by A. L. Jambor
"I guess I agree."
The woman pulled a tray out of the cart and took it into Mari's room. Mari was shaking again. She waited until the woman left to go into her room. She'd been seeing people since she woke up, but this was different. She saw the way George had died, and that teenage girl, and it was creepy.
Something had happened to her brain during the accident that had awakened some sixth sense, and Mari was afraid. This was the sort of thing you didn't talk about or people would think you were crazy, and her biggest fear was that people would think her brain wouldn't work right anymore. It would keep her from working, and people might not want to be near her. She'd be ostracized, left to fend for herself with no hope of being normal again.
She went to her recliner and pulled the tray near so she could eat her dinner. Some sort of meatloaf with potatoes and corn. She tasted each and ate a little, but the image of that girl kept appearing in her mind. Had she died in this facility? Had someone found her in the bathroom, or in some patient's room?
When she was done with the food, she lay down on the bed again and slipped under the covers. She thought about her job. She knew they needed her, but how long would they wait for her brain to heal? As she thought about Kathy, the phone on her end table began to ring.
"Mari?" It was Kathy.
"Wow. I was just thinking about you," Mari said.
"How are you?
"I'm much better."
"That's great. Listen, Murray wanted me to talk to you."
Mari thought of the middle-aged paunchy producer and cringed. He would leer at her whenever she had to deal with him directly.
"Okay," Mari said.
"He's decided to let you go."
Mari's heart skipped a beat. "What? Why?"
"He said we need a researcher, and since we don't know how long it will be till you're ready to come back, we have to let you go. You'll have six months' severance and he'll let you keep your medical for three months, so it's not that bad. It gives you time to heal and..."
"He can't do that," Mari said. "He can't just let me go."
"He can, Mari. You signed a contract that says if you are unable to do the job, he has the right to terminate you."
"No, you can't do this, I need this job."
"You'll be all right. We'll give you a great reference. You'll be fine. I just need an address for you so I can send you the paperwork."
The rest of the conversation was a blur. Mari's whole being was wrapped up in her work, and without it, she felt hollow. Murray had cut off her lifeline, and Kathy acted like it was no big deal. When she hung up the phone, Mari lay back on the pillows and cried.
*****
Drifting between waking and sleeping was Mari's daily routine. She would wake, see the time on the TV, and realize she'd been out for two hours. She'd move, and pain would flare from her hip to her ankle. She'd remember the accident, and then, Harry.
He had insisted on coming with her because she wanted to go to the cottage where Charlotte Johnson's murder had taken place. She was due back in New York and the storm had kept them inside for days, that and Harry's lovemaking.
"I have to go there before I leave," she said as he ran a finger between her breasts.
"It's still snowing," he said.
"I can drive in the snow." She sat up and put her feet on the floor. He ran that finger up and down her spine. "I'm not giving in to you. I have to go there before it gets dark."
"Then I'm going with you. If you get stuck, you'll need help digging out."
She was about to protest that she was perfectly capable of digging out, but she stopped herself. Why not let him come along if he wanted to?
He was telling her how he had tried to get his B&B on a list of places that held home tours during the Christmas season as they drove down Main Street.
"They pay to see the decorations, and I could use the money, but it's who you know and I'm the new kid in town. They put me in for consideration next year."
Harry was struggling. He had bought the B&B the year before and had marketed like hell, but the inn had to overcome the reputation of its former owners, an elderly couple who had let things go. Harry had been counting on this holiday to put him in the black until spring, and then the storm arrived.
They were heading down Main Street when she saw the lights coming toward her and swerved to avoid them, only to spin on the ice, which put Harry in harm's way. The other car hit the passenger door so hard that Harry had been pushed out of his seatbelt and into Mari, who had failed to attach her seatbelt. She was thrust into the windshield and couldn't remember anything after that.
Poor Harry, oh, God, poor Harry. It was a litany that played over and over from the time she woke up in the morning. It was her fault. She should have made him stay home. She should have said something, insisted, something to make him not get into her car. She desperately wanted a do-over.
The last time Cassie came to visit, she said Harry's sister was staying at the B&B.
"Can you ask her if I can get my things?" Mari asked.
"Why don't you give it some time?" Cassie said.
"But I need my laptop. Why won't you call her?"
Cassie sighed. When Mari acted like a spoiled child, Cassie had to remind herself it was the head injury talking.
"You were driving, Mari."
It took a moment for Mari to understand what Cassie meant, and when she did, she felt her chest tighten and found it hard to breathe. Harry's sister knew Mari was driving, that she had killed him.
"It was an accident," Cassie said, "but it might be hard for her to think about it right now."
Tears rolled down Mari's cheeks. She was crying again. She'd talked to the occupational therapist about her emotional outbursts only to discover that they, too, were just a part of her brain injury. What she didn't like hearing was that these outbursts might be permanent.
"There are no guarantees that you will be exactly like you used to be," Colleen said.
"Give it some time," Cassie always said.
You'll be better in no time.
Her mother had said this when Mari complained about having the flu when a term paper was due.
Mari wrapped her arms across her chest. No job meant no apartment in New York and she'd have to talk to her roommate about storing her things. She'd have six months' severance, which she could stretch into a year if she lived in Cassie's apartment, but what would she do with her time? She needed work, especially now, when thoughts of Harry threatened to crush her.
"Time heals all wounds."
Her mom again, trying to salve the pain Mari felt when no one asked her to the prom.
"Where are you?" Mari said out loud. "I need you."
An only child of an only child, Mari had to bury her mother alone. There was no will, or instructions left behind. At fifty-eight, her mother thought there was plenty of time for all that. The cancer had been detected too late, and it was aggressive. Mari had left her mother's care to the professionals, the people who were trained to deal with such things, because she couldn't bear to see her mother fading away.
When she finally did see her, it was near the end, and there was no time to tell her how sorry she was for being so selfish. She held her mother's hand until she took her last breath, but Mari held onto her guilt. She deserved the pain. It was her atonement.
Her mom had left her a little money, but not enough for a funeral. Mari held a memorial at her mother's apartment instead, and had placed her mother's urn on the cocktail table so others could pay their respects.
Mari was numb after her mother died. She worked as many hours a day as she could, and fell into bed as soon as she got home. Crushing fatigue and a constant flow of ideas were how she dealt with loss. What would she do now?
She tried hard to shut out the emotions that preyed on her every day. She hated being confined, hated being out of her own control, hated having to "feel."
Her head pounded. She needed her meds. They wouldn't bring them a mi
nute sooner than scheduled. She was learning to be patient. This was what they meant by downtime. She'd never taken any and it was weird that no one expected anything from her. No one was calling to ask for her research. They were all surviving without her.
Mari
Five Months Later - May
Mari sneezed and rubbed her nose. Spring with its beautiful colors and fresh, warm air had also brought pollen, and her allergies were making her miserable. Despite that, she was craving fresh air. The boxy little apartment over Cassie's garage had been good for her the first few weeks after her release from rehab, but now it felt small, and opening the windows gave her the illusion of space. It also allowed her seasonal enemy full access to her nasal passages.
The apartment was one large room with a full-size bathroom in a partitioned corner across from the front door. The kitchen had a counter with a sink and a microwave, and a small fridge was under it next to the pipes. She also had a coffee maker, but she usually drank Cassie's coffee.
The room had four windows -- two on a side wall and two in the front. Mari's bed was against the windowless wall and a loveseat sat underneath the windows on the side. Cassie had left the walls white, but she told Mari she could paint them any color she liked, which hadn't happened yet.
The day before, a large box had arrived from New York. It contained all her possessions, and now it resided in the garage while Mari decided what to do with the rest of her life. She often thought about her job on the show, Historical Homicides. The show had used reenactments of solved crimes from the last two hundred years, and Mari's job was to confirm facts related to the case. She would do interviews with locals, find written materials to back up the known facts, and help the casting director to find actors to re-create the crimes. They chose well-known crimes with conclusions, all tied up neatly at the end of a show. The shows were put together in a matter of days and would run several times on the small cable channel dedicated to crime.
Now, there were no fabulous jobs looming in her future, not yet anyway, because she still had weird things going on in her mind, and the ghosts still appeared without warning. They weren't so bad really, just surprising, and those she had encountered since leaving rehab hadn't experienced horrible deaths. They were involved in normal, everyday activities and would smile when they saw Mari, but their existence still rattled her for a few seconds.
As she sat on the loveseat blowing her nose, she heard Cassie's car pull into the driveway. She got up, went to the window, and watched Cassie take two brown grocery bags from the trunk. Mari's eyes went to the window on the second floor of Cassie's Cape Cod. An old white man waved at her, causing Mari to leave the window and wrap her arms around her waist.
The first time Mari saw him was when Cassie brought her home. She asked about the old man while they were at Cassie's kitchen table, and Cassie had laughed.
"You think I've got a lover stashed away upstairs, don't you?"
"No, but I thought you might be taking care of him or something."
Mari's tone cautioned Cassie against teasing her further. Mari believed there was someone living in that bedroom.
"Mari, there is no one living here but me and Joey."
She saw the man every day, but she never mentioned him to Cassie again.
Mari walked to her fridge and looked inside. The shelves were bare but for one can of beer and half a stick of butter. When she roomed with Jesse, she would slip him two one hundred dollar bills every Friday for groceries. Food would magically appear on Saturday afternoons. It was like living with her mother again, and she liked that she never had to think about what to buy.
Now, with her head in a constant whirl of disjointed thoughts, Jesse was gone and she was expected to buy groceries for herself. She didn't have two one hundred dollar bills to slip to Cassie every Friday, and she knew she'd have to pull herself together and go shopping. She sighed and went back to the loveseat.
The apartment had come with a 22" TV and a digital receiver so she could watch local channels. She had yet to retrieve her laptop from the B&B and her cell phone had been turned off for non-payment. She had purchased a contract phone, but it cost too much to roam the internet so she was totally cut off from the virtual world.
Mari leaned forward and glanced out the window at Cassie's house. The old man was still standing in the window. A sense of déjà vu fell on her. She felt as if she'd known him, but could never place him. She began to think of him as Will, and some days she would wave back.
Mari sighed as she hugged one of the loveseat pillows. Since coming to Cape Alden, she'd enjoyed the calm before the storm of summer. Some of the residents greeted her by name when she walked to town, and others looked at her suspiciously. They all knew her as the "reporter," though, the one who had come to Cape Alden to research Charlotte Johnson's murder. As she sat listening to the news from Oceanville, she thought about that research and about giving it another shot. The thought propelled her off the loveseat. She took a shower and walked across the backyard to Cassie's house.
Joey, Cassie's son, sat at the table and smiled when he saw Mari. The boy was six, and he liked her. He flashed a smile, revealing the loss of a front tooth for which he had received one dollar from the Tooth Fairy.
"Hey," Mari said.
Cassie was at the sink.
"Hey, yourself." Cassie looked at Mari's sweater. "You wore that yesterday."
"I forgot to wash my clothes."
"Uh-huh." Cassie put one hand on her hip.
"I didn't sleep in them," Mari said. "I promise."
"You sure about that?"
"Of course I am."
Mari sat at the kitchen table and sniffled, and when Cassie brought a box of tissues to the table, Joey smiled.
"She wants you to blow your nose," he whispered.
"Did you do your homework?" Cassie asked.
Joey sat up straight and put his shoulders back.
"When I came home."
"Go get it."
His shoulders slumped. "I did it, Mom, I swear."
"I believe you, but I still want to see it."
The boy sighed and went to fetch his homework.
"You haven't washed your hair today, have you?"
"Geez, Cassie, I washed it yesterday," Mari said. "I took a shower this morning."
Cassie came to the table and folded her arms across her chest.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
Mari frowned. Cassie was using her nurse voice.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. You look like you've given up on life."
Mari sighed. Her hip began to throb like it always did when she sat on a hard chair.
"I'm tired."
Cassie put her hand on Mari's shoulder.
"I know you've been through a lot, but it's been five months, and if you stay locked up in that room you will never get your energy back."
Mari sighed again. She knew Cassie cared about her, but Mari wished she would just let her be.
"I'm not saying you should run a marathon. All I'm saying is a short walk down the block and back will do you good. The beach is just a few blocks away and the weather is so nice."
Mari looked up. The look on Cassie's face mirrored the look her mother would give her when she didn't want to go outside and play. Mari pursed her lips and tried to focus on her hands, but the more she focused, the stranger they looked. Sometimes, since the accident, her eyes would do funny things, as if they were disconnected from her brain, and she would have to close them for a while. She closed them now and put her head down, but that didn't deter Cassie.
"Why don't we go for a walk right now?" Cassie asked.
Joey came into the kitchen with a piece of paper and handed it to Cassie. She looked at it, and then looked him in the eye.
"Is this all you had?"
He looked up at the ceiling. "Yes."
She read the story he'd written, and then looked at him again.
"I think you can do better."
She stood. "I'm taking Mari for a walk. Sit and write it again."
Joey narrowed his eyes, and then went to get his book bag. Cassie patted Mari's shoulder, and, knowing she had lost this battle, Mari got up and followed Cassie out the door. Her legs felt heavy and her hip hurt as they walked down the driveway toward the sidewalk.
"It's a gorgeous day, isn't it?" Cassie said.
"Yeah."
"Just smell that air."
Mari knew it was nice outside, but all she wanted to do was sit on the loveseat and watch TV. She told herself it was research, which would help her find a new job, and she had even tried to think of ways she could use it on her resume.
When they reached the sidewalk, Mari saw a woman in a long dress watering some tulips that had bloomed recently. The woman didn't seem to notice them at first, but then she looked at Mari, smiled, and waved. Mari looked at Cassie before waving back.
"I don't think we should leave Joey alone," Mari said.
"He'll be fine for a few minutes. The doors are locked and he's working on his story." Cassie looked at Mari. "Whatever became of that story you were working on, the one about that woman who was killed in that cottage? What was her name?"
"Charlotte."
"That's right, Charlotte. Did they ever show it on TV?"
"No."
"That's too bad. It sounded like it would be interesting."
The show had sent someone else to research the story. He had fallen on ice as he walked toward the cottage and broken his ankle. Then they sent a young woman with a peanut allergy, who accidentally ingested something at the café with peanut oil on it, even though she specifically said she couldn't have any peanuts, and wore a bracelet announcing her affliction to the world.
"The producer thinks the story is cursed," Mari said.
Mari sped up as she tried to keep pace with Cassie, whose long legs propelled her farther when she walked than Mari's short ones would allow her to go. She was also contending with a slight limp she'd kept following the accident. They were nearing the end of the street and had stopped before crossing the road.
"It's not far from here," Cassie said. "Do you want to look at the cottage?"