Something Buried, Something Blue

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  Now, as Odelia begins unpacking the shopping bags onto the already cluttered counter, she finds herself tempted to confide at least part of the story about Johneen’s jealous ex, the missing ring, and the letter.

  Luther had almost convinced her to let it all go, but there’s a nagging doubt in the back of her mind.

  What if there really is something to it? What if, by mentioning it to Odelia, she’s able to jar a more concrete wedding premonition? What if Odelia can shed some additional light on Blue?

  As much as Bella wants to disregard those visions, there’s a part of her that might, just might, believe. Just a little. Just . . . right now.

  She watches the ordinarily chatty Odelia plunk a jar of olives onto the counter, then a can of mixed nuts.

  “So . . . where have you been?” she asks, setting aside the bread knife.

  “I told you, I went to the store.”

  “Right, but it doesn’t even open until nine.” Realizing she sounds accusatory, Bella softens her tone. “It’s just . . . you said you were coming over at seven.”

  “I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

  Odelia doesn’t sound like her usual chipper self, and she certainly doesn’t look it. Clad in a black sweater and charcoal pin-striped trousers, she lacks her usual splash of mismatched color. Even her hair, pulled back in a velvet headband, seems a shade less vibrant, with some gray mixed in.

  “I didn’t mean to sound critical, Odelia. It’s okay if you were too tired to get up early. I’ve got it all under control, and the guests are pitching in to help.”

  “No, it wasn’t that.” Odelia tosses a couple of boxes of crackers onto the counter, then wads up the empty shopping bag and tosses it toward the waste can. It misses by a mile. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

  “Because you were upset about Calla and Blue? Or about what Spirit’s warning about the wedding? Or maybe you just drank too much caffeinated tea yesterday?”

  “All of the above.” Odelia stoops to pick up the shopping bag and throws it away. “Except the last one.”

  “What exactly is it about Blue that you don’t like?”

  “I don’t trust him. Never have, never will.”

  “Based on . . . ?”

  She shrugs. “He isn’t trustworthy.”

  “People grow up. Or they change.” Bella thinks of Millicent upstairs playing with Max and the kittens.

  Or maybe she isn’t. Maybe she left after the first few minutes and didn’t say goodbye.

  Or maybe she’s still up there but is pumping Max for information about the cult, or searching for evidence.

  Bella opens her mouth to ask Odelia if she’s had any contact with Maleficent today, but Odelia is in the mood to wax on about her own nemesis.

  “If I thought Blue Slayton could make my granddaughter happy, then believe me, I wouldn’t be so disturbed to see her with him again, no matter how much I adore Jacy.”

  “But maybe Blue isn’t so bad. Maybe you can’t see his positive qualities because you’re so fond of Jacy.”

  “I’ve watched them grow up. Jacy has character. Nobody ever handed him anything.” Emphasis meant to imply that it’s the opposite with Blue. “Everything Jacy has, everything he’s achieved, has been hard-won. He’s overcome some major challenges in this life. In others, too.”

  Bella nods, well aware that Odelia—according to Odelia herself—has been reincarnated many times over the centuries. Clearly, she believes the same about Jacy. And about Calla, whom she once mentioned previously lived on earth as an Egyptian princess and a Viking warrior.

  “A man like Jacy will always be strong. A man like Blue . . .”

  “Is weak?” Bella asks when she doesn’t complete the thought.

  “You said it, not me.”

  “But I didn’t mean it that way. I barely know Blue Slayton.”

  I have no idea what he’s capable of. He might be a cheat, a prowler, a thief, maybe even dangerous.

  He’d been involved with Johneen in college, but it was a casual fling, and it wasn’t behind Calla’s back—according to Johneen, anyway. Had she played it down for Parker’s sake? Or had it meant more to Blue than it had to her?

  “I love my granddaughter,” Odelia says, “but she doesn’t always have solid judgment.”

  Bella chooses her words carefully. “At Calla’s age, who does have solid judgment? She’s only—how old? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  Hmm. At that age, Bella was married to Sam, head over heels in love and certain of their future together. But not everyone is so lucky . . .

  Or unlucky.

  But this isn’t about Bella and Sam.

  “Calla reminds me too much of myself when I was young, and of my daughter Stephanie—her mom,” Odelia is saying. “Sometimes, our emotions can overpower our Spirit guides, and we miss important messages. I just don’t want Calla to make the same mistakes Stephanie and I did.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  “They shouldn’t make the same one twice. She should know better about Blue.”

  “Do you think Spirit is telling her something and she’s not listening?”

  “Could be,” Odelia says. “But Spirit is certainly telling me, and I’m telling her, and no, she’s not listening.”

  Is Spirit also trying to tell Bella herself something? Or is she letting Odelia’s prejudice, and the power of suggestion, taint her own judgment?

  Most days, she resists buying into the Lily Dale mentality. Most days, she tolerates her friend’s strong opinions without a problem and is sometimes even charmed by them. But today . . .

  She’s concerned about the wedding, and her patience is wearing thin. Yet she manages to stay—or at least sound—reasonable.

  “Sometimes, even when you care about someone, you have to let them figure things out for themselves. I didn’t have a mom or even a grandmother to give me advice, but even if I had, I probably still would have made my own choices, good or bad.”

  “You made good ones, Bella.”

  “Not always. We live and learn, especially from our mistakes.”

  “Some mistakes are more serious than others. Ending a relationship with the right person, going back to the wrong person . . .”

  “It happens. I don’t think any of us can escape heartache, Odelia. One way or another, it does have to happen.”

  “Oh, Bella, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think of Sam.”

  “No, I know. I just—look, you’re used to constantly seeking guidance, and finding it, and sharing it with others. I’m used to . . . the opposite.”

  “But you know I’m always here to advise you, and so is Spirit.”

  “I know you are.” Spirit, she’s not so sure about, but that’s not the point.

  Odelia rests a hand on her arm. “Just remember to keep an open mind and heart to the infinite intelligence you’ve found here.”

  Millicent’s words echo in Bella’s head: People just like you come along, people who are feeling lost and lonely, and they pounce!

  That isn’t what’s going on here, though. She can’t let her mother-in-law’s misguided assumptions start making her question the motives of her Spiritualist friend.

  Nor can she let her Spiritualist friend make her start questioning her own common sense and reality.

  “Odelia, this isn’t about me. It’s about Calla. You don’t approve, and you won’t accept—”

  “No, I don’t. I can’t. Not when Spirit is telling me that she’s on the wrong path.”

  Bella bites back a knee-jerk response and picks up the lukewarm cup of black coffee she set aside earlier. Suddenly weary, she takes a long, disgusting sip, willing the caffeine to revive her. How on earth is she going to muster the stamina to get through the rest of the day?

  No longer tempted to confide in Odelia what’s been going on behind the scenes, she puts the empty mug into a sink already cluttered with breakfast dishes. “You’ve told me that Spirit
gives us what we need, Odelia. And that what we need isn’t always what we want, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, I’m doing the same thing with you. I’m telling you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear.”

  “But you can’t see what I can see.”

  “It works both ways. Sometimes, I can see what you can’t see. Not just you. All of you. Everyone here in Lily Dale.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to take a step back from a situation and look at it with pure logic,” Bella says, reaching back to massage the tired ache between her shoulder blades. “You’re always caught up in trying to find meaning in everything, everywhere.”

  “There is meaning in everything, everywhere.”

  “What if there isn’t? What if things do just happen for no reason? What if there are plain old coincidences? And what if,” she goes on—in for a penny—“when people die, they’re just gone?”

  “Oh, Bella. After all that’s happened here?”

  “Most of the time, I’m not even sure what’s happened here. Sometimes a stray cat is just a stray cat and . . . and a spider web really is just a spider web!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind. I’m overtired. I’m not even making sense.”

  “Did you see a spider web, Bella?”

  Seeing the curiosity-tinged concern in Odelia’s eyes, she wishes she hadn’t brought it up. “I see plenty. This is an old house.”

  “Yes, but you know that Spirit has been showing me a spider in a web, and it does feel like a warning.”

  “Maybe the warning isn’t even about the wedding,” she says reluctantly. “Maybe it’s about . . . something else.”

  “I don’t think so. I always see the dress and Johneen’s shoes in a puddle.”

  “Why don’t you think that’s just Spirit warning you a storm is coming on her wedding day?”

  “It might be. But it feels more serious.”

  “She’s a perfectionist. A rainy wedding day might be disastrous as far as she’s concerned.”

  Who are you trying to convince? Odelia or yourself?

  “The good news,” Odelia adds, “is that I don’t feel as though my vision involves Johneen slipping or tripping and falling, so I’m not worried about the stairs.”

  “That’s terrific. Truly, the best news I’ve heard in ages.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “Listen, you can’t keep them from getting married today no matter what Spirit is telling you. And I don’t think you should try.”

  Odelia tilts her head, digesting that comment, almost as if she’s . . . considering a confession that she wrote the letter? Did she?

  Bella closes her eyes and presses her fingertips against her temples. Every part of her aches with tension and exhaustion.

  She feels a warm hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She opens her eyes and sees the concern on her friend’s face. “I didn’t sleep very well either, and when I woke up, Millicent was here.”

  “Did she give you a hard time?”

  “You could say that. But I don’t want to talk about it right now. There’s so much to do and not enough time.”

  “Let’s get busy. You just need some fresh coffee to perk you up.”

  I need a lot more than that, she thinks as Odelia finds a filter and the can of grounds.

  “I really am sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” she says, quickly rinsing the glass carafe at the sink. “I just needed to take care of something.”

  “What was it? Did something happen?” she asks with a belated twinge of guilt. Maybe Odelia was ill and had to go to the doctor or had some kind of emergency.

  “I was at Inspiration Stump for hours, meditating, asking Spirit for clarity on all of this.”

  When you were supposed to be helping me pick daisies with Parker and fending off Pandora Feeney and her portable keyboard and “Oh, Promise Me”? Or at least keeping Millicent at bay, for Pete’s sake?

  Bella isn’t being fair. But in this particular moment, she can’t help resenting Odelia and yes, Spirit, and Lily Dale itself. Sometimes, the daily disconnect with grim reality is a welcome distraction, even charming.

  Today, it’s wearing as thin as her patience.

  Why was she so certain this place was home? It’s not as if she’s reaping the spiritual benefits of living here. She isn’t being shepherded through difficult times by mystical voices or immortal guides or . . .

  Sam.

  That’s what this is about, isn’t it?

  And no, she isn’t resentful just because Millicent put a flicker of doubt into her head.

  She’s spent months trying to grasp the “rules” of Spiritualism, all the while looking with a scientist’s eye—all right, a skeptic’s eye—for undeniable proof. She never found it. Not really.

  Looking back on the evidence she wanted to believe in the moment might be a message from Spirit, or Sam, she can think of a thousand other explanations.

  All right, maybe not a thousand. But at least a couple. Sensory phenomenology. Coincidence.

  Sometimes a spider web is just a spider web. You just said it yourself.

  If Spirit is real, and Sam is in Spirit, and Spirit is here, and Spirit gives you what you need, then Sam should be here. Period.

  “So what happened at the Stump?” she asks as Odelia scoops dry grounds into the filter, dusting the counter and floor with little black specks. “Were you enlightened?”

  “Not in the way that I’d hoped. I still don’t have any answers.”

  “Welcome to the club. Most of us never expect them.”

  There’s an uncomfortable pause, during which Odelia presses the start button on the coffeemaker and puts the can back in to the cabinet. “I’m sensing that you’re angry at me, Bella.”

  I’m not. I’m angry at me. I’m more mature, and much stronger, than I’m feeling and acting right now.

  Odelia rakes a hand through her hair, apparently forgetting she’s wearing a headband. It gets caught in her fingers and flies across the room, landing with a splash in the red, paw-print-imprinted water bowl by the door.

  “Oops.” She goes over to fish it out, dripping, then tosses it directly into the garbage can.

  “Wait, that was clean water. I just filled it. You don’t have to throw away your headband.”

  “It was too tight. I think it was squeezing my brain,” she adds with a faint smile. “I haven’t been thinking straight all day. Guess I’ll have to figure out some other way to deal with my hair until I can get it cut and colored. Got any ideas?”

  “Maybe a nice veil?” Bella suggests, smiling back, feeling the tension ease just a little. “But not a white one, and not a puffy one either, because . . .”

  Grinning, Odelia completes the sentence with her: “I don’t do puffy!”

  Equilibrium restored, at least for now, they get busy with the to-do list.

  Bella might not see eye to eye with Odelia on some things—most things—but she does love her. Probably more than anyone in the world—other than Max, of course.

  She didn’t always get along with her own stubborn father, either, or with Aunt Sophie, her godmother, or even with Sam. Conflict is a part of every relationship.

  After this conversation, she’s inclined to believe that Odelia was responsible for the letter. That gives her some measure of reassurance that Luther was right.

  If you look at the series of events with logic, there’s no ominous threat. Lots of brides have angry ex-boyfriends. Lots of grooms feel protective. And, of course, wedding rings get lost or left behind.

  Feeling slightly foolish for allowing herself to believe danger is afoot, Bella realizes her concern was due in part to the seemingly ominous lyrics of “Poor Little Rich Girl” and Odelia’s troubling visions. Even if Bella chooses to believe in Spirit, and Spirit is sending a message to the bride and groom, then it’s probably somet
hing along the lines of “Grow up and stop being so selfish, or you’ll become a divorce statistic.”

  It’s nothing to sneeze at. But at least, Bella thinks, relieved, it’s not a matter of life and death.

  Chapter Eleven

  The rest of the morning passes swiftly and almost pleasantly in a flurry of preparations. Tasks that seemed insurmountable before are a breeze with Odelia and an army of wedding guests at her disposal. Bella snaps photos of the hustle and bustle on her phone, not just to document the “before and after” transition for Grant, but also so that Johneen can see how wholeheartedly her friends have pitched in.

  If that doesn’t warm her brittle heart, Bella thinks as she snaps a candid of Charlie and Hellerman clownishly balancing mason-jar centerpieces on their heads, then nothing will.

  She makes countless round trips from house to yard, preparing table settings, flowers, food, and beverages and leaving kibble and water near the spot where she last saw the stray kitten.

  “Here, kitty kitty . . . are you around here someplace?”

  The only response is Parker’s voice, calling her name in the kitchen.

  “I’m right here.” She hurries back inside. “Is everything all right?”

  “Not exactly.” He reports that the ring hasn’t turned up and he hasn’t yet reached the neighbor who has his key.

  She can’t help but feel sorry for him. “Are you going to tell Johneen you don’t have the ring?”

  “Not unless I have to. She’s never seen it, so . . .” He shrugs. “Virginia offered to give me our grandparents’ gold ring if it doesn’t turn up. Daisy would never even know the difference.”

  But you’d be starting your marriage hiding a major secret from your wife.

  It isn’t up to Bella to point out that trust is an important ingredient in marital success, though she again wonders if Spirit has been trying to do just that.

  “I want to bring Daisy breakfast in bed,” Parker says, “if you have a tray I can use? And a vase for some flowers?”

  She finds both and helps him assemble food on delicate china, along with some of the wildflowers they’d picked this morning. She shows him the bridal bouquet she’d assembled and tied with a white satin ribbon. He decides to bring that upstairs, too.