Something Buried, Something Blue

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  Shaking her head at Jiffy’s latest escapade, Bella asks Calla, “I hope he was wearing a helmet? He wasn’t earlier, and I told him to go home and find one.”

  “He must have. He was wearing one.”

  “Now if only I could get him to stop talking to strangers.”

  “Good thing it was only us,” Calla says. “We might be strange, but we’re not strangers.”

  After flashing a brief smile, Jacy clears his throat and tells her, “I guess I’d better . . . right?”

  Calla nods. “I guess you should.”

  “He should what?” Odelia asks sharply.

  “It was great seeing you again, Dee Dee, and nice to meeting you, Bella, but . . . unfortunately, I have to head back up to Buffalo.”

  “What? Why?”

  Calla answers her grandmother’s dismayed question before Jacy can. “He has too much to do this weekend. He’s on duty at the flu shot clinic tomorrow morning at the reservation.”

  “Jacy does volunteer work with the Seneca Nation,” Odelia informs Bella proudly, then turns back to the couple. “But what about the wedding?”

  They hesitate just long enough for Bella to pick up on a prickle of tension between them.

  “I hate to miss it, but I don’t think I can get away.”

  “That’s a shame. Are you sure you can’t—”

  “Gammy, he can’t,” Calla says sharply. “Believe me, I already asked.”

  On that note, Jacy asks her if she wants him to carry her bag up the stairs.

  “No, I’ve got it. Thanks. Have a safe trip back.”

  “Let me know if you want me to pick you up on Sunday.”

  “I told you, I’ll catch a ride with Frankie.”

  Jacy nods, says his goodbyes, and heads out the door.

  Odelia stares after him. “I can’t believe he’s going to miss the wedding.”

  “It’s fine, Gammy. He barely knows Johneen, and even I haven’t ever met Parker.”

  “But he should be here with us.”

  “You mean, with me?” Calla shakes her head. “He’s busy. I can count on one hand the waking hours we’ve spent together lately.”

  “Well, you were away writing all summer. Now that you’re back . . .”

  “Right. I’m back, and he’s never around.”

  “Be patient with him, Calla. He’s working his way through med school, and he’s one of the most gifted healers I’ve ever known.”

  “I am patient, Gammy. But even when he’s around, he’s a million miles away. I swear he doesn’t even hear half the things I say to him.”

  “I’ve heard him say that about you when you’re lost in a writing project, too. Anyway, it’ll change when he finishes his residency.”

  “I hope so. Right now, I’m lonely.”

  “Writers need to be alone.”

  “Not every minute. Not in a relationship.”

  “Why don’t you get a kitten to keep you company? Bella has eight of them upstairs.”

  Calla’s face lights up. “That’s right! I forgot. How are Chance and her babies?”

  “They’re great. Chance is recuperating from spay surgery, and the kittens are adorable.”

  “Aw, I raised their great-grandmother, Gert. She was a tiny baby when I first got to Lily Dale. I’ll never forget the day Gammy brought her home for me.”

  “Pets are wonderful therapy for grieving children, especially when they’re uprooted after a loss,” Odelia says. “Bella’s son Max has been through the same thing.”

  “Yes, he has,” Bella says. “Although he’s much younger than you were, Calla.”

  “It’s hard at any age. I’m so sorry. But it sounds like he’s adapting and making friends.”

  “Just like you did,” Odelia reminds her. “Remember? Jacy, Evangeline . . .”

  Calla nods. “And Willow, and Blue.”

  At the last word, Odelia’s lip curls.

  “Blue is a good guy,” Bella can’t help saying.

  “You know Blue?” Calla asks in surprise.

  “I’ve met him a few times. He seems very nice.”

  Odelia rolls her eyes and makes a ffff sound.

  Ignoring her, Calla asks Bella, “Where did you meet him?”

  “Around the Dale. I see him at the bus stop every afternoon, and he jogs past the house every night around dusk.”

  “Speaking of jogging,” Odelia steers the conversation back, “Jacy was such a talented track star in high school that he was recruited by every top college.”

  “Not every top college, Gammy. But he did wind up getting a full undergrad scholarship.” She turns abruptly back to Bella, obviously wanting to change the subject. “I take it Bridezilla’s not here yet?”

  “Calla!”

  “Don’t worry, Gammy. I won’t tell her that’s what you call her.”

  “I only said it once!” Odelia protests, turning to Calla. “She was being impossible.”

  “Was it the piano day?” Bella asks, remembering when Johneen requested that they rent a grand piano so that she could walk down the aisle to a live rendition of “Fields of Gold,” their chosen wedding song. As it turned out, even if someone had been willing to transport it over the uneven, narrow space between the houses, no rental company was willing to place the instrument outdoors on the grass beside a lake.

  “No, it was the day she insisted on a fireworks display even though we can’t get a permit approved in this dry weather.”

  “So much for that.” Calla shakes her head.

  “The fireworks?”

  “The dry weather. I just heard it’s supposed to snow tomorrow.”

  “Snow?” Bella and Odelia echo in unison.

  “Well, they said rain for the wedding day, but it’s changing over to wet snow before dawn on Sunday. Johneen isn’t going to be happy.”

  “Don’t worry. I have it all under control.” Odelia tells her about the chuppah.

  “Why don’t you just move the wedding indoors?”

  Odelia sighs heavily and shakes her red head.

  Calla looks at Bella, who explains. “She had a vision of Johneen falling in her wedding gown.”

  “Not falling!” Odelia protests, then quickly describes what she’s been seeing. “I’m not sure how to interpret it.”

  “Are you going to tell Johneen?”

  “I might if I had something more concrete to pass along, but I don’t want to frighten her.”

  Can’t you request more specific information from Spirit? Bella wants to ask, but she knows better. She’s learned that Spirit conversation involves less asking than receiving, and it doesn’t exactly come with a customer service line for maximum efficiency.

  Every medium has her own method of communicating with the Other Side, and no one’s process is foolproof. There are frequent communication gaps, resulting in attempts to interpret cryptic messages. It sometimes seems like an elaborate guessing game. A frustrating one, as there are no definitive answers.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine,” Calla says, “and Grant will decide to keep the guesthouse, and everyone will live happily ever after.”

  “Including you and Jay,” Odelia puts in.

  Calla clears her throat. “Can I see the kittens?”

  “Sure. They’re upstairs with Max. Are you still planning to stay here?”

  “There’s no need for her to do that now,” Odelia pipes up. “She can sleep next door in her old room. A twin bed works fine since it’s just her. And I have a big pot of menudo on the stove.”

  “The boy band?” Calla asks with a grin.

  “The Mexican soup. You knew that.”

  “I did. But I love to tease you, Gammy. Bella, have you ever tasted menudo?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “I make it whenever there’s a party,” Odelia explains. “It’s a tried and true Mexican hangover cure, and it sounds like we’ll need it with that signature cocktail you’re whipping up for tonight.”

  Calla clears her t
hroat. “Gammy, I think I’m going to stay here at the guesthouse with all my friends. We haven’t spent time together in so long.”

  Odelia’s expression says neither have you and I. But she keeps her mouth shut.

  Maybe she realizes Calla is distancing herself from a weekend of unsolicited advice from Team Jay. More likely, she’s thinking she can work her Odelia magic and get her to move next door later.

  Calla sniffs air fragrant with the pumpkin-scented jar candle flickering on the desk and the homemade strudel Bella baked earlier. “It smells so nice in here. And it looks beautiful, too.”

  She takes it all in with an appreciative eye: the mantel with its arrangement of pumpkins and gourds in harvest shades that complement the vintage honey-toned brocade wallpaper, the grand staircase with its intricately carved balustrades and frosted gaslight globe on the newel post. Her focus turns to the antique registration desk. A cut-glass bowl of M&Ms sits near the candle, along with a leather-bound register lying open to today’s date.

  “Leona,” she murmurs, wearing a fond smile as if she’s seeing not a piece of furniture but an old friend.

  Bella raises a questioning eyebrow at Odelia, who says in a low voice Calla doesn’t even seem to hear, “She’s feeling Leona’s energy.”

  “Leona’s here?”

  “Where else would she be?” Odelia asks with Odelia logic.

  Bella follows Calla’s gaze, searching for a hint of otherworldly activity. She sees nothing out of the ordinary, other than a thin layer of dust that’s settled since she polished the furniture this morning.

  When she first arrived in Lily Dale, Odelia told her that anyone can learn to tune into Spirit. Bella isn’t sure that’s the case, though Odelia did say that some people are more gifted than others and that psychic ability runs in families. She likened it to the way some people are born with natural athletic prowess, while others have to work extra hard at developing it.

  Calla stares at the spot near the desk for another moment, then seems to snap out of it and looks again at Bella.

  “Um . . . if you’re ready to go up, I have you in the Jungle Room on the third floor. Max is hanging out with our little animal kingdom in the Rose Room.”

  “Shouldn’t the cats be in the Jungle Room?”

  “I wish I’d thought of that before they got settled in my room. They enjoy pouncing on me in the night and sleeping on my head. But I can’t uproot them now. They’re creatures of habit.”

  “Aren’t we all.”

  Bella notes the wistful expression on Calla’s face, as does Odelia, who puts a firm hand on her arm. “Calla, go on up and introduce yourself to Max. You’ll love him, and you’ll love the kittens. Pick one out.”

  “You make it sound so easy, Gammy.”

  “Most things are easier than they seem.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  Odelia looks at Bella. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

  She hesitates. “Maybe I wouldn’t say most things. But some things certainly are.”

  “And many are much harder.” Calla sighs.

  Trying to think of something uplifting to say, Bella settles on, “Whether or not you’re going to adopt a kitten, I’m sure Chance will be happy to see you again. I have to warn you, though, that she’s . . . under the influence.”

  “She’s a drinker now?”

  “Pain meds. She just had spay surgery. Last time I checked, she was attacking the plastic kibble container in the closet as though she hadn’t just devoured two bowls of it. Can you please tell Max to make sure that door stays closed?” She hands over a set of keys. “The silver one is for your room and the brass one is for the dead bolts on the front and back doors. It opens both.”

  “So you’re not using the old-fashioned skeleton keys for the guest rooms anymore?”

  Bella shakes her head and explains that Grant had all the antique locks replaced with modern ones over the summer after . . . what happened.

  “But we’re still using the key rings Leona had made before she passed away.” She indicates the heart-shaped disc imprinted with the letters VVM, for Valley View Manor.

  “Nice touch.” Calla runs her fingertips over the engraved surface, wearing a faraway smile. Then she looks abruptly up the stairs as if someone just called her name from above.

  Watching her ascend the flight with her gaze fixed on the upstairs hall, Bella decides she’s merely appreciating the familiar setting. Yes, of course she is, because she can’t possibly be glimpsing someone who used to live here. Someone who died.

  Calla seems much too . . . normal for that.

  Not that the mediums Bella has gotten to know are abnormal. They’re wonderful, loving friends who have welcomed her and Max into their fold. Yet by and large, the neighbors are a colorful bunch. A few are so quirky that Odelia seems conventional by contrast.

  Most are considerably older than Calla, who’d look more at home sipping margaritas at girls’ night out than hobnobbing around the Dale channeling Lennon or Lenin.

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, Odelia looks at Bella so sternly that she wonders if she read her mind. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  But instead of scolding her for making a sweeping, if silent, generalization about what a Spiritualist should and shouldn’t be, Odelia says, “Blue Slayton is bad news.”

  “Bad news how? He seems like a decent guy.”

  “First impressions can be deceiving, Bella. You of all people should know that by now.”

  “I do, but—”

  “I don’t trust him not to break her heart. Again. I’m rooting for Jacy.”

  “No way, Odelia, really?”

  “Was I that obvious?”

  “Well, you didn’t have pompons or shout ‘gimme a J, gimme an A,’ but yes, you were pretty obvious.”

  Odelia sighs. “I’ve always tried to bite my tongue whenever Blue comes up, but I guess I’m out of practice. She hasn’t seen him in years. Why does he have to hang around here now, of all times?”

  “Maybe he’s changed since you last saw him.”

  “People don’t change.”

  “You just told Calla that Jacy will change when he finishes his residency.”

  “I didn’t say he would change. I meant the circumstances.”

  “Sometimes people change.”

  “Not often. You can waste a lot of time and energy wishing it would happen.”

  Bella thinks of her mother-in-law. She used to think Maleficent would mellow toward her once she and Sam were married. Then she thought a grandchild would do the trick. And, you would think, when her son became ill, and when he . . .

  Well, shouldn’t she have put aside her resentment of Bella?

  She didn’t seem to. And although she’s occasionally glimpsed a kinder, gentler side, Bella still finds her mother-in-law thoroughly intimidating.

  “I don’t know why you find her so scary,” Sam once said. “She’s just a tiny little woman.”

  That’s true. Bella is only five foot four, but she towers over Maleficent, who barely tops five feet in her signature leather pumps. Yet with her imposing personality and forthright conversational style, Sam’s mother evokes great physical stature.

  No mama’s boy, Sam did occasionally acknowledge that Millicent can be controlling. Yet he’d counter that by referencing his wonderful childhood memories. His mom took him to the Shedd Aquarium and Navy Pier, and she chaperoned his field trips. She baked Christmas cutout cookies from scratch, and she let him cut all of them into the wreath shape because he liked to eat the little circle scrap of dough from the center. On nights when his father had to work late, she let him eat breakfast for dinner, both of them wearing footy pajamas.

  Sam always treated his mother with affection and respect. The first time she ever saw her husband and mother-in-law together, Bella correctly assumed their relationship was an indicator that he’d treat his wife the same way. That part was good.

  The Millicent-as-mother-in-law part? No
t so good.

  Bella finds it impossible to imagine her in jeans, let alone footy pajamas. She’s the kind of woman who wears makeup and pantyhose wherever she goes, never reads best sellers or watches television series, and probably never eats potato chips. But her lifestyle, however joyless from Bella’s perception, has never been the issue.

  From the time she and Sam were newlyweds, Bella has been aware that his mother didn’t consider her worthy of Sam.

  “It isn’t just you,” he assured her time and again. “Trust me, my mother never thought any woman was good enough for me.”

  “But it is just me. I’m the one you married.”

  “And I love you, Bella Blue. Don’t worry. She’ll come around sooner or later.”

  Sooner came and went.

  Later came and went.

  Now it’s just too late. Sam is gone. It no longer matters whether Millicent thought Bella deserved him; it doesn’t even matter that sometimes, Bella secretly agreed with her that she didn’t.

  Hearing a knock on the door behind her, Bella pushes away the memory of her troubled relationship with Sam’s mother. Here comes the bride, and as long as this wedding opens the door to a prosperous new future for the guesthouse, she’ll never have to turn to Maleficent for anything.

  But when she turns around, it isn’t Johneen standing on the purple welcome mat.

  It’s . . .

  Bella’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Mal—Millicent?”

  Chapter Five

  Stunned to see her mother-in-law standing on the doorstep, Bella’s first thought is that Odelia is right. Anyone is capable of working this so-called Lily Dale magic. She seems to have conjured the dreaded Maleficent just by thinking of her.

  Her next thought, a familiar one, is that that’s a ridiculous assumption. Millicent is here because . . . because . . .

  Why is she here?

  How is she here?

  “It’s good to see you, Isabella.” Millicent pulls her into a lacquered hug as Bella wracks her brain, wondering if she’d somehow arranged this visit from her mother-in-law and then forgotten about it.

  Right. Sort of like you’d forget about an appointment to have four wisdom teeth pulled without Novocain?

  Maybe it would be different if Millicent reminded her at all of Sam—sweet, rumpled Sam, with his cowlick and round glasses and always just a hint of irony in his warm, brown eyes. Other than his coloring, he looked nothing at all like his mother, yet she always claimed he was her spitting image.