The Widow's Walk

by Carole Ann Moleti

  Mike carried him out of the room. “Kid’s smart. He knows it’s bath time and Daddy’s on duty.”

  Liz followed him upstairs. “How about I take him in the tub with me? Save time, save water. Then you can try putting him to bed.”

  Mike frowned. “Without nursing?”

  “He had his fill when I got home.” Liz filled the tub and stripped off her clothes.

  The warm water eased her prickly skin and even soothed the quaver in her gut. The baby splashed while Liz washed and rinsed his hair.

  “Da.” Eddie reached up his arms when Mike came in.

  Mike’s face softened into a contented grin. “Come on, slugger.” He wrapped Eddie in a towel.

  Was Jared’s ghost needling or was Mike too strong, his defenses too well developed to notice or give in to it? Was she the only one with an uninvited guest swirling around just waiting for an opportunity to make itself known?

  Liz soaked away the angst. The baby soap soothed her skin; the soft powder scent exerted its own calming aromatherapy.

  Eddie was asleep in his crib by the time she got out. Mae had brought up a tray of tea and cookies, plus a bottle of cough and cold elixir.

  “The stew filled the little guy up.” Mike broke up the smoldering log in the fireplace. “He went right to sleep.”

  Liz slipped on a flannel nightgown. She needed comfort tonight, and Mike was in no mood, no condition.

  She handed him the bag. “Five pellets of Allium cepia under the tongue. Repeat if needed. Sandra’s orders.”

  Mike dumped the bag of homeopathic remedies out on the settee and picked out the tube of medication. He knew exactly how to screw the top so the pellets dropped. He popped them into his mouth.

  “What’s this?” He looked at the Bach’s brochure.

  “You pick the essences that match your symptoms, and I brew you a personalized potion.”

  Mike finally balked. “None of that.”

  Liz poured tea for herself and stirred in milk and sugar. “Mike, I think Sandra knows.”

  “About what? Money troubles?” He sat next to her.

  “No. About the ghosts.” She swiveled to face him, tucking her legs under her.

  Mike shook his head. “How could she?”

  Liz had hidden the book to conceal the reality of how they all died. The truth was going to come out. “Sandra wrote a book about ghosts on Cape Cod. She stares at me like she knows Elisabeth is rummaging around this house.”

  “So what? She’s odd, and no one would believe it.”

  He drained his cup. “Ahhh, boy that’s good.”

  Liz sipped. “So you don’t think I should worry about Sandra?’ What if Jay or Bill Jeffers got wind of potions and paranormal activities?”

  “I’ll never forget how she sat with Mary, held her hand, brought her things–and encouraged her to fight, to keep hoping . . .” Mike’s voice broke. “And she took care of me, too. Never mentioned it to anyone–my buddies would have raked me out of the mud like a basket of clams if they knew. She wouldn’t hurt a bug.”

  He stared at the Bach’s brochure, like reading an account of times long past. “After Mary died, she’d stop by to see how my daughter and I were doing. Brought this here Rescue Remedy. I was desperate and gave some to Allison who was so depressed about losing her mother I was afraid she was gong to hurt herself. Then took it myself rather than get drunk every night. Not sure it worked, but it surely didn’t hurt.”

  So, Mike and Sandra had a long history. Maybe too long. “So why don’t you choose your essences and I’ll mix them?

  “Because enough is enough. That’s all behind me now. Going to bed?” He stretched back, wiggled his arms, and rotated his neck.

  Liz yawned. “Yes.”

  Elisabeth’s anger bubbled like an underground well.

  She would not go up there tonight when Mike needed her attention. Liz slid behind him to massage his shoulders.

  “Oh, does that feel good.” He squirmed. “Yeah, right there. Don’t move.”

  “Sounds obscene.” She kissed the back of his neck.

  “Not meant to be. Maybe I’m getting old, but I need a night or two to rest in between sessions.” His tone was apologetic, but he averted his eyes.

  Liz massaged more deeply. All this talk of dead spouses wasn’t conducive to romance.

  “That’s good. Thanks, sweetie.” Mike stood up and kissed her cheek, then scattered the ashes in the fireplace. He closed the screen doors with a thud and lumbered toward the bed.

  Liz checked Eddie and by the time she came out of his closet alcove, Mike was burrowed under the covers, asleep.

  She could go up now. No one would know. Elisabeth didn’t mind the cold wind, the numb fingers and toes. Her heart didn’t race worrying that someone would see her, or get splinters from grasping the well-worn railing for support, comfort. All she wanted was a chance to see Edward again. The same thing she’d wanted since his ship disappeared without a trace. One visit hadn’t been enough, especially since his parting gift was lying in a crib in the same room.

  No, I’m in charge. Liz slipped under the covers and nestled next to Mike, her belly to his back, her chin tucked against his shoulder.

  Elisabeth resisted.

  Liz insisted. Enough. You could have had a life with Jared but made a foolish mistake. I will not repeat that.

  Liz pressed closer to Mike until the full length of her body conformed to his, melted into each curve: his neck, his back, his bum. She slid one leg between his and traced her toes down over the muscles in his calf, until her foot came to rest on his, like he was holding her up, holding her in place.

  Her arm draped over his back, her fingers sank into the fuzz on his chest. Memories of the last two nights, and the lovemaking that had proceeded the snuggling affirmed her control, kept her in the present. Chastened, but not yet sated, Elisabeth’s niggling stopped–at least for the time being.

  Mike threw off the covers. The smell of stale flowers brought bile to the back of his throat. He didn’t have to even feel the bed; Liz wouldn’t be there. And Elisabeth would be standing in front of the bay window, her blank eyes weeping ghostly tears, her face contorted in eternal sadness, grief.

  He sat up and sure enough, there she stood in that infernal dress, oblivious to him, to anything but her own personal misery. No way he could chalk this up to anything else.

  Go to her, shake her, ask for an explanation of what she did! Jared exhorted.

  Maybe if he did it, they’d both leave. Mike padded over to the lady in the green dress. “Elisabeth.”

  She didn’t respond. Her frosty aura, more dense than anything he’d ever experienced, stagnant, moldy like the inside of a cave, filled his mouth. Gray, unblinking, vacant eyes displayed a swirling mist of what Purgatory must look like, feel like. Endless fog, endless longing, eternal hope.

  Mike reached for her but his hands slipped right through the apparition.

  Elizabeth extended her arms. There was no mistaking the silent movement of her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  Jared bucked like an angry stallion, and Mike almost puked all over the bedroom. Don’t let her go. Jared’s voice boomed in Mike’s ears.

  Like a puppet, Mike’s arms jerked forward involuntarily and grasped Elisabeth. She broke apart and faded into a mist.

  The room spun. A hot flash swept over him. He staggered toward the bathroom, gagging, coughing. He unloaded into the toilet and hung on like a drunk worshiping the porcelain goddess.

  “Mike!” Liz flipped on the light and ran into the bathroom. She knelt beside him and brushed damp hair out of his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sick!”

  “Calm down. Let me get the thermometer . . .”

  “Just give me some more
of those pellets.”

  “Yes, hang on.” She was back in a moment.

  His hands shook as he grabbed the small blue tube and frantically twisted the top.

  “Let me help.” Sadness and concern spread over her face.

  Mike pushed her out of the way, and she landed on her ass. He dumped five pellets into his mouth like a goddamn drug addict in withdrawal. “Where were you?”

  “In with Eddie.” She shrunk away, fearful, her eyes wide as saucers.

  “The hell you were. I bet that dress is laid across the chair, and that you’ve been on the widow’s walk.” The nausea began to subside. He rose and gulped a drink of water, then tossed the plastic cup onto the floor.

  It clattered to rest next to Liz, on her hands and knees, tears running down her face. “No, I wasn’t. I resisted. I did!”

  His vision cleared, but Jared was wide-awake, furious, gut-punching Mike on the inside. He didn’t trust himself alone with Liz right now. Something dark, dangerous, impulsive had awakened within him.

  Mike walked into Eddie’s room. Soft baby breaths came in regular rhythm. No dress, no shoes, no smell of lavender. Only a strong urine odor from an unrolled, freshly changed diaper on the floor. Liz must have dropped it when she ran to his assistance. She wasn’t lying this time.

  He left her sobbing in the bathroom and went to sleep, or at least tried to, in one of the guest bedrooms. Had Jared summoned Elisabeth, or was it the other way around? Was he in any more control of this than Liz?

  Chapter 6

  I should have just gone up there last night and none of this would have happened. Elisabeth would have stayed hidden, and Mike and I would still be asleep.

  Liz gave up on sleep and plopped back down in the bed to watch the sky lighten. Hounding Mike wouldn’t help. How was she going to pretend nothing happened and drive off to class leaving him alone with no one to talk to?

  She dressed before Eddie woke and went to make a cup of tea before Mae arrived, grateful for the privacy, the quiet. She took it upstairs and paused before the closed guestroom door. No light filtered out underneath, and there wasn’t a sound coming through the paper-thin walls.

  Elisabeth agitated. This is where I stopped, tempted to go to Jared. But I went looking for Edward and drowned. Go up to Edward. Now!

  Liz’s impulsive alter-ego hadn’t learned. No more escapades. You caused enough trouble last night.

  The cuckoo clock dinged and clucked seven times, the back door slammed, dishes rattled. Mae and Kevin’s muted voices, snippets of their conversation drifted up the stairs.

  “Cold this mornin’ . . .”

  “Should be stayin’ off the bay. . .”

  “Hope he’s feelin’ better.”

  She sank onto her vanity chair and brushed her hair, staring at the image looking back, the woman with dark circles under her eyes, with no laugh lines since she hadn’t laughed in a while. Just a mouth pinched, jaw set.

  “Liz.”

  Her brush clattered to the floor.

  Mike stood in the doorway, beard uncharacteristically scraggly, teeth clenched, eyes

  narrowed. “I thought you’d heard me knock.” He ran his hands through his hair in a fruitless attempt to tame the spikes.

  She ran to him, but his recoil discouraged her from throwing herself into his arms. “Are you all right?”

  He cleared his throat and took two steps back. “Congested, coughing. Didn’t sleep much. I’m going to get some tea and go back to bed.”

  “Should I stay home and take care of you?”

  Mike laughed. “Take care of me? Finish me off, more likely. No, please go. I hope by the time you get home I’ll have woken up from this nightmare.” He strode out, and his footsteps padded downstairs.

  The door to the kitchen creaked open.

  “Michael, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” The door swung shut obliterating Mae’s fussing.

  Liz kissed the sleeping baby, who’d likely not forgiven his mother leaving before his early morning nursing. Her breasts were already getting sore. But she had to go and would have to find a time and place to use the breast pump. Her toes smashed into the front of her pumps on the way down. She paused at the door to the kitchen. Should she leave without saying goodbye to Mae and Kevin? No, that would be an awful thing to do.

  She pushed through. Six eyes trained themselves on the woman responsible for all the tumult. Somehow, she’d gone from a solid, upstanding society matron to a flighty eccentric leading them all down a stairway to disaster.

  Mike stared into his tea.

  “Mornin’ Liz.” Kevin shuffled from one foot to the other.

  Mike must have told them what happened last night.

  “I put your tea into a travel cup.” Mae was putting on a good act.

  Liz bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t apologize. She had done nothing wrong. “Thanks, Mae. Eddie is still sleeping.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep a listen for him.”

  No one else said anything. She pushed so hard the door swung back and forth on its hinges and nearly whacked her in the ass.

  As she went out the front, Eddie wailed from upstairs. “Da, daaaaa!” Even he’d given up on her.

  The only thing that tasted good, if you could call it taste, was the sweet tea with lemon. Mike wrapped his hands around the cup, trying to recapture some warmth.

  Mae came downstairs holding Eddie and the thermometer. “Liz looks God-awful, too.” She handed the baby to Kevin and pressed the gauge onto Mike’s temple.

  The beep magnified into a blare through his clogged sinuses.

  “No fever. But that cough . . . ya better go to the doctor.” Mae mixed Eddie some cereal.

  The baby looked around. His bottom lip started to quiver. “Daa.” He gazed at Mike, forlorn.

  Oh, Jeez. Just what I need. A squalling baby. “She’ll be home soon, slugger. Eat.” Mike plunked down a sippy cup of juice, hoping the sweet liquid would distract him. It worked.

  “Got anything laying around I can take for this cold, Mae?”

  She paused her baby feeding duties to grab a bottle of liquid and some tablets from a cupboard. “I still think you should go to the doctor.”

  Kevin pushed his chair back and dabbed his chin with a napkin. “I’m goin’ to the barn to see to the horses. I can drive ya, Mike.”

  “No thanks. I’m okay.” He grabbed the medicine. It was only a matter of time before Eddie’s patience blew. And only a matter of time before Mae and Kevin found out about last night. He wouldn’t be the one to tell them, but how could such a thing stay secret?

  Mike stopped off in the guest bathroom. Hot shower steam made him cough more. He got out, dried off, and with only a towel around his waist paused in the hall, inhaling fresh air until the spasm passed and made his way to one of the guest rooms. It’s warmer in here, No ghosts to chill it down. Still out of breath, he fastened the bedroom shutters closed to block out the light. That did nothing for the headache. I wonder if you can take this pain stuff with alcohol. Oh what the hell. He popped the pills and washed it down with a swig of the cold medicine with as much proof as a shot of whiskey. That would help him sleep.

  Mike fell onto the bed and lay on his back staring at the door. Would Elisabeth’s ghost come in here looking for him? How could he have pushed his wife like that? She was only trying to help and wasn’t responsible for what happened.

  He gave up on sleep, dressed, and went downstairs. Mae was sitting on the floor of the parlor building block towers with Eddie. Some annoying kid’s show droned in the background.

  “Goin’ to the doctor?” She called.

  “Nah. I took the medicine you gave me, plus the pellets Liz got. I feel better.” Lying seemed to be getting easier and easier, a fact that prick
ed his conscience like a pin. One untruth would lead to another, then another, and soon he’d be trying to explain more unexplainables.

  Mae turned her attention back to Eddie. Mike sneaked out.

  The deserted road with blackened snow piled on the shoulders did little to lighten his bad mood. Everything was dead, dormant, deserted. Would the spring ever come, and would his life ever get back to some semblance of normal?