“"I wish I could tell you, Jilly,”" he replied.
“"Then why don’'t you?”"
Martin paused and bit his lip. “"I’'ve got enough on my mind for today, I think,”" he said.
“"All right, then, another day,”" Jilly said. “"But I mean it. Another day. Do you have everything together for her?”"
“"The State by nightfall,”" Lucy chimed. “"The State by nightfall!”"
“"We are so good at haunting we should charge for this,”" Naunie said, and laughed. “"We can crack ’'em in no time flat!”"
“"Sure, I’'ve got her things right here,”" Martin said. He walked back into the hallway and pulled out a shopping bag. “"Again, I appreciate it, Jilly.”"
“"He’'s not sending her off with much,”" Naunie said. “"The least he could do is give her that glitter album back. Who spells their name in glitter except Charo?”"
“"Wouldn’'t have it any other way,”" Jilly replied. “"Lucy was my best friend. We brought her home together.”"
Lucy gasped. “"They’'re taking her,”" she said quietly and quickly. “"Naunie, they’'re taking Tulip.”"
Lucy looked at her dog asleep at her feet, wedged in between the coffee table and the couch, almost all gray around her muzzle. Jilly had been there when Lucy had found Tulip at the pound. It was Jilly who’'d driven home while Lucy had kept the puppy on her lap, the puppy who’'d given long, sloppy licks with delicious puppy breath. One extended lick over not just Lucy’'s bottom lip or chin like most dogs, but right over the top, it had to be both lips. Two lips. Tulip.
“"Naunie,”" Lucy barely squeezed out, her eyes immediately full, a wave of grief and panic swallowing her. “"Don’'t let them take her! Oh, no! They can’'t take her!”"
Naunie grabbed Lucy’'s hand firmly with one hand and held her around the shoulders with her other.
“"Oh, no,”" Lucy whispered, trembling.
“"Lucy,”" Naunie said sternly. “"You need to listen to me. Listen to me. Jilly loves Tulip, you know she will care for her. Tulip can’'t stay here anymore. You don’'t know what Nola will do. She’'s safer with Jilly. You can’'t protect Tulip the way you are. You can love her, but you have to love her enough to let her go.”"
Tulip, sensing Lucy’'s distress, woke up and licked her hand. Then she struggled to get up, and laid her chin on the smelly couch cushion next to Lucy.
Lucy broke down and sobbed. Through everything she had been through—--being dumped, fired, killed, and forgotten, Lucy had not shed one tear. Not one. She had changed physical proportions, purposes, and realms. But not once had she allowed the tears to pass; she’'d always been able to keep them back. Now it was too much. It was too hard, and she wept with anger, sadness, frustration, and now, most of all, emptiness.
“"I can’'t lose her again,”" she cried to her grandmother. “"I just got her back.”"
Lucy stroked Tulip’'s head while the dog looked at her reassuringly.
“"I’'m so sorry,”" Lucy said.
“"Tulip, come,”" Martin commanded, and Tulip gave Lucy a long, warm look, rubbing her nose into Lucy’'s palm. Then she turned and padded off toward Martin, who kneeled down in front of her and rubbed her ears.
“"You are a good girl,”" he said, and looked at her for a long time. Then he pulled her leash out of the bag, clipped it onto her collar, and stood up.
“"Thank you,”" he said earnestly, and cleared his throat, handing the leash to Jilly. “"I couldn’'t imagine her going to anyone else.”"
“"Neither could I,”" Jilly agreed, then took the bag of Tulip’'s things from Martin.
“"I’'m sorry to bring this up, but she hasn’'t been to the vet in a while. I have a nagging feeling that she should get checked out,”" Martin added. “"I’'ll gladly pay for it and anything else you need for her.”"
He heard me, Lucy thought. Martin really did hear me that night.
“"Okay,”" Jilly agreed. “"I’'ll make an appointment. Tulip has the same vet as my dog. Come on, Tulip. Have I got things to show you!”"
And with that, she turned around as Martin opened the door for her, and both she and Tulip walked out of the house. Lucy watched them go until they were both completely out of her sight, but not before Tulip got to the end of the driveway and looked back one last time.
Alice coughed immediately after hoisting up the garage door. Dust filtered in from everywhere, drifting in the rays of the sun that were hitting all of this stuff for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime.
She hated packing, she hated moving, she hated all of it. She especially hated telling her son, Jared, that they would be living in an apartment closer to town because she had lost the house. She simply couldn’'t keep up with the payments and had fallen behind, and had quickly found herself in a void that ended with packing tape, boxes from Starbucks, and a notice from the sheriff. Naunie’'s money had helped for a while, and it had seemed to be a perfect solution when Lucy came, but that …... brought the accident. She refused to think about that now. If she did, she’'d never get through this. It was bad enough that she was going to have to start packing up her sister’'s possessions and move them into storage. There would barely be enough room for Alice’'s and Jared’'s things in the apartment as it was.
She looked over the pile of Lucy’'s belongings, a heavy layer of dust on everything, since few of Lucy’'s boxes had lids—--they were all produce crates with peaches, grapes, or cherries printed on the side. Alice shook her head. She should have covered this stuff up a long time ago. It had never even occurred to her.
Alice ran her finger over a framed photo of her and Lucy when they were little, tiny girls, wearing the smallest bikinis in their plastic play pool. Both were laughing and beaming, Alice looking at the camera while Lucy’'s eyes were nearly shut, her head thrown back in laughter, her hands frozen together in a clap. On the side of the photo, a woman’'s thin arm held a hose, her thumb over the nozzle, creating a fountainlike spray. She wondered if it was Naunie’'s hand or their mother’'s. Either way, Alice realized somberly that she was the only one left.
Next to the photo was a nylon bag, which looked like some sort of luggage. Alice pulled and tugged on the long strap to get it free from the box, and when she did, she recognized it immediately. Lucy’'s laptop bag. Alice didn’'t even remember shoving it in the box or bringing any of this to the garage. Then again, for some time after the accident, she hadn’'t remembered much at all, and frankly, she was glad about that one small favor. Losing Lucy was—--Well, she had never known something so profound and weighted as that before, so bottomless and vast it couldn’'t possibly be real. It didn’'t make sense; it never made sense. She felt hollow and empty, cracked. She woke up one night and instantly thought, Lucy is gone. If I lookedall over the world for her, if I spent the rest of my life, I would never find her. She’'s not there. She’'s not anywhere.
After the accident, Alice felt that even by breathing, it was a lie. Everything was a lie. It was simply not possible for things to continue on when so much she had loved had stopped existing and vanished. She found herself furious one day at a potted plant she had placed on the mantel because it got decent sun there. It had been there for years, growing, twisting, opening, living, and Alice looked at it one day and thought, How dare you. How dare you go on like you were the same as you were last week, how dare you stay there, the same, while such a horrible thing has happened, and everything has changed. How dare you not be affected by this. And in her anger, she pulled the plant off the mantel and put it outside, where the sun was not so kind and giving.
Time wasn’'t supposed to move forward, time wasn’'t supposed to pass, Alice thought. A world, a life, without her sister was ridiculous, preposterous. After Lucy’'s death, there were moments that would seem normal again, but as soon as Alice got comfortable, the grief came roaring back, slapping her for even thinking anything could be right. When she thought of Martin, she seethed. It was damage enough that he ha
d thrown Lucy out and caused all of this, but to never answer her letters, to never respond was unimaginable. To not even reply with condolences was unforgivable. A reaction from him was needed, and on a couple of instances, Alice sent another letter to remind him that her sister was dead. The letters never came back, and she never heard a word. What had Lucy been doing with a man like that? Alice had wondered bitterly. Lucy had had a knack for bringing home terrible boyfriends, but this one was so far beyond that. He had put on a good show in front of Alice, but his actions had changed her life forever and caused exceptional loss. There were times when, in her fury, she was convinced that she needed to drive down to Phoenix and let him know just how much of a bastard she thought he was, that he needed to know just what he had done. But she eventually realized that with his resounding, silent indifference, nothing she could possibly say would matter to him, and by the same account, he didn’'t deserve to understand how angry he had made her.
He wasn’'t good enough to know how much she hated him.
Alice patted the nylon bag, trying to release the dust and make the cover clean again. She coughed. She zipped open the side, and there was the shiny white plastic top of Lucy’'s computer. Alice was sure it still worked, and felt around for the power cord, which was tucked into a pocket on the inside.
She knew just what to do with it, and when Jared came home that afternoon from school, she handed him the bag and the computer, because she knew that if Lucy’'d had a say, she would have wanted him to have it. Her sister had died with less than $400 to her name, but in her typical but reckless generosity, she had bought Jared an iPod with what little money she had the day before.
Alice heard Lucy’'s voice.
“"Give it to the kid,”" she said.
To say that Lucy was inconsolable was an understatement. She wanted to punch Martin in the face for letting Nola get away with that. He had done some stupid things—--as in pairing up with Nola—--but this was unforgivable, giving away her dog. Their dog. Tulip was a member of the family, and to surrender her, even to a good friend, because she’'d tripped an unbalanced woman was simply criminal in Lucy’'s eyes. For days, Lucy roamed around the house lifeless, not wanting to do anything but sit in the memory of Tulip. Lie on the cushions she’'d lain on, and collect whatever hair she could find on the couch and rugs and hold it in tight furry little bundles in her hand.
Naunie did whatever she could to bring Lucy out of it, telling dirty jokes, doing little dances, singing songs, and reenacting Nola’'s remote control hissy fit, but after a while, even she figured that she needed to back off and let Lucy grieve. Lucy needed to work through this in her own time, in her own way. Even if that meant curling up on the living room rug like a dog, her nose buried in the fibers, for hours on end.
All of that was going to need to change, however, and rather quickly. A couple of weeks after Jilly took Tulip, Nola brought a friend home after work. It was odd enough to entertain the thought that Nola could even make a friend, but that she had brought one home puzzled Naunie. Lucy was burrowed into the couch, and Naunie had to pull her arm to get her attention.
“"Who’'s this?”" Naunie said, pointing to the strange woman now in the house, who Nola was leading back into the kitchen.
Lucy saw the back of the woman’'s head, with long stringy hair, go by as she walked into the hallway. “"I dunno,”" Lucy said, sniffling.
“"I don’'t like the looks of this,”" Naunie said. “"She doesn’'t look like Nola’'s type. She’'s wearing some crazy big floor-length skirt, long feather earrings, and a ton of turquoise. Something’'s not right.”"
“"How do you know?”" Lucy muttered, not even looking at Naunie. “"What would Nola’'s type be?”"
“"The only thing she even owns aside from her fake nurse’'s uniform is a pair of sweatpants and a Hello Kitty T-shirt,”" Naunie reminded her. “"That friend woman had bracelets on. Like, forty of them.”"
“"Leave me alone,”" Lucy whimpered. “"I’'m pretending that Tulip is here.”"
“"You wanna pretend? Okay,”" Naunie said agreeably. “"Let’'s pretend there’'s some hippie dippy psychic sitting at the kitchen table listening to Nola’'s story about a picture frame boomeranging back at her. All right, then, don’'t pretend. You don’'t have to, because there is a hippie dippy psychic in there right now.”"
And with that, Naunie grabbed Lucy’'s arm, yanked her off the couch, and led her, stumbling, into the kitchen.
“"Holy shit,”" Lucy gasped immediately.
“"No kidding,”" Naunie agreed. “"What did I tell you? She’'s already taken her shoes off. That is disgusting. Her feet are filthy. Only a hippie has feet like that. They’'ve got more dirt on them than an archeological dig.”"
“"No, not her feet,”" Lucy said, peering around the refrigerator. “"I know that woman. She’'s a patient of Dr. Meadows’'s. It’'s Almighty Isis! She was always trying to give me readings and tell me my future. She did that to everyone in the office to try and drum up business.”"
“"Wasn’'t much to tell there, huh? ‘'Beware of buses, Lucy,’'”" Naunie added. “"What do you think she’'s here for?”"
“"Oh.”" Lucy laughed sarcastically. “"Us. She is here for us. Nola’'s got the picture frame in her hand.”"
“"How is your tea?”" Nola asked Isis.
“"Orgasmic,”" Isis replied. “"It would be meta-orgasmic if you had any simple agave syrup for sweetening.”"
Nola shook her head and frowned dramatically. “"No, I don’'t have that, but I do have Sweet ’'N Low,”" she offered. “"Shall I get it?”"
Isis ignored her. “"Now tell me, Nora, what you have been experiencing that you feel is paranormal.”"
“"Well,”" Nola said, very impressed with herself that she had a story to tell that someone wanted to hear. It was clear that she was about to tell her tale of the supernatural in detail, not sparing one little iota that might be crucial in Isis’'s expert diagnosis. “"I was standing—--”"
“"I sense something,”" Isis interrupted quickly.
“"Is it the spirit?”" Nola said, sitting up in her chair, her eyes darting about the room. “"Is it here?”"
“"It is you,”" Isis said, stretching the “"oo”" sound in “"you”" out for an unnecessarily long period of time. “"You have medium tendencies, don’'t you?”"
Nola’'s eyes got sad, and she shook her head. “"No,”" she said, clearly ashamed. “"I’'m an XXL. It’'s really hard to find work pants with a good fit. They get all bunched up right here.”"
And then she pointed to her crotch.
“"I’'m referring to your antennae, your ability to pick up on things otherwise unseen,”" Isis explained. “"Your gift to sense things perhaps not of this world, but of the next.”"
“"I guess sometimes,”" Nola gave in. “"I certainly did see that picture frame coming at me.”"
“"Now,”" Isis said, reaching into her Guatemalan fabric purse with the very dirty bottom to pull out an enormous pad of paper and a sparkly pen. “"Recount the incident for me.”"
“"Well,”" Nola said sharply, then stopped to take a deep breath. “"I was just standing in the living room when the frame fell out of my hand. All of a sudden, it was flying over across the room, and it turned around and then came back at me. Directly at me. I ducked, and it landed on the big blue recliner out there.”"
“"And you didn’'t have a window open? There wasn’'t a breeze blowing?”" Isis investigated.
“"No,”" Nola said. “"It was early in the morning. There was no breeze.”"
“"And no one else was in the house?”" Isis continued. “"You were alone, Nora?”"
“"I was,”" Nola confirmed.
“"May I see the frame, please?”" the psychic requested.
“"Oh, of course,”" Nola replied, and handed it over.
“"Was it already broken like this when it flew across the room?”" Isis queried.
Nola nodded with a crooked, forced smile.
Nola nodded again and directed her to the switch on the back of the frame, which Isis turned on.
“"I didn’'t take those pictures, though,”" she explained. “"And I haven’'t gotten a straight answer about who did.”"
Isis pressed the manual button at the bottom of the frame and flipped through the photos, one by one, noting each frame and studying them with interest. Suddenly, her brow furrowed mightily.
She looked up at Nola. “"Have you looked through these?”"
“"Just enough to know that they aren’'t my photos,”" Nola offered.
Isis scooted her chair closer to Nola’'s until they were side by side and Nola could fully experience the aroma of Isis’'s patchouli, the same aroma that clings to ancient recently unearthed Egyptian mummies or is infused to the mold that grows inside cheaply built houses.
“"I’'d like to show you something,”" Isis said as Nola held her breath, not figuratively, but as a survival mechanism.
“"We start out here with just basic shots, not much to them, of the couch, the chair, and in all of these, we are seeing these circular blurs—--we call them orbs,”" Isis explained as she went from frame to frame. “"They’'re in all of these, these light spheres. They are supernatural anomalies, and they are quite often captured on film when there is a paranormal presence at work.”"
Isis continued to flip through the photos, pointing out the orbs to Nola in each one.
“"Oh, that’'s odd,”" Isis muttered to herself when she flipped to a photo of the pink electric toothbrush resting on the open toilet seat with a splatter of orbs glowing brightly like Christmas lights.
She continued on through the pictures, until she stopped at one.
“"Well, look at that,”" she said, with one eyebrow raised. “"What do we have here?”"
“"What? What?”" Nola asked anxiously.
Isis paused for a moment, thinking. “"In all of the other photos,”" she said carefully, “"orbs abound. But in this one—--this must be your dog—--it’'s just a picture of the dog with no orbs. Yet, there’'s something behind it. Can you see that?”"
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