My pulse quickened. "Have you seen Grandma?"
"Nope."
I trusted him to tell me the truth. "Okay, just asking, 'cause what you said seems a little strange to me." I grabbed some ham and cheese from the fridge and made my sandwich.
"I dreamed about her. And Grandpa, too," he said.
"Oh yeah? Me too, at least about Grandma. What'd you dream?" I grabbed an orange and peeled it.
"I dreamed Grandma and me were in a kitchen and she was making cookies. She told me her mom used to make them all the time. She said you loved them. Pizza cookies or something like that."
"Pizzelles. So, did you two talk or anything?"
"Yup." He flipped another page in the magazine.
"Well, what'd she say?"
"Just that she was trying really hard and you'd better be grateful."
I didn't think Ma was talking about the cookies. "That's Grandma for ya, always bragging."
"Yup."
I glanced at the sandwich and the orange, deciding which to eat first and chose the sandwich. I took a bite, and chewed before speaking. "So what'd you dream about Grandpa?"
"We were sitting outside on a deck. Well, it wasn't really a deck 'cause it was cement, and Grandpa had a ball and threw it into a bunch of trees and then told me to get it."
I stilled. "Was it dark?"
"Yup."
"Did you get the ball?"
"Yup."
"Were you scared?"
"At first, but then I wasn't."
"You're a brave kid."
"It was 'cause of Grandpa. He told me not to be scared. He said I could do it, and he wouldn't let anything bad happen because he had my six." He flipped another page in the magazine.
"Was that the whole dream?"
"Pretty much."
"That's a nice dream."
"Oh, then he said he liked playing with electrical stuff."
"Really? That's odd. Grandpa wasn't much of a handyman."
He shrugged. "That's what he said."
We talked a little more about his plans for the day as I finished my sandwich. Before leaving, I kissed him goodbye, grateful he was still young enough to not be completely grossed out by his mother. "Make wise choices today."
"Always do, Mama."
He was right. He did.
In the car I thought about his dreams. It wasn't a coincidence that Ma showed up making cookies in both of our dreams. "I'm trying, Ma. I really am. And I'm sure you are, too."
Josh's dream about my father wasn't just a dream. It was too similar to a regular event of my childhood. My dad and I would often sit on the back porch at night. He'd throw the ball and tell me to get it, but it was dark, and I was scared. My father was former military, and “I've got your six,” or anything referencing having someone's six is a popular military expression meaning, “I've got your back.” My father used that expression often. I didn't know the significance of replaying that scene with Josh in a dream, but I knew it meant something.
I hated not being able to understand the signs of the dead, especially the ones from my parents. When I first began communicating with the dead, I fought it and now I kicked myself for that. Maybe if I'd accepted it sooner, it wouldn't have disappeared.
Knowing the odds were stacked against me, I asked my dad for help anyway. "Can you gimme a hint about Josh's dream, Dad? And the reference to electrical stuff? I'm at a loss for that one, too."
Dad kept quiet.
***
Linda was waiting for me in the front lobby of her office. We said our hellos and then walked into her spiritual room. Before she sat, she grabbed two bottles of water from her mini-fridge and tossed one to me. I sat and guzzled the water.
"Thirsty?"
"I'm pretending it's wine."
"Nervous?"
"Me? Absolutely not." I tapped my fingers on the table. Linda looked at me and I shrugged. "What?"
She raised her eyebrows.
"Okay, so maybe I'm a little nervous."
"Why? This is old hat for you."
"Just ready to get back to talking to the dead, I guess." It was still strange to hear myself say stuff like that.
After my gift disappeared I was desperate to connect with my parents. I hadn't needed to mourn my mother since her spirit was ever-present, but when my father died and took my gift with him, I got hit with a double whammy—the loss of both parents. I teetered on the edge of sanity, but Linda kept me from falling. We worked diligently to fix what was broken, trying everything from chanting to hypnosis. I hounded her to make contact for me, but she refused. She said my spirit guides nixed the idea. Not knowing them personally, I objected to their involvement, but Linda wouldn't budge. Since I didn't really have any other choice, I acquiesced.
I fidgeted in the chair, but stopped when Linda raised her eyebrows again. "Sorry." I tapped my foot, knowing she couldn't see through the table, or hoping she couldn't. After all, she did have a psychic gift.
Linda took out her lighter, lit the candles on the table, and then shut off the lights. Serene music played from small speakers near the ceiling. She was in psychic mode. I was in get 'er done mode. I caught myself tapping my fingers on the table again and quickly folded my hands together.
"You need to relax," she said.
"You know that's not a word in my vocabulary."
"That's part of the problem. Breathe." She showed me how to breathe in and out slowly, like I'd never done it before.
I mimicked a woman in labor and she laughed. "I've spent a month breathing and centering and saying all of that Namaste crap and it's not helping. I just want to talk to my parents." That sounded snarky. "Sorry. I'm just frustrated."
She blew out the candles and flipped on the lights. "I understand, but let's just cut to the chase." She sat back in her chair and folder her arms across her chest. "Repeat what you just said."
I was pretty sure where this was going and knew the direction wasn't in my favor. "Which part?"
"I think you know."
I rolled my lips together. "I want to talk to my parents?"
She nodded. "Exactly."
"So?"
"So the universe is teaching you a lesson and until you get it, you're not going to have that opportunity."
"What's fair about that?"
"Nothing, actually. Your gift isn't about you. It's about helping others, and until you're ready to do that—truly ready—you're not going to get it back."
"But I do want to help others."
She took a drink of water. "Saying it doesn't make it true."
I stiffened. "It is true. I want to help others, but I also want to talk to my parents. Why can't I want both? Why can't I have both?"
"You can, but it's what's more important that's the problem. You want to talk to your parents, and if that means you have to talk to other spirits, you will, but helping others should be more important than helping yourself."
"You make me sound selfish."
She tilted her head and raised her left hand. "If the shoe fits."
"So what you're saying is that I'm pretty much screwed."
She leaned into the table. "You've been given something special—something truly amazing, but it's not about you, and you have to understand that. And I think you will. In fact, I think you're getting close. Things are happening more and more, aren't they?"
I hated how she did that, knew things I didn't tell her. "You spying on me or something?"
She tapped her temple with two fingers. "Psychic, remember?"
"So what you're saying is that once I stop being a spoiled brat I'll get my gift back?"
She nodded. "Pretty much."
I ran my hand through my hair. "Cheese and rice, I'm doomed."
She shook her head. "No, you're not. Right there you just said, I'll get my gift back, instead of, I'll be able to talk to my parents. That's progress, Angela. Baby steps."
I updated her on the rock incidents and the dream about my mother.
"See? Progress."
"Think about your dream, Angela. Your mom knows."
"How do you mean?"
"The Barbie Doll is Mel. Pay attention to your surroundings. She's communicating with you."
"She may be, but I'm not smart enough to understand."
"Yes, you are. Go with your gut. It knows. You just have to stop trying so hard."
"Do you think we could talk to my mother? You know, for Mel, since it's not really about me?"
"I'd be happy to make an appointment with Mel, if that's what she wants."
"Can I come?"
She shook her head. "Baby steps."
"Fine."
"It's going to be, eventually." She pulled out her appointment book. "When can you come see me again?"
I pulled out my phone and checked my calendar. "Can I just call you? Would that be okay?"
She closed her book. "Absolutely. And Angela, it's all going to work out, so don't worry, okay?"
"I wish I could believe that."
She touched her two fingers to her head again. "Psychic, remember?"
That didn't make me feel a whole lot better.
***
I texted Mel from the parking lot. "Done with Linda. Starbucks in twenty?"
"Yup."
We sat at our regular table outside of Starbucks and drank our coffee. Mel’s hair was disheveled, her eyes puffy and red. I glanced at her finger, and her wedding ring was gone. I filled her in on my conversation with Linda.
"You're not selfish," she said.
"You're my best friend. You're supposed to say that."
"Good point. Stop being selfish, dammit."
I squinted and shook my head. "Didn't work."
"Are you constipated?"
"Uh, no. Why?"
"You just made your constipated face."
"That was my concentrating face."
She shook her head. "Nope, it was your constipated face."
I took my phone out of my purse, put it in camera mode, and used it as a mirror. I made my concentrating face. "Lovely. When I try to look smart, I look like I'm pushing out a brick."
She snorted. "Not a brick, maybe a charcoal briquette or two."
"Thanks. That's so much better."
"That's what I'm here for." She bit her bottom lip. "So, should I make an appointment with Linda?"
I played with my mother's gold cross hanging from my neck. I wasn't sure. I wanted Ma to help, but I wanted to be there when they connected. Mel was wrong. I was selfish. "If that's what you want." I sounded like a twelve-year-old not getting her way.
Mel shifted in her seat. "I won't if you don't want me to."
"I want you to find out the truth about Nick and if that means Ma helps you, then yes, I want you to."
"You're lying."
"Am not."
"Are too."
We were both acting like twelve-year-olds. I handed her my cell phone. "Make the appointment, seriously."
She handed it back. "We'll follow him on our own and figure out another way to contact Fran."
I handed her the phone again. "I've tried. The only thing I can think of is a Ouija Board."
Mel leaned back in her chair, waved her hands in front of her chest and shook her head. "Um, no thanks."
"Why not?"
"Because that idea sucks, that's why."
"I didn't say it was a good idea."
"It's not."
"You got something better?"
Her shoulders slumped. "Just following him, but we're already planning that."
"Then a Ouija Board it is."
Her face grew white, which was impressive for an Asian woman. "Those things are satanic."
"They are not."
"Uh, yeah, they are."
"How do you know?"
"Because I used one once."
That was news to me. "When have you used a Ouija Board?"
"I was twelve, and I still have nightmares about it." She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth like a woman in labor. "Can't do that again. Not ever."
I scooted my chair closer and leaned on the table. "What happened?"
"We contacted a demon and it said it was going to burn my house down. I was so scared I ran through the house screaming, a fire! A fire! My mom called the fire department and two fire trucks, three police cars, and an ambulance came. When my mother found out why I did that, she made me apologize to all of them individually. Then she called our priest and made me tell him what I'd done. My penance was one hundred Hail Marys. He had to perform a cleansing on the house and my mom made me go to confession twice a week for a year, just in case."
I spit out my coffee. "Knowing your mother, she still hasn't forgiven you, either."
She took a big gulp of her drink. "She hasn't. Those things are satanic, Angela. Trust me."
"I guess you don't really want to know the truth then."
"That's not fair."
"I'm going to get one. Maybe I'll tell you what my mom says."
"Ugh," she said.
"You really think my mother would let a demon come through before her? My mom?"
She propped her elbow on the table and put her cheek in her hand. "You've got a point."
I stood and rubbed my hands together. "Good. Let's do this. It'll be fun, and God knows we both need some fun in our lives. Let's go, scaredy cat."
She guzzled the last of her drink. "Fine. I'll drive." She stood. "I hate you."
"Think you can stop shaking enough to steer?"
"Bite me."
"My, aren't you the testy one?"
She growled at me.
"That's scary."
I texted Jake and let him know I was running errands.
"First we're stopping at Nick's work," Mel said.
"Why?"
"To see if his car is there."
"It's the middle of the work day. I'm sure it is."
"Never hurts to check."
We got in Mel's car and drove the fifteen minutes to Nick's office. The parking lot was full, so we went row by row looking for Nick's car.
Mel stopped in the third row and ducked down in her seat. "Crap, there he is."
"Where?"
"Over there," she said, pointing out the front window.
I looked and saw Nick and a tall blond woman walking down the row in front of us. "Oh, crap!" I ducked in my seat, too. "You know, ducking really isn't going to help. He knows your car."
She cleared her throat. "I don't care. Just stay down."
We sat there for a few minutes, trying to get as small as humanly possible, in a car Nick's not only seen, but also driven, for four years. I peeked out the window to see if he was gone. "Okay, he's gone."
Mel sat upright. "Did you get a look at who was with him?"
"Tall blond. Long hair. A little on the heavy side."
"Oh. That's the Executive Vice President, Marla something or other. He's not sleeping with her."
I raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"
"She's in a relationship."
"So is Nick."
"With a woman."
"Oh."
She nodded, and put the car in drive. "Yup."
We headed to Target.
***
Neither Target nor Walmart had Ouija boards. "This sucks. I swear I've got some seriously bad juju going on. Nothing's going my way lately." I opened my mouth and moved my jaw around in circles, trying to loosen its tightness.
Mel put her arm around me as we walked to her car. "You're not fat anymore."
"There is that."
After my dad died I stopped exercising and ate myself from a size four to a size ten. Jake never said a thing, and I was in denial, but one day I looked in the mirror, realized I was becoming wider than my height, and went on a strict diet and exercise regimen. That actually helped me through my grief a lot more than ice cream and c
upcakes. I eat them now, but not the whole gallon or dozen in a day like before.
"How can they not have Ouija Boards?" I asked.
"Probably because they're satanic."
"Oh geez. They are not."
"Have you ever used one?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?" she asked.
"I don't, but what I do know is that you're a wuss."
She nodded. "Yup."
"I ain't afraid of no ghost," I said.
Mel raised her hand and jumped up and down. "Oh, pick me! I know this one! Pick me!
I tilted my head at her. "Go ahead."
"Ray Parker Jr., Ghostbusters theme. Like you didn't abuse that one when you first started seeing ghosts."
"Yeah, I kind of did, didn't I?"
She pinched her fingers into an inch sign. "Just a little. And tell me, were you scared the other night when you felt someone in your den?"
"That's different."
"How?"
"Oh fine. It's not different."
"Say it."
"Say what?"
"Say why it's not different, Angela-I-ain't-afraid-of-no-ghosts-Panther."
"No."
"I wanna hear you say it."
"Why? Because you wanna be right?"
"I already am."
"Then I don't need to say it," I said, jutting my chin out.
"Humor me."
"Fine." I covered my mouth and mumbled. "Ididn'tknowwhothe-ghostwas."
She clapped and giggled. "That makes me happy."
I scrunched my eyebrows. "What? That I was afraid?"
"That you made my point."
"You're a pain in the butt."
"That's something at which I excel, too."
"It was at night, Mel. Everything's scarier at night."
"Seriously? That's what you're goin' with?"
"It's true. I read it on the Internet."
"Oh geesh, what are you, five? Scary things can happen during the day too."
"I know. I see a lot of scary things happening right now." I pointed to a woman walking through the Walmart parking lot wearing flesh-colored spandex leggings, a see-through white mesh top and a black bra. I'm all for personal style, but flesh colored spandex and white mesh were questionable.
She smirked. "Oh my." She squinted. "Is she wearing pants?"
I squinted, too. "You know, I'm not sure. I thought she had on flesh-colored leggings, but maybe not."
"Nobody should ever wear flesh colored spandex."
I laughed. "Let's check Goodwill. If they don't have it we'll figure something else out."
Unbreakable Bonds (An Angela Panther Mystery Book 2) Page 3