The Mystic

by Maggie Santangelo

  He looks at me and says, “Ellie?”

  “No, Grandpa, I’m Raina.”

  “Raina Rae,” he says, and goes back to his paper.

  It’s odd that he called me that. It seems that he doesn’t remember who I am at all; how does he remember my middle name? How does he even know it? Oh, yeah, Mom kept in touch with him, it was just me who was kept in the dark. The thought of being in the dark makes me think of what Mom said about Dad choosing my middle name after a ray of sunshine. That sounds right. Mom focused on the gloomy and Dad focused on the bright side. And I am a bit of both. What am I going to do without him to keep me balanced?

  I shake my head, as if I can just shake it off. In the kitchen everything, is cleaned up. Ms. Mona is so nice. I wonder if Grandpa knows how fortunate he is that she does this for him. Well, I know, and I’m about to try some of her cooking. I open the fridge and peek into the containers and find some fried chicken, potatoes, and veggies; it’s still warm. I make myself a plate and put the rest away. I’m tempted to head to the living room and watch TV while I eat, but I decide to sit at the table with Grandpa.

  I don’t bother trying to make conversation, we just sit together and eat in quiet company. I read the comics. This would probably be a good time to grow up a little and read something more substantial, but I indulge myself with simple humor. He suddenly announces, “You can’t go unless your brother goes with you.”

  I look up at him and he is looking me directly in the eye.

  What?

  “Grandpa, I don’t have a brother.”

  “It’s final.” He folds up his section of the paper and reaches to put it in one particular spot. He picks out a new section and lays it out in front of him. “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  I’m done eating now. I’ll just head to my room; I have unpacking to do anyway. I clean up after myself and walk past him with a, “Yes, sir.”

  He turns the page.

  Just a couple of days ago this room was new to me. Now it feels like a safe place to fall. I collapse on the bed and look up at the ceiling fan. The whir of the blades steals my attention and I feel myself about to fall asleep. I close my eyes and think of my dad. He hugs me tight, and then he pushes me away. He begins to pull his mask off…

  “No!”

  I sit straight up in bed. I am awake. I look around the room. The dresser is covered in tote bags and clothes, and two suitcases wait for me in the corner. I’m ready to put things away. I place the suitcases side by side on the bed and open them both. It’s all clothes and shoes. I made no room for any letters or pictures. I can’t believe this was my priority to bring; now I have nothing of my father’s to remember him. I trusted wholeheartedly that everything else would arrive, just like it did with every other move. Had I known, had I even suspected, I would have filled this with things that can’t be replaced at the mall. I feel anger begin to rise.

  Wait, I do have something. In one of the tote bags I find the cigar box that he gave me. The cigars were a gift from the base general the last time Dad returned from Afghanistan. I open the box and close my eyes to appreciate the familiar scent. Inside are a handful of Polaroids. I look through the pictures and remember that day. Grandma Mitchell sent me a Polaroid camera and Dad and I thought it was funny because no one uses them anymore. Mom thought it was great, and before we knew it she had it loaded with film and started snapping pictures. She used the whole pack that came with it and we never bought more. Just this one set of pictures, me and my father, laughing and loving each other. These are precious. There’s also a note from him, it says, “Keep up the good work.” He had snuck it into my lunchbox one day after a good report card. He wanted me to study and do well in school, and he always had time to listen to me tell him about my teachers and what I was learning. I also find a bracelet made of lapis and silver that he brought back from his last tour of duty.

  I reach into my bag and take out the box Grandma Mitchell gave me. It’s too big to fit inside the cigar box, so I take out the necklace and put the empty box on the dresser. The pendant feels cold to my fingers. All the little jewels in it look so delicate. I wonder if Grandma wore this much. I haven’t worn it since the day she gave it to me; it’s too special, I want to save it. I make a circle out of the bracelet in the bottom of the box and set the necklace inside. I close the box, satisfied with this small treasure. I’m going to unpack and get some sleep. I hope for good dreams of my father.

  ~ 5 ~

  The path that I walk on is lined with flowers that are all the colors of the rainbow. The sky is baby blue and there’s not a cloud in sight. My father holds my hand like he did when I was little; I feel childlike, and full of wonder. “Where are we going?” I say.

  He doesn’t answer so I look up at him. It looks like him except for his eyes—they’re a fiery shade of red.

  I scream and pull away from his grasp but he holds my hand so tight, I think he might break my bones. “Daddy, no!”

  The flowers turn black, starting with the ones closest to us and moving out like a wave that turns the landscape into a sea of blackness. Clouds roll in and erase the once bright sky. It’s so dark out that I can barely see, except for the shape of my father, who grips my hands so I cannot run. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. I’m too scared to scream. How am I going to get away?

  I pull hard against him, but then he becomes the face of my father again. His eyes are grayish-blue like the sky before a storm, and I feel calm. For a moment I forget that he is not my father. He pulls me close and wraps his arms around me.

  But the truth comes flooding back and I remember now that it’s not my father. I just need it to be. I let go and try to back away but he grabs ahold of my wrists.

  I'm afraid to look up, but I have to—I have to see. He opens his mouth wide and screams as if he’s in agony. But I will not be tricked again. It’s just a mask, and there’s evil behind it. I continue to try and pull away from him. He stops screaming and looks at me; once again his eyes are wicked. I feel them burning my own eyes and I try putting my hands up as a shield, but I can’t, his grip is so tight that I can’t move.

  “Look at me!” he demands. I resist.

  I can’t look again, I just have to get away. I turn my body away from him and this time, instead of pulling away, I push toward him and twist my wrists. He loses his grip. I open my eyes and run into the field of dead flowers. I run as fast as I can until I’m out of breath. Afraid to look back, I stop and see a glow ahead of me. It takes me a minute to recognize it as fire. I fight my instinct that tells me to turn and run, because I know it is behind me. I’m trapped.

  I awake with a thud as I hit the floor. I’m trapped in my covers, fighting to get free. I pull myself up and pick up my quilt. The sheets are coming off the bed and my pillow is on the floor on the other side. My chest feels heavy; it’s hard to breathe. It was just another nightmare. No, this one was worse. Just as I’m beginning to feel better, a shudder begins at the back of my neck and runs down my spine.

  ***

  I check my mother’s room; she’s not home, again. I see the first hint of sunrise peek through her window curtains. It only takes a moment for her vacant room to be washed in sunlight. The rainbow-colored flowers come to mind, so bright and full of life, and then so dark and dead. I shudder once more.

  “Better get ready for school, Rachel,” Grandpa says while passing me in the hallway.

  “Ok.” I’m grateful that he’s here, confused or not. And let’s face it, he may not be all there, but I don’t feel like I am, either. We’re the perfect little family of two.

  ***

  The days have gone by slowly; I almost wish I did have school. Almost. I pick up my cell phone from the nightstand and notice the date. I can’t believe it’s been a week since Mom and I first walked through the front door here. Other than the day I spent with Ellie, most of my time has been spent reading or watching movies on cable. Considering he doesn’t watch TV, it’s surp
rising that Grandpa has all the movie channels.

  I check Facebook and Instagram; not much, and nothing from my friends. Wow, life moved on faster than usual. I drop the phone back on the nightstand and fall back in bed. Of course, it’s almost finals, I’m sure everyone is busy. Not hearing from anyone back in California wouldn’t be so bad except I’m worried that I haven’t seen Ellie since the day she took me to the French Quarter. I’ve got a bad feeling about her boyfriend, Andre; I wonder if he said something about me to her to make her stay away. No, probably not. Thinking about that day in the antiques shop makes me think of Johnny. I wonder what he’s doing. Maybe I should just stop by; I mean, I could. Why sit around waiting for anyone to come to me? I’m not afraid to go there alone.

  I get myself ready for the day before I greet Grandpa. I hope it’s only a matter of time before he knows me. Mom is sitting with him at the table, both are drinking coffee.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Mom says.

  “Good morning,” I say to Mom and Grandpa. She looks to be in a good mood this morning, and that makes me a little happier. Grandpa grunts my way but won’t look at me. I help myself to something to eat from the kitchen and sit down with them. I set my plate down on some newspaper.

  “Just move it out of the way first!” Grandpa raises his voice. I lift my plate, he moves the paper. I look at Mom, she’s still wearing a smile and a far-off look.

  “Sorry,” I say, but it goes ignored.

  Mom says, “Any big plans today?”

  “Not really. I was thinking about going to the French Quarter.”

  Grandpa says, “Filled with newcomers.”

  “Yes, it is. Nothing is what it used to be,” Mom says.

  That makes me chuckle, “Isn’t that the truth.”

  Mom gives me a look that isn’t so funny.

  “So, how’s it going with your old friends?” I dare to ask.

  “It’s going great, Raina. It’s like we haven’t missed a moment. I feel young again. I haven’t felt this free in a long time. I needed this.”

  She makes it sound like she’s glad Dad is gone, but I try not to get all dramatic about it. I don’t want to fight, so I just say, “That’s good.”

  “As a matter of fact…” she says in a tone that tells me I’m not going to like what comes next, “my boyfriend from high school divorced last year and, well, we’ve really enjoyed seeing each other again.”

  “How much have you enjoyed seeing him?” I pry.

  “Well, I’m going to dinner with him tonight, but first I’m going to do a little shopping for a new dress.”

  “Wow, you enjoyed him that much.”

  “Watch your mouth with me, young lady.” Her smile vanishes.

  Grandpa says, “There will be no back talk in my house.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mom says, which strikes me as very odd. My dad taught me to use sir and ma’am, but I’ve never heard her call anyone sir.

  “Anyway,” she says, “I’m going out, and I won’t be back until late. You can fend for yourself?” It’s a statement disguised as a question, like I have a choice. I know I don’t.

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t give me a hard time. I can’t take you shopping because Kyle’s expecting me.”

  “Kyle?” Grandpa says. “I don’t want you seeing that boy.”

  “It’s fine, Daddy, I’m an adult now. I’ve changed.”

  “I said no. Where’s your mother?”

  “I have to go.” She takes her dishes to the kitchen.

  “Can I go with you?” I ask. I give her my best pleading look, but I can see it’s not going to work.

  “You said you were going to the Quarter. The keys to your grandfather’s car are hanging up by the door and the car is around back.”

  “Ok, whatever.”

  “Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Grandpa says.

  “Daddy, we’re not talking about you.” Mom nods to me and heads down the hallway. I clear my dishes and follow her.

  “Why are you always leaving?”

  “I’m an adult; you don’t get to question what I do. And you’re a big girl, Raina, you can take care of yourself.” She puts on her shoes and opens her purse. She counts the cash in her wallet and gives me some. “Go do something fun, make some new friends.”

  Inside her room, I sit on the bed and begin to pout, but she remains unaffected. She kisses me on the forehead and leaves.

  ***

  I walk to the front door carrying my shoes and a small purse. I don’t want to upset Grandpa so I leave without a word. Outside I put on my shoes and take a good, long look at the neighborhood. The houses pretty much all look the same. The one on the corner is a big, two-story house with a balcony on the second floor. There’s a wrought iron fence around the property that’s identical to what’s on the balcony. That must where Zac lives.

  I consider going over there, but decide against it for my original plan to stop by Mystic Café. Around the back of the house is a carport and I see Grandpa’s car. It’s old. And it’s huge. My dad used to call old cars like this a boat and it always made me laugh. I tilt my head to the side and look at it; it does resemble a canoe a little. The word “Oldsmobile” is visible from the side; the paint is olive green. Ok, I’m not driving that through the French Quarter. Time for plan B.

  I knock on the door to the house on the corner, and when I realize I’m holding the keys to Grandpa’s boat I toss them quickly into my purse, but they barely fit in my small bag. Good God, even the keys are huge.

  I’m greeted by Ms. Mona. “Well, I’m glad you made it by. Come in.” She opens the screen door for me. “Zac is just in the other room,” she says, and I follow her into the living room.

  Sitting at a small desk that faces the window is Zac. He’s typing away on a laptop computer. Ms. Mona makes an effort to loudly clear her throat.

  “Zac, we have company.”

  “Hi,” I say. I feel like I’m interrupting, but he looks happy to see me. I try to hide my excitement.

  “Hey, Raina, how’s it going?” He makes a few taps on his computer, closes it, and nearly falls backward while pushing the chair back and trying to stand up at the same time. He looks up at me to see my reaction; I’m embarrassed for him, and I’m not laughing.

  Ms. Mona says, “That’s one of our dining room chairs. Our desk chair is broken.”

  It’s sweet of her to make an excuse for him, but from the way it makes him blush I’d say it embarrassed him even more. He walks over to the foyer where we stand. Through the clear lenses of his glasses I notice his eyes—they are the palest blue I think I have ever seen.

  “Nice to see you again,” he says.

  “You, too. I hope I’m not interrupting. I would have called but I don’t know your number.”

  “That’s ok, you weren’t interrupting me.”

  Ms. Mona says, “Have a seat, kids. I can make us some lunch.”

  “No, thanks,” I say. “I just ate.” The truth is I am hungry, but I feel a little awkward here. The inside is different than Grandpa’s house—on one side is the living room, on the opposite side is the dining room, and it looks like it leads into the kitchen. I expected it to be the same, but I guess that’s because on Air Force bases all the houses on one street are the same inside. This house is really nice, much nicer than Grandpa’s. One wall of the living room has wallpaper and the other three walls have a cream-colored paint. The dining room has wallpaper on all four walls. It’s a floral design, but it doesn’t look too feminine.

  “Zac, dear, are you hungry for some lunch?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Ok, well, I’ll just finish up in the kitchen then.”

  “Come on in here,” Zac says. I follow him into the living room and Ms. Mona leaves us. His style is more like the kids in California than what I’ve seen here in New Orleans. And he doesn’t look anything like his mom. He must look like his dad.

  We sit and he looks at me. “So, you’ve bee
n here a while now. How do you like The Big Easy so far?”

  “Well, I haven’t gotten around to seeing much of it, but I like it. It’s different, but in a good way.”

  “Do you drive?”

  “Yes, I was hoping to get a car this summer but—”

  “Oh,” he says, and looks down at the floor. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you at your welcome home party, but I’m really sorry about your dad.”

  I don’t know what to say. I should be getting used to this sympathy by now, but I’m not. Maybe I never will. Well-wishers seem to say the same thing and my response feels rehearsed. I don’t want his pity, so I don’t say anything about it. Instead I say, “What about you, do you drive?”

  “Yes I do,” he says. He looks proud. “I got an old Mustang. Wanna see it?”

  “Sure.”

  I follow him through the kitchen where Ms. Mona is chopping vegetables with an incredibly large knife. “I was just about to set a tray out for you kids.”

  “Mom, we’re not hungry.”

  She looks a little hurt. I think she’s what my mom calls “a feeder,” like it’s a bad thing. I think Ms. Mona is sweet.

  Zac leads me out the door to the back of the house. The carport is behind the house, just like Grandpa’s. There are two cars here; one is a blue four-door and the other is his Mustang. It looks old. The red paint is faded and scratched up. It’s not dirty. It looks like he keeps it clean, it’s just a little beat-up-looking. He opens the front door and says, “Check it out, it’s even got the original seats.”

  I expect to see torn, old leather, but when I look in I see it looks almost new. “Hey, those look nice.” I hope I don’t sound too surprised. I can tell already that he loves this car.

  “Yep, the guy I bought it from kept seat covers on it. The body needs some work, but the inside is cherry.”

  I’m not sure what to make of Zac, but I like his car. “How does it drive?”

  He takes the hint and says, “Do you wanna go for a ride?” He smiles at me with a Cheshire-cat grin.

  “Yes,” I say, and follow it up with confirmation, “I do want to go for a ride.”