Bittersweet

by K. S. Thomas

  I stand there for a moment, face to face with her, closing my eyes I send her an image of my own, a beautiful, vibrant version of herself. Strong and unmarked by pain or violence, but I know even before I open my eyes she’s rejected it, just like she has every time before. For reasons I can’t understand or argue, she is determined to hold onto this physical pain even in the spiritual realm, living her own version of purgatory until she’s ready to move on.

  I sigh and leave my living room to go answer the door for Cynthia.

  “Hi, Cyndie. Come on in.”

  She nods and leads the way back into the living room. She’s been coming here long enough to more than know her way around.

  I wait for her to take her seat on the sofa. Then I take mine across from her and take a deep breath. I’m just going to say it.

  “Cynthia. Do you believe in spirits? Ghosts?”

  Her expression goes through a wave of reactions ranging from shocked to curious before settling on nervous. “I didn’t use to. But ever since my mother...I would like to.” She takes a moment and I can tell she has something else she wants to say. “Do you? Do you believe in ghosts, Esi?”

  I smile. Then, I nod. Just once. “I do. Cynthia, I’m what some people call a medium. Do you know what that is?”

  Her brow furrows and I start to wonder if I’m about to lose all credibility with this girl. But, it can’t be helped. She needs to know. And I think maybe, she wants to.

  “You can communicate with the dead?” She’s skeptical, but then, everyone always is.

  “Well, yeah. But that’s something we can all do. What makes me a little different, is that the dead occasionally choose to communicate with me.” I wait for it to sink in before I continue. “Do you remember the day I came to see you?”

  “Of course. The police department notified the center of my mother’s death.”

  I shift my head back and forth in a half nod. “They did. But not until three days later. I came to see you, because your mother came to see me. She wanted me to find you. To help you. Because that’s what I do. I mediate between those who have passed and those who are still living. Usually, working through grief and unresolved issues until both are able to move forward. But with you and your mother, I’m afraid I haven’t been able to do my job. She’s struggling. The same way you are. And, I think the only way to help you both, is to just be honest and hope that I don’t frighten you by doing so.”

  Cynthia’s eyes gloss over and her voice is shaky when she asks, “You’ve seen my mom?”

  “I have. She comes for all of your sessions, Cyndie. She’s with you all the time.”

  As expected, the news hits her hard, and she begins to cry. I’ve already blown my professional relationship with her anyway, and I won’t have someone falling to pieces on my couch alone, so I get up and do for her what Lev has done for me almost every night for the last two weeks. I hold her. I rock her.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. Everything is okay. I promise.”

  Then, once the shock wears off, she’s ready to hear more. “Has she...has she said anything to you? About me?”

  “Of course. She wants you to know how much she loves you. She worries about you. She’s scared because she thinks she was weak and couldn’t teach you strength, not the kind she thinks you’ll need to be safe with men and relationships, but I think you and I both know, your mother was a strong woman. Stronger than most. Your father is the weak one.”

  Cynthia nods, wiping her nose on her sleeve. There’s tissues on the coffee table, but I get it. Sometimes, when you’re a fucking wreck, you just want to use your goddamned sleeve. And I’m not judging.

  “There’s something else. Something I think is important. Something I couldn’t tell you without telling you everything. There’s a number. Six digits. She shows them to me every time I see her. Twenty-seven, thirty-nine, ninety-seven.”

  She freezes up as soon as I say the numbers out loud and I know they mean something to her. She knows what they are. She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she reaches for the large hobo bag she carries with her every time I see her. Lifting it up into her lap, she slides both hands inside and retrieves a small case. It’s slightly smaller than a shoebox and made of metal. There’s a lock on it. A combination lock. With six dials.

  “This was hers,” she whispers, letting her hands glide over the top. “I found it in her closet after she died. I’ve carried it with me everywhere since. I haven’t been able to open it.” Her fingers shake as she moves them for the dials and begins to turn them. Two. Seven. Three. Nine. Nine. Seven. Click.

  I hear Cyndie inhale sharply and then watch her lift the lid. Inside is a journal. She barely leafs through it and lose pictures begin to fall out. They’re of Margaret. Bruised. Beaten. She documented the abuse. Who knows for how long? Doesn’t matter. Cynthia’s father can kiss his appeal goodbye. That man will never see the light of day now. Margaret made sure of it.

  There’s more in the box. A locket. Some papers. Birth certificates for Cyndie and her brothers. Her mother’s is there as well. Along with a check book and a letter from the bank thanking Margaret for opening an account with them. All together, Margaret managed to save over ten thousand dollars throughout the years. I don’t know if she was stashing it in hopes of getting out or setting it aside for Cynthia. I imagine Cyndie’s wondering the same thing, but no daughter wants to know the answer to a question like that, so I don’t ask.

  By the time Cynthia leaves, things have changed. Not just in her, but Margaret as well. Her bruises are fading and she looks younger. As I watch them both leave, I know I won’t be seeing either one of them again. And even though I’m going to miss them after all this time, I finally feel as though I’ve done what I set out to do. I helped them heal.

  ***

  It’s been three months since I came home without Carter. Life is almost normal. Evan is doing exceptionally well and continues to meet all of her milestones. My home practice is doing well, thanks to Dara agreeing to keep me on staff just at a slightly more distant capacity, and Lev and my mom have even started staying at their own homes again, although, they still come over for dinner most nights. Lev’s even started bringing the werewolf around, who really isn’t a werewolf at all, but I still like to call him that, just for the sake of seeing her expression.

  After a long night with Evan, she and I don’t roll downstairs until nearly nine o’clock in the morning and, by now, I’m desperate for coffee. It’s a completely delusional desperation because I’m still on decaf while I nurse, but it feels equally real.

  As soon as I turn the corner to the kitchen, I smell it. I smell him. Irish Spring soap, citrus and, the ever present fresh mint of his gum. Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them and I take a deep breath to calm myself. Evan giggles in my arms as she reaches out for something or someone I can no longer see and I lean down and kiss her soft cheek.

  “Hi, Daddy,” I whisper. Then, in an effort not to dwell on things, I move onto the cupboard and pull down the bag of coffee grounds. It’s suspiciously light, and when I open it, empty. “Lev!” I toss the bag into the trash. That’s the last time I let her make coffee after dinner. I should have known by her expression last night while she was sipping it, something was up.

  “So, what now, luvey? Hm?” I take another deep breath in to see if I can get another Carter fix. It’s faint, but it’s still there. Then, I have an idea. “I know where we can go. We can go to the coffee shop. You and me. And I can tell you all the things your daddy told me he wanted to teach you. Everything he said you needed to learn. Don’t worry. I’ll start small.” I smile. Thinking about him, remembering all the wonderful things and the joy they bring me are worth the pain that always follows.

  I throw on some clothes and get Evan ready and then we head out to see the coffee wizard. It’s been over six months since I was here last, but nothing has changed. Well, except for the seasonal coffee. Christmas is coming up and a candy cane coffee is this months’ hot item. I th
ink I’ll pass though. It’s just as well, because the coffee wizard is already approaching my table. I’d intended to get up and order at the counter like a normal person once I managed to peel off some of the layers the weather now called for, but coffee wizard beat me to it.

  “One white chocolate mocha, decaf.” He sets the large mug down in front of me. Then, he glances down at Evan sleeping in her car seat. “I take it this is the reason I haven’t seen you in a while.” He smiles. He has a really great smile.

  “Yeah, I guess you could say she’s been keeping me pretty busy.” I stroke her soft auburn locks. They’re getting so long they’re starting to curl now.

  “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

  I bite the inside of my lip. Sometimes smiling still feels wrong. “Evan. Her name is Evan.”

  Coffee wizard’s brows briefly scrunch up in the middle and I feel compelled to tell him it’s not just a boy’s name anymore. Although, technically, she is named after one. But then, he’s smiling again and I forget.

  “That’s a good name.” There’s a moment of awkwardness and I feel like he wants to say something else. Then I remember.

  All those times I sat here. Morning after morning. I was alone. I was alone and talking to myself. At least, that’s probably what it looked like to him. No wonder he always brought my coffee to the table. Who would want the crazy lady walking around their shop, potentially scaring the other customers?

  “Listen,” I start to speak before I have any clue as to what I should say, “I feel like, maybe I owe you an explanation.”

  His brow furrows again. This time it sticks. “What for?”

  I shrug. This is weird. “I just...I know what I must have looked like. Sitting here. Every morning for months. Talking to myself.” I turn my head. I don’t want to see his face. I also don’t want him to see mine. My skin feels like it’s on fire and I know I’m beet red.

  Then, I feel a hand on my wrist. “Esi. I know you weren’t really talking to yourself. It’s fine. I don’t think you’re crazy if that’s what you’re worried about.” The sound of his deep voice is calming and slowly I bring my gaze back around to meet his. The kindness in his face is overwhelming. I can’t help myself. I want to tell him more. I need to. Because in all this time, I haven’t said the words out loud. So. I say them now.

  “My husband died.” As soon as I say it, I want to take it back. Why am I telling him any of this? He’s the coffee guy. Not my shrink. He doesn’t want to hear my sob story. And he definitely doesn’t want to see me cry. But he’s going to. Because the tears are coming. And I can’t stop them.

  I lower my head, slowly shaking it. I’m embarrassed. And, mostly I just want him to hurry up and run back to his counter. But he doesn’t. Instead, he takes his seat in the bench across from me.

  “I know, Esi.”

  I think I’ve heard him wrong. “What?”

  He folds his hands on the table and clears his throat uncomfortably. “I know about your husband, Esi. I’m so sorry. I’ve wanted to say something. I just...I didn’t ever feel like it was the right time.”

  My tears have frozen temporarily from the confusion. Maybe the accident was on the news? It was entirely possible. But would they have shown our pictures? How would he have known it was me? My husband? My Carter?

  “How?”

  His eyes meet mine. They’re the bluest blue I’ve ever seen. They’re sad. Not like he pities me. Just genuinely sad.

  “I was there. The night of the accident.”

  My heart stops. “What?”

  He continues, “I volunteer for the fire department on the weekends. I was one of the first people on the scene. My partner and I got your husband out first. Then, we came back for you. We had to cut the door open.”

  I feel like I’m lost in some sort of a haze. My eyes won’t focus and the same slow motion sensation I’ve been experiencing returns. “I remember.” I blink. Maybe this isn’t really happening. No. He’s still there when I open my eyes.

  “I swear to you, we did everything we could to save him, Esi. I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate to hear a man’s heartbeat in all my life.” The anguish he feels over that night is written all over his face and suddenly my heart aches for him as well.

  “Thank you,” I choke out the words. “Thank you for trying to save him. For saving me.”

  “I didn’t save you. None of us did.” The sheen of glass covers his eyes, but he holds it together. Which is far more than I can say for myself. He glances over at Evan before bringing his gaze back to me. “He saved you that night, Esi. Your husband. He’s the reason you survived. The reason you have your beautiful daughter. Nothing we did after will ever compare to what he did before we arrived.”

  “What do you mean?” My voice breaks and the last part of my question gets swallowed by the lump in my throat, but somehow he seems to have understood me anyway.

  “I saw the car. We all did. And I talked to the driver of the semi. He had injuries as well, but nothing nearly as bad as...he said he saw the headlights coming straight at him just as he came around the bend. There was nowhere for him to go. No time for him to stop. Then, out of nowhere, he saw the car spin to its side. He said it was deliberate. Controlled. That the other driver purposefully slid into his truck driver’s side first.” He pauses and swallows hard, so hard I can see the movement in his throat. “If he hadn’t done that, I don’t see how either of you could have possibly survived.”

  “Carter.” I can’t even claim to be shocked. Or surprised. He loved me no differently in those split second decisions, than he loved me in all the years we spent together. How many people were even capable of that kind of love?

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I just, I wanted you to know. You were all he cared about. Right through to the end. All he wanted was for you to be safe.” He drops his hands down into his lap. A helpless gesture. “I’ve never seen anyone love another person that way. It made it that much harder to bear when we couldn’t save you both.”

  I take a deep breath and watch him through the crystal maze the tear drops created on my lashes. “You did. You saved us both.” With his focus still on me, I tip my head down toward my daughter. “You saved us both, Evan.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Carter ~ One Year Ago

  A half hour into our drive we wind up on the least pleasant stretch of the drive. A curvy, winding patch of road, accommodating the enormous lake that lies beyond the railing to the left. With the limited light streaming only from our own vehicle, I almost run right into a load of massive tree trunks which have apparently fallen from a loaded tractor-trailer and rolled smack in the center of our lane.

  I hear Esi scream and my arm reaches out across her chest as I slam onto the brakes, then, unable to come to a total stop in time, I make a split-second decision to go around the logs, taking us into oncoming traffic, just as we are coming up around another turn. Switching gears, I press down on the gas hard to get past the trees and back into our lane.

  My heart is pounding like a jackhammer in my chest and I’m holding my breath, waiting to release it the moment we are safely back in our lane.

  Then it happens.

  “Holy shit!” There’s a set of headlights coming right at us. With the tree trunks still beside us on one side and the lake on the other, I have nowhere to go. I slam on the brakes again, harder this time, and I already know the semi coming at us will never be able to stop in time.

  I hear Esi cry out, and hearing her fear is worse than anything I’ve ever been afraid of myself. I shout for her to hold on, then I yank the steering wheel to the right, whipping the whole car to its side where it slides with a frightening amount of force until it collides with the semi coming toward us, finally bringing everything to a crashing halt. Her face, smiling while she’s walking toward me down that flowery aisle, is all I see before I no longer see anything at all.

  The darkness swallows me whole and I stay there. Repeating her nam
e. Over and over again. Esi. Es.

  Somewhere I feel a tingling sensation. I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from until the sensation spreads, growing into searing pain that’s threatening to tear my body apart from the inside out. Or maybe that’s precisely what’s causing this pain.

  My body is jolted by some outside source and in the aftermath, my eyelids begin to slide out of place, letting in light again. Blue and red lights. Flashing. And the moment I can see, I can also hear. Deafening noise. And I want to drown again in the darkness. Until I see it. See her. It’s just her hand and it’s dangling lifelessly from the gurney.

  “He’s awake!” A man shouts. Without ever taking his attention away from my wounds he goes on, “Sir, you’ve been in an accident. My name is Evan, I’m with the fire department. I’m here to help you.”

  I have no strength left and my body is shit. Moving only on adrenaline, I grasp the man’s hand.

  “Stop,” I beg. “She needs you.”

  The man shakes his head, working in a frenzied determination. “No. She needs you.”

  I swallow, tasting metal. Blood. “I’m dying. I’m already dead.” I cough, gagging on the fluid running down the back of my throat. “But I can’t go until I know that she’ll live.” My hand falls away from his. The darkness is coming to take me. Creeping up inch by inch and I’m ready for it. “Stop, please. She needs you.”

  Finally, he nods. His hands cease working on me, and he takes a step back. Taking my palm in his, he squeezes it tight as he places it over my heart.

  “She’ll live. I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise.”

  And I believe him.

  The End.

  Acknowledgements

  It’s that time again – that time to say THANK YOU! And, as usual, the list is long.

  Like most stories, this one has an unusual source of inspiration. It was a parking lot. Or, rather, a conversation I had while standing in a parking lot with my friend, Dara. It’s not uncommon for us to have these parking lot conversations, this time in particular though, an idea struck me for a new novel. A novel I never would have thought to write had it not been for that specific parking lot chat, so, thank you, Dara – and here’s to many more parking lot playdates in the future 