you both,” said Derek as he shook both their hands. He pulled Chris’s chair out for her before taking the empty seat for himself. She took note of the fact that he did this without having been instructed to act like her boyfriend.

  Their waiter exhibited impeccable timing by choosing that moment to deliver their drinks. “And for you, sir?” he asked Derek as he distributed the margaritas to their owners. Chris didn’t waste any time taking a gulp of hers, ignoring the stink-eye her dad gave her.

  Doug looked around at the drinks. “I guess I’ll have what everyone else is having.”

  “You can have mine.” Marsha slid her drink across the table to Derek. “Drew and I can share, can’t we, honey?” Without giving him a chance to answer, she went on. “These things go straight to my head. I don’t want to show up to my parents’ house already blitzed.” She giggled and then turned serious. “Besides, it’s a bit of a drive out to their place, so your father really should take it easy.”

  “Thanks,” Derek said when she finished. He looked over at Chris, who was still busy sucking lime-flavored fortitude through a giant straw. The waiter held out a menu for him, but he waved it away. “I’ll just have the nacho platter.”

  “Very good. And you, miss?”

  Chris realized everyone was looking at her. She stopped drinking long enough to say, “Fish tacos, please.”

  “Oh, those are so good here,” said Marsha. “I’ll have those, too.” Chris wondered whether all this sucking up was meant to impress her or her dad, who kept things simple by ordering another plate of nachos.

  Once the waiter left, everyone settled back. Chris took this as her cue to stop drinking. The tequila had already made her feel more relaxed, enough so that she almost started to find all of this funny. She glanced over at Derek and realized she also started to find him even more attractive, which was saying a lot. It was also saying that it was definitely time to lay off the booze.

  As she slid her glass out of easy reach, her dad asked the million-dollar question. “So, Derek, how long have you been seeing my daughter?”

  Derek opened his mouth and looked at Chris. She was sure the words about to come out were, “What the heck is he talking about?” But without missing a beat, he said, “I’d say this is technically our fourth time out together. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.” She nodded emphatically. “That’s right.”

  Her dad’s eyes narrowed, and for a second, she thought he didn’t buy it. But then he asked, “Why do you look so familiar to me?”

  “Derek’s a reporter for Channel 24.”

  Her dad’s face filled with recognition, and he snapped his fingers. “That’s right.” He pointed at Derek. “You’re the crime buster guy.”

  “That’s so fascinating.” Marsha leaned her elbows on the table, laced her fingers together, and rested her chin on them. “Can you tell us about any juicy stories you’re working on?”

  “Actually, none. I’m on vacation.”

  Startled, Chris looked at him. She hoped vacation wasn’t code for suspension. Or worse, unemployed.

  “Well,” said Marsha, raising her glass, “you’re off to a great start.”

  Derek smiled and clinked glasses with her. “You can say that again.” He looked at Chris as he took a drink.

  “So do you two have anything romantic planned for your vacation?” Marsha resumed her chin-propped-on-fingers position.

  Derek looked at Chris, his eyebrows raised, clearly intending to let her field this question. He seemed to be enjoying this a little too much.

  “Not really. We don’t have anything special planned.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” said Marsha.

  “Actually,” said Derek, “Chris is helping me with a project.”

  “Oh? What sort of project?”

  “Digging into some family history.”

  “You mean like genealogy?” Marsha sat up straight. “Oh! Does this have anything to do with Chris’s psychic abilities?”

  “Marsha.” Drew’s tone held a note of warning.

  Her eyes widened and she put a hand over her mouth. Then she asked Derek, “You know about that, right? Please tell me I didn’t just spill the beans.”

  “I’m not psychic.” Chris didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “And yes, he knows.”

  “Seen it in action,” Derek confirmed.

  “Well, I think it’s wonderful,” Marsha pressed on, “the way you’re tapped into the spirit world. I think we would all do well to remember that there are things in this universe that are beyond our understanding.”

  While Marsha droned on in that vein, Chris looked at her dad. He squirmed uncomfortably and looked like he wanted nothing more than to shut her up. Chris was amazed that he’d told Marsha about her abilities. Usually, he preferred to pretend they didn’t exist.

  Seeming to sense her and her father’s discomfort, Derek deftly changed the subject. “What do you do, Marsha?”

  Her face lit up. This was obviously her favorite subject. “Interior design.”

  “Really? Where did you study for that?”

  “Oh, I’m just a dilettante, really.” She waved her hand at the question. “I don’t have any formal training. But my friends have always told me I have an excellent eye for design, so a few years ago, I decided to take the plunge and launch my own business. Best decision I ever made. Well, that and agreeing to go out with this guy.” She elbowed Drew in the ribs, eliciting a smile and nod from him.

  Just then, their food arrived. Conversation dwindled to small talk and occasional exclamations over the quality of the food—mostly from Marsha. She only finished one of her fish tacos before wiping her mouth and folding her napkin next to her plate. “I don’t know about you, but I’d better visit the little girl’s room.” She looked at Chris and waited.

  After an entire glass of lemon water and half a margarita the size of her head, Chris could definitely stand to go. But she’d be hanged if she’d give Marsha the satisfaction of going to the bathroom together like a couple of junior high besties. Besides, she wanted a chance to talk to her dad without Marsha listening or butting in.

  Chris kept her head down and kept eating. Marsha seemed to take the hint. “I’ll be back in a flash. Don’t talk about anything exciting without me.”

  When she was gone, Chris put down the remains of her last taco and looked pointedly at her dad, who sighed. “I know. I should have called ahead.”

  “Y’think?”

  Derek let out a little cough. “You know, I need to make a phone call,” he said, getting up. “That’ll give you two a chance to catch up.”

  As he headed to a less crowded section of the terrace, Chris folded her arms and glared at the table. She knew she was acting like a sulky teenager, and she knew that was exactly what her dad saw when he looked at her. But she was too annoyed to care.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was Marsha’s idea to surprise you. I knew it was a bad idea, but I let her have her way.”

  “You do that a lot?”

  He didn’t say anything. The grimace on his face and the way he squirmed in his chair answered for him.

  Chris reached out and fingered the straw in her margarita glass. “So is it serious between you two? Is Marsha going to be my new mommy?” She shuddered at the thought.

  “I’m guessing you wouldn’t be happy about that.” He sighed. “Well, too bad, Chr
istine.” At the hurt look she gave him, he leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. “Look, I don’t know if it’s serious. For now, we’re just having fun. But I haven’t had a lot of fun in my life, and now that you girls—” He stopped himself and closed his eyes. After a deep breath, he opened them and continued, “Now that you’re old enough not to need me anymore, it’s time to focus on what makes me happy.”

  Feeling a little guilty, Chris sighed. “You’re right, Dad. Except for the part about me being too old to need you.” She glanced at him and smiled. He ducked his chin, looking pleased. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be petulant. Marsha seems…nice.”

  “She is.” He nodded toward Derek’s empty chair. “So, what about your reporter? Is that serious?”

  Chris shrugged. “We haven’t known each other that long.”

  “It’s pretty clear that you two like each other.”

  She stopped fiddling with the straw, pulled her glass closer, and took a sip. Why does everybody keep saying that? “So, how long are you in town?”

  “Just for the weekend. We drive back in the morning.”

  “You could come by tonight after your barbecue, see my new place. You can even bring Marsha.” No doubt, by then, Ron would be dying to lay eyes on her.

  “You mean the house where your sister had her accident?” He leaned back and shuddered. “No thank you. I’ll never understand why you’d want to live there.”

  Chris hesitated a moment before telling him, “Because she’s still there.” His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. She pressed on. “You could talk to her, you know.”

  “Christine—”

  “She can hear you. And I could tell you everything she says. You two could finally clear the air, have the big heart-to-heart you never got to—”

  “Christine!”

  She stopped, registering the anger in his voice and on his face. She wasn’t sure if it was aimed at her, or Ron, or life. Maybe all of the above.

  Marsha chose that moment to return. “What’d I miss?”

  Drew stood up. “Nothing. Just father-daughter stuff.” He signaled to the waiter. “We’d better get going. You promised your mom you’d make the potato salad, remember?”