“I just left Stillwell. Where’s the listing?”
“Ryan Court. Follow the signs,” she added. “You know the blue-and-white ones.”
“I said I’d be there, Mol. Don’t nag,” he snapped.
“Whoa. Welcome back. I was wondering where that guy was.” He was known for his temper. He was easygoing and charming until his buttons were pushed and then he had the potential to boil over. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he could become volcanic.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m not having the easiest day.”
“Talk to me, Paulie.”
“I’ll take you up on that. I’ll be there in seven minutes.”
“Hurry. I’m freezing my ass off. You gotta put that dog in the basement.”
====
It was a farm ranch, run down, near bankruptcy. If he wasn’t so scattered, Paul might have bought it and fixed it up for resale. He and Allison had talked about doing that, but her illness sucked up everything this past year. Now he didn’t have time to take a crap, let alone invest and try to get a rental business going.
Molly paced the long driveway, her strawberry curls cascading down her back. She was older than him, her late forties she said, but she hung out with a young crowd. She loved Van Halen and made it to every local concert, dragging her friend Fiona, everywhere. She was hard drinking, hard loving but kindhearted, and he adored her.
“Frickin’ dog. He jumped on me when I opened the door. I’m a mess.” She pointed to a rip in the fabric of her flowing skirt. “I love this skirt. That beast ruined it.”
“I’ll give you half of my commission,” he joked, took the key, opened the door, and commanded the dog to sit. He did obediently, and he turned to Molly with a smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look at this guy. Docile as a dove.”
“More like a vulture.” She shuddered. “I just don’t like animals, unless they’re two legged.” She smiled widely.
“Forget it, Molly. I’m still taken.” It was an old joke between them.
“Shucks!” She snapped her fingers, following him into the house. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What happened at Stillwell?”
“Hah!” he roared. She smiled. It was the first laugh she had heard out of him for almost a year. The humor chased the lines from his face, and he looked younger, more carefree. He was gorgeous. Allison and he had made a beautiful couple, like the ones in magazines. He was tall, with rich brown hair. Swarthy skin and soft chocolate eyes, he was a thirty-six-year-old hunk, Molly thought. “Such a waste.” She sighed, lamenting to herself that though she adored him, he only had eyes for Allison. She was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he were only ten years older, or she ten years younger.
“Hungry?” She redirected her thoughts. “I have a tray of muffins in the car.”
Paul ran out then carried in both the cellophane tray of gourmet muffins and the jug of expensive joe. “Let’s put it on the island.”
She was digging through her purse. “Got it!” she exclaimed, pulling out a small bottle of vanilla extract. “The house stinks of wet dog.”
“It is pretty bad.”
She started rooting around for a tray. “I know she keeps aluminum pans in here. Aha.”
She pulled out a tray and filled it with tap water and poured half of the vanilla in the liquid.
“Open the oven,” she ordered.
He opened the oven door and turned the dial. “Three fifty?”
“We’ll be smelling like we’re baking cookies in no time.”
He corrected her. “Muffins.”
“What?” she asked, puzzled.
“Baking muffins.”
“You are such a purist, Paul. So…” She pulled out a sheaf of sign-in papers, busying herself with setting up her station. “Tell me about your morning.”
“I met Melissa at the house. I think she came on to me,” he said then paused. “I know she came on to me.”
“Never good to mix business and pleasure.”
“Agreed. I don’t like her. There’s something cold about her. She’s so bitter.”
“I rented out the cottage on their estate for them a few years back. You were handling a commercial job for the firm. She was a bitch then, so I wouldn’t be surprised that she is a bitch now.”
“Look what I found in the library.” He unfolded the letter and they read it together.
She sniffed. “You know I never liked Richard. He was a nasty bastard. He wasn’t happy when I dated Charles. He had problems with my age and oh yes,” she said, her eyes light with amusement, “he hated that I was a Buddhist back then.”
“You were a Buddhist?” He broke off a piece of muffin and offered it to her.
“Yes, for a while.” She took the muffin and continued. “That was my Asian phase. All the Andrewses are snobs. Even your friend Craig. They think they’re better than anyone else. Wouldn’t let the kids play with anyone who he didn’t feel was proper.”
“Well, Craig hung out with me.” He shrugged.
“Never understood that, you know. It must have been the mother’s influence. It is kind of sweet that he loved her so much,” she added wistfully.
“I wonder if I could have done that.”
She stared back at him, her face a mask of horror. “You have young kids. It was out of the question.”
“It’s hard, Molly.”
“Let’s eat another muffin. Don’t you love lemon poppy?” She stole another off the tray, and they shared it.
“Do you believe in an afterlife?”
“Yup. Always have. Do you?”
He shrugged. “Never thought about it. I hadn’t been to a funeral since my grandparents died twenty years ago. I haven’t thought about mortality. It was so far off.”
“I hear you. I was on the fence for a long time. I was born Catholic then I lapsed. In college I flirted with Buddhism. It lasted a long time, freaked my parents out. Now I’m kind of universal. I am at peace with all religions. I take a bit from here and a bit...Oh hello…” She welcomed an agent to the house and her professional side took over. He let her show the house, and for a while, they had no time to talk. He glanced at his watch; it was coming on two and he’d have to leave.
They cleaned up once the last of the realtors had left. He let the dog out and then helped Molly put the heavy aluminum sign in the back of her car.
“You never answered my question. Do you believe in ghosts?” he persisted.
She looked him in the eye, her face serious. “I have a friend. Her name is Georgia Oaken. Oh, I see you’ve heard of her. Don’t make faces, Paul.” She put her hand over his. “See her first then take her to Stillwell.”
“That’s unethical.”
“Tell Melissa and Craig you have to do a psychic cleansing.” He reeled away, and she grabbed his arm. “No, stop. Listen to me. Maybe you need the psychic cleansing. If you don’t believe, it’s an evening of entertainment. If you connect—” She stopped to make sure he was listening, really listening. “—you hit pay dirt.”
“She’s a whacko.”
“That’s her stage personality. Do I look like I would hang out with a wacko? No, don’t answer that.” She kissed his cheek and told him. “That’s it. I’m calling her for you. You can meet her at my place on Friday. Will your sister watch the kids?”
“My mom, my sister, someone will watch them.”
“Good.” She peeled out in her red Mustang convertible.
====
He made it home two minutes before Stella. He stared at the raw chicken he had defrosted in the fridge this morning. It was disgusting; he wished he could just feed them hamburgers every day. Slap them on the grill, put in a bun, and done. What could be easier. Picking up the poultry with his thumb and forefinger, he grimaced at the texture. Slimy, who wants to eat this, he wondered. The phone was cradled against his ear, as he set up dance lessons for the girls for Friday after school. Stella slid a filthy hand onto the counter to
steal from the open bag of cookies.
“Go wash, first,” he ordered with a stern glance. Her hands were a mess. What did Allison do with her nails? He hadn’t touched them since she was a baby. By the time they had a third child, Allison pretty much did everything with ease and confidence. Both their mothers were nearby and helped all the time. But her illness had aged them all. Maybe, he’d ask his sister to take the girls for manicures this weekend. He had to get Jesse’s hair cut. It was too long. How was he going to fit everything in a twenty-four-hour day?
He roasted the chicken, cooked rice pilaf, Veronica’s favorite, made frozen peas, though nobody would care for that, and tore up a rudimentary salad. He perused his feast with pride and wondered for a second if Allison knew how hard he was working.
Eating was subdued but not oppressive. Jesse had dark circles under his eyes. Clearly exhausted by his night terror, he was complacent, easy to handle. Homework was tackled, baths, and rather than let them disappear to their rooms, he invited them to sit like a pack of wolves, entwined on the couch, their body heat keeping each other’s feet warm. Man v. Food was blaring from the television. Nothing was more comforting, and it distracted them, seeing a dude scarf down huge chunks of food to the chagrin of his fans. All four of them fit together, chocolate chip cookies and milk and a weird feeling of peace.
Jesse hesitated by his door and looked at his father’s eyes. Paul winked. “Call me if you need me.”
Jesse nodded and slept through the night.
Paul did not. He had the dream. It started differently this time. Her body fit perfectly next to him in their bed, the soft lines of her figure pliant in his hands. He felt Allison stroke him, her fingers surrounded him, making him hard and ready. Reaching out, she slipped away to be dragged down the corridor. He saw her hands flailing. The mist rolled in, obscuring the monster, Allison’s screams echoing off the walls. Paul’s rage roiled through him; he raced after them, only to have them elude his every turn. Exhausted, his breath rasping in his ears, he grabbed and clutched a handful of the monster’s matted hair. Allison was slung over its back, her face white and frightened. She called to him, but the guttural growl smothered her voice. The fight was clumsy and slow. Paul felt more powerful, as though he almost had the fiend. But the greasy fur slipped through his fingers, leaving him to finish the night alone.
chapter 5
Thursday
He woke heavy eyed, weary to the bone, dissatisfied, and feeling broken.
“Suck it up,” he told his reflection in the mirror. He put on his game face and got the kids out in an organized fashion. He had to admit with pride in the fact that they were coming to the end of the first week and had ironed out so many difficulties. He wished the dreams would stop, though. But maybe they weren’t dreams; perhaps they were something else. While he knew to all outward appearances he looked functioning, deep down he was beginning to worry that there was a message in the dreams. Was the beast holding Allison back? Did she need Paul’s help? Like the time he had rescued her from the deep snow, did his wife need his help now? Was she trying to get a message to him about the monster holding her captive? Could any of this be real? Logically, he reasoned that his love for her created dreams, but why would she be in jeopardy? Unease filled his heart, his sense telling him she was in trouble. Could the dreams be telling him he had to do something? Paul shook his head. Like he told the kids, they were dreams, wishful thinking, his mind reaching out for the woman he loved. So, the other half of his brain asked, if it’s wishful thinking, why would Allison be terrorized?
Maybe Molly’s psychic will have an answer, he thought then laughed to himself. He didn’t believe in that kind of crap.
Paul dialed Craig while he was sitting at the table having his coffee. “Can you meet me?” he asked.
“I’m in Manhattan. Is seven OK?”
He hesitated. “I’ll make arrangements.” They picked a bar and hung up.
He called Molly. “I’ll be a few minutes late today.”
“So what else is new?”
Dry cleaners, grocery, and lastly the dance store to pick up outfits for the girls and shoes to match.
While driving he arranged for Jesse to be in the Saturday league for basketball, and he was so busy, that by the time he pulled into work, he realized he hadn’t thought of Allison for the latter part of the morning.
“I did it,” Molly informed him.
“Did what?” he asked absently as he went through his mail.
“I got Georgia. She’ll come to my house Friday night. After that you can decide if you want her to do the cleansing.”
“OK.” He looked up at her earnest face. “I really don’t know about this.”
“How much proof do you need? You saw the pictures. I don’t know what’s going on in your house at night, but I know you well enough to know that it’s something strange.”
He looked away. “Grief is a funny thing. It messes with your mind. OK, OK, I’ll see your nut job.”
He called his mother asking if she would watch the kids Friday night.
“Why, what are you doing?”
“I have to do a business thing,” he said evasively.
“You know I will always be available to you. What time?”
“Molly, what time?”
“You’re going out with Molly?” his mother asked.
“Ma. I said it was a business thing.” He felt heat move up his neck to color his face red.
“Seven.” She called out excited. “I told her to be here at seven.”
“Seven. Oh crap, Ma, I have to meet someone tonight. Can you watch them tonight too? I won’t be long.”
“Don’t cook. I’ll bring supper.”
“Great. I know the kids will be happy.”
====
He left work early and took a drive to Oyster Bay. There was a little hole in the wall that they used to go to when they were teens to buy souvlaki. It was one of those places that had a special way of cooking it and he knew the owner well.
He hadn’t been there for over seven months and when he walked in, Nick, the owner, put down the rag he was holding, came around the counter, and held out his hand.
“Mr. Paul...” He had a thick Greek accent, iron-gray hair, and a vintage mustache. He called to his wife who was singing in the rear. “Leni, Mr. Paul is here. We was just talking about you.”
Paul shook his hand warmly.
“I’m coming,” she called out. “Give him coffee. He loves your coffee.”
“Thanks. I’ll take a souvlaki. I’m starving,” he said, surprised that he really was hungry.
“You want to take some for the wife, the kids?” Nick rushed to the counter, picked up a sickle-shaped knife, and carved paper-thin slices from the hunk of meat grilling next to the stove.
“I make moussaka for you!” Leni called out from the kitchen, and he recognized the clatter of pots.
“Where you been, Mr. Paul? I thought you moved over to Spiro. My souvlaki better, no?”
He slid into the counter. “Yeah, well. My wife got sick.”
Nick halted. “She OK now?”
That was a good question, Paul thought, but replied, “No. She passed away last week.”
“Oh my God. Leni, get out here.” He put down the knife and came to take Paul’s hand. “I don’t believe it. She’s such a good girl. So young.” He tsked. “What happened?”
Leni stood in the door, her face white with shock. “Oh, Mr. Paul, I’m so sorry.”
He sat with them for an hour, telling them about the illness, and they told him funny stories about the two of them, how they enjoyed watching their budding romance, seeing them married, and the family grow.
“It’s a terrible thing.” Nick refilled a glass of ouzo he had pressed on him earlier. “I lost my wife too.”
“What? Leni is your wife.”
“My second wife. My first wife die in a car accident in Greece. I left because I couldn’t drive that road no more. I kept seeing her
on the road. You know,” he whispered, “dead.”
“Yes!” Paul leaned forward. “Me too. I keep seeing Allison. What ended up happening?”
Nick looked around to make sure his wife couldn’t hear him. “I never go back.”
Nick and Leni pressed care packages of food on him, which he reluctantly took. It seemed to make them feel better to be doing something for him. They insisted when they saw his half-eaten sandwich grow cold on his plate. He promised to return with the kids the following week.
====
Nonni and Grandpa had dinner on the table by the time he got home from work. They told him to take his time getting home; they would be there for the kids. Lisa sat on the couch braiding Stella’s hair. Veronica, quite the housekeeper, was helping her grandmother put out plates on the table. Guess they wouldn’t be eating off paper tonight. Jesse was in the garage showing his father his fishing rod. Plans were made for a trip to the pond on Sunday.
“What are you doing here?” Paul asked his sister.
“I switched shifts. You OK?”
He nodded and smiled at the pretty picture his daughter and sister made. “I got stuff in the car. You want to help me?”
She got up and followed him outside. “You look tired, Paul.”
He shrugged. “I gotta ask you something. Don’t…Don’t judge me. Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Whew. Paulie. That was the last thing I expected from you.”
“I know. I know.” Brown eyes studied brown eyes. “Well...do you?”
“Noooo,” she said finally. “I see terrible things every day. Things that God himself would have never approved. And if he did…I can’t believe in something like that. I trust science, and you can’t marry science and spirituality. Science is the truth. Spirituality…is for nuts.”
“You make sense.”
“You’re just missing Allison.”
“You’re probably right.”
====
Dinner was festive and it did Paul’s heart good to see his kids happy. He left before the cleanup, to meet Craig. He was early, so he sat down and ordered a beer. Snacking on peanuts, he observed the women lined up at the bar, predators looking to mate. They eyed him, and he looked down, not wanting to make eye contact. He was not interested.
Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island Page 9