Forgotten Spirits

by Barbara Deese

  Instead, he shot back with, “Okay, then, let’s just use your phone.” He raised his hands theatrically, and after an equally theatrical pause, said, “Oh, wait, you left yours in your coat pocket at home!”

  She felt her jaw tighten. “Yeah, you’re right. I forgot the phone at home. You, on the other hand, remembered it, but chose to bring it with a dead battery.”

  “So we’re even.”

  “Forgetting isn’t on quite the same level as choice.”

  “Result’s the same.”

  He was so clueless, it would be funny if—she didn’t want to finish the sentence, even in her head, but she did anyway—It would be funny if she hadn’t given him the best years of her life. There were no do-overs, no way to reclaim those years. No point in thinking of the more stable and sensible men she could have married, any one of whom would have known enough to replace the phone battery or buy a new goddamn phone.

  But instead she chose to marry fun, sexy, enticing Vinnie, who’d given up gambling in casinos, but still got the gambler’s rush on little things like seeing how long he could make his dying battery perform. She looked at his hands, clenched in his lap.

  His face was a mask. His shoulders drooped in defeat. “I know I screwed up, but we’ll be fine. The gas tank’s only down a couple bars. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  She slapped her hands against the steering wheel. “If there’s nothing to worry about, what on earth are we running from?”

  Shrugging, he said, “I’d tell you to chill, but, sweetheart, I’m guessing you’re already cold enough. Look, you’re frosting up the windows.” He grunted and then tilted the seat back and closed his eyes. He looked relaxed except for the fisted hands in his lap.

  Suddenly, she wanted to turn the car around and head back, not to her own apartment and whatever danger might be lurking there, but to Bill Harley’s small but sturdy home in Wisconsin only half an hour from Robin’s old place at Spirit Falls. She longed to be sitting on Bill’s big masculine leather sofa in front of his wood-burning fireplace right now, her own Molly Pat and Bill’s dog, Grover, at her side. Given a little encouragement, she would open up to Bill about why Sierra’s death had frightened her so. If she told him about the money that had been serendipitously dropped at their feet, Bill might tell her she was stupid for not considering how taking money that was not theirs could be more of a curse than a blessing. She’d rather he think her stupid than immoral.

  They’d split the money and the money had returned the favor and split them. It was that simple—that is, until Sierra’s death. Now it appeared the consequences would keep on coming as long as even one of them was alive.

  It was time to lay all her cards on the table, no matter what happened next. Secrecy had gotten her nowhere. Of course, once Bill found out how greedy and deceitful she’d been, it would be a miracle if he’d still want her in his life. Surely he would come to the same conclusion they all had—almost every man she’d known. In her twenties and thirties, even into her forties, men had described her as hot, in the sense she was sexy to look at, but most who got to know her concluded she was cold inside—heartless, even. If Bill could look her in the eyes after all she had to tell him and say he loved her, then, maybe, just maybe, she would try to believe she was worthy of that love.

  Her sins of omission had begun when she’d moved to Minnesota and met warm and funny Cate, whose moral compass pointed to true north. Foxy had felt instantly at home with her and her book club friends. They’d clicked, and she knew she’d stumbled onto the community, the family, she’d always longed for. They were principled, she’d realized early on, without being moralistic—just the opposite of the way she’d grown up. Having dealt with tough situations hadn’t hardened them. They were serious about learning and eager to help with various causes, but despite all that, they laughed whenever they got together. Every time!

  In their presence she’d gotten good at slipping around questions about her former job, so good, that by the time she thought it might be safe to talk freely about her past with them, they’d stopped asking and there was no reason to rock the boat.

  On Saturday they’d been interested and concerned about Sierra’s death, and taken aback when she told them about seeing a man gunned down, but no one had judged her. But would they still feel so kindly when they discovered she hadn’t told them the whole story?

  Vinnie had his eyes shut and his fisted hands were now relaxed. Foxy assumed he was asleep. She’d always resented his ability to sleep, no matter how bad things were. She had worked a long time to overcome a lifetime problem with insomnia, which had only gotten worse with her showgirl’s night owl schedule, but for him, sleep was effortless.

  His voice startled her. “What happened to us?” Vinnie said, raising his seatback again and facing her. His dark eyes looked sad.

  “What?”

  “What happened to us? We used to be dynamite together.”

  She sighed heavily. “Did you ever think that was the problem?”

  Now it was his turn to say, “What?”

  “Being dynamite together? Maybe that was the problem.”

  He laughed drily. “I get it. Ha ha. Good until someone lights the fuse. That’s fitting.” He pulled out a pack of Dentyne and offered her a piece before popping one in his mouth.

  Foxy began to question herself, as she had for years since they’d divorced. “I guess at one point the good simply outweighed the bad.”

  “I suppose.” He sighed. “You know, I had plenty of time in the hospital to think.”

  “I know. I was there.” She was beginning to feel queasy.

  “Yes, you were there, at least you were there in the flesh, but I could feel it, you know. I could tell you’d already left me in your heart.”

  She inhaled sharply. Slowly, she began to nod.

  He cleared his throat and looked out the window, his jaws clenching on the chewing gum. He swiped the back of his hand under his nose and continued. “Lying there in a body cast, I decided I was done with gambling. I really did quit, you know.” When she didn’t say anything, he kept going. “I had one little lapse just before I left town, just to see if I could handle it, but all that did was prove to myself I had a real problem. I counsel enough people with addictions to know it’s a pretty common reason to relapse.” He paused and cleared his throat again. “I really believe we could’ve made a go of it. I was ready to do whatever I had to.”

  Foxy’s eyes scanned the road, which was striped now with blowing snow. She felt him watching her, and felt the tears trickling down her cheek. Damn him, she thought, for drawing her into the Vinnie Vortex once again. She licked the corner of her mouth and tasted salt. The car drifted to the shoulder as she reached for a tissue. Overcorrecting, she slipped across the center line and back again.

  Up ahead on the right was a little bakery, which, as she remembered, was closed during the winter. As they approached it, she saw the small parking lot had not been plowed, but she managed to get her Saturn in far enough to ensure it wouldn’t be clipped by a passing car.

  “What’re you doing?”

  Shifting it to park, she turned to face her ex-husband. “It’s not that simple to say we were good together. As it turns out, it just wasn’t enough, Vin. Maybe we could’ve made it and maybe not. You and I were already rocky when we took that money, and it didn’t change us for the better. But there’s more to the story, Vinnie, and it’s way past the time you knew it.”

  Chapter 19

  Grace was fussing with the zipper pull on her down coat when Fred pulled up perpendicular to Robin’s driveway, evidently in too big a hurry to actually drive in. He was more edgy and irritated this morning than Grace had seen her husband in a long time, and it was no wonder. The teachers’ union in his school district was threatening to strike over class size and achievement tests, and was calling for
more special meetings. Buffeted on both sides by angry teachers and angry taxpayers, he knew whatever his stance as school superintendent, it would prove incendiary. Negotiations and hastily called meetings had been gobbling up his time and his patience for days.

  He rushed around to the back of the station wagon and easily lifted her suitcase, setting it on the cleared patch of driveway. She got out, grabbed her purse and her canvas tote and opened the back door to get the rest of her things.

  “You’re not taking that, too, are you?” he said as she reached in to pick up the sealed liquor store box.

  “Yup, that too.”

  “You’re taking a box of wine?”

  She didn’t have to justify taking a few bottles of wine to spend a weekend with friends! “Yes,” she snapped back, realizing she was too tired to argue. When she’d first come home from the sleep study early this morning, she’d been wide awake, and then, out of habit, she’d poured three big mugs of coffee down her gullet, which jazzed her up even more. At this very moment, however, lethargy and brain fog were beginning to set in.

  “Fine, I’ll get it.” With a dismissive shake of his head, he set the box down next to the suitcase and tote. Grace pulled two plastic grocery bags from the back seat and leaned in for a kiss. He brushed his lips across her cheek—about as intimate as if he were kissing his mother—and hustled back to slip behind the wheel. Rolling down the window, he called out, “Have fun. Drive carefully.” Snow prevented him from squealing tires as he took off, but there was defiance in the way the car’s rear end jerked back and forth all the way to the stop sign.

  Abandoning her things, except for her purse, near the street, she went up the drive on foot, thinking how odd it was Robin had taken down the pretty wreath she’d had on the front door for their book club brunch. Since Saturday, she’d also managed to outline the porch in twinkly lights. Catching a blast of wind in her face, Grace’s eyes watered, and she wrapped her muffler one more turn around her neck. Her glasses steamed up as she breathed into the wool scarf.

  Ringing the bell, she waited, pounded, waited again and then tried the door. It was locked. She couldn’t remember ever using the other door, but she made her way through the snow and around to the side near the garage. Thank God she’d worn her mukluks. This door was locked too. She peered through the small window, startled by the jumble of gargoyles and garden gnomes scattered just inside the door. They were so uncharacteristic of Robin’s taste.

  Trudging back to her pile of stuff on the driveway, Grace started to perch on the end of her suitcase and felt it tip. Her arms shot out and she caught herself before falling. It wasn’t very graceful, and she hoped no one was peeping out their windows to see her ridiculous self, standing in the middle of her belongings like a refugee with no place to go.

  By now her glasses had frosted up, and so she removed them, and then her mittens. The temperature had been hovering a few degrees below freezing, much warmer than the past week. It took someone born and raised in this climate to consider twenty-six degrees warm, but even a native Minnesotan got cold standing still in this weather. Pulling out her cell phone, she squinted, pressed Robin’s number and listened to it ring. And ring. Looking back at the house, it occurred to her there were no lights on. “Keen observer,” she said out loud.

  She considered her options. Fred would not have his phone on since he’d still be driving, and he never talked on the phone when he drove. Besides, he would not be pleasant about turning back to fetch her. She really was in a pickle. It was too early to go knocking on doors throughout the neighborhood, and too damn cold to stand out here.

  She called Robin a second time. Again, the disembodied voice at the other end told her that the person she was calling was unavailable, and instructed her to leave a message. “Hi, it’s me,” she said. “I knocked and you didn’t answer. I’m standing here like a ninny at the end of your driveway with a full case of wine. Just look out your window.”

  She stood, put on her mittens again and placed her hands on her cheeks. The wind was icy. She flapped her arms at her sides and then over her head to stay warm. She paused when a car went past, then resumed her top-only jumping jacks. “Well, here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into!” she said out loud.

  When the phone in her pocket rang a few minutes later, the voice at the other end said, “Listen, honey, I’m thrilled that you’re here, but I’m looking out my window and I don’t see you.”

  “I’m right here.” Grace said, her impatience growing. She turned to the house and waved.

  “Well, then, bring the wine and come on up, but I have to say, I don’t usually drink this early in the day.”

  “Um,” Grace said, suddenly wondering if she was dreaming. None of it made sense.

  “What are you doing in Philadelphia anyway?”

  Philadelphia? What the heck? And then it sank in. She was talking to her old classmate, Rhonda, who’d moved out east a year ago. The second Grace realized she’d clicked the wrong name on her list of contacts—not Robin and Brad, but Rhonda and Bud—she guffawed into the phone. “Oh, my God, Rhonda, you will not believe this.” She was laughing so hard, she could barely get the story out and when she finally disconnected, she wondered if Rhonda was telling her husband that Grace had finally lost her mind.

  Before she could put her glasses on and call the correct number, the phone rang. This time it really was Robin who said, “Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just look out front.” She waved at the front window once more. It was too dark to see inside. “I’m right in front of your house. Where are you?” Grace retorted.

  For a moment no one spoke. Grace waved again, and then looked more closely at the front door. Not only had the Bentleys removed the wreath and put up twinkly lights, they’d also repainted the door. For the second time that morning, she started laughing uncontrollably, and as soon as she could get out enough words for Robin to understand, Robin joined in.

  In about three minutes, she saw Robin coming toward her from her own house exactly one block away. Still laughing, Grace hopped from one foot to the other, waving her arms over her head like a middle-aged cheerleader with pom-poms.

  * * *

  Foxy’s voice was steady. Although she’d rehearsed the words in her mind so many times over the years, they didn’t tumble out easily. Vinnie angled toward her in the passenger seat, searching her face for some clue.

  She sucked in her breath and began. “It’s convenient to say it all went wrong when we found the money and decided to keep it. We were naïve to think it wouldn’t change us. Two-hundred thousand is a lot even by today’s standards, but back then it meant everything to me—to us. But we were already floundering.”

  His eyes shifted to meet hers, and then slid away. The wariness she felt was echoed in his expression.

  “We both knew I couldn’t dance forever, Vin.” Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her knee, which had begun to stiffen when she sat too long. “We talked about me quitting. I was coming up on forty years old, but I was bringing in more than you were.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” He shook his head. “How do you think I felt when my own pop called me a parassita?”

  “You weren’t a parasite! I never thought of you that way. It was a fact of our lives, and I felt trapped by it. Do you think I wanted to work forever? I know it was a sore spot, but what was I supposed to do? Sierra was younger than I was and she’d already retired by then. It made me feel old, like I’d literally danced through my twenties and thirties and had nothing to show for it.”

  He grunted. “Yeah, the difference was, Sierra retired because she had a baby.”

  Biting the edge of her lip, she nodded slowly. “Yes, she did.” She needed to tell the story her way, the way she’d rehearsed it. “We always said we wanted to have kids, but we never actually planned for them—like th
e cost of having a child without my income or where would be the best schools or neighborhoods for a kid or how we would raise a family without my salary—not even when we started talking about it in earnest.”

  “I remember when we decided to quit using protection.”

  “That’s not exactly planning. We didn’t have much in savings, and our house wasn’t set up for kids. The hours we kept were ­atrocious.”

  His mouth twitched to the side and he sniffed. “Well, it doesn’t matter. It never happened anyway. I kind of thought it might for a while, but then . . .”

  “We didn’t even throw away the birth control pills until I was almost thirty-five. I just assumed I’d get pregnant right away and retire from the show. I thought any month it might happen.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “But then a year went by and then two. Remember when I brought up the idea of taking a year off to see if I’d conceive?”

  He shifted uneasily. “That never made a lot of sense to me. Even the doctor said it was safe to keep dancing if you got pregnant.”

  “Safety wasn’t my concern. It was the way we lived. Maybe it was superstition, but by then, I’d started to think God was punishing me because of my lifestyle.”

  He raised his hands. “What was wrong with our lifestyle?”

  “Not ours, mine. It was . . . decadent. I was causing men to lust.” She knew the words coming from her mouth were planted there in her childhood. They were still inside her brain, no matter how hard she’d tried to eradicate them. “Some people assumed we were all prostitutes. It was degrading.”

  “We both knew you weren’t doing anything wrong. We used to laugh about their narrow minds. Why can’t you just let that stuff go?”

  She groaned. “I thought I had, but do you know some idiots still think that’s what it means to be a massage therapist? Back then my parents reminded me in every phone call and card that they, along with Pastor Paul, were praying for my soul.”