The Ghost of a Chance

by Vivien, Natalie

  This time, when she looks at me, I feel a rush of heat flush my face. Can she see what happened here? Does she know how Catherine touched me, or how she made me feel?

  "Relax," she smiles, then, rising to her feet. "I am not here to judge or interfere, only to state my observations."

  I lean against the doorframe, twirling a strand of hair around my finger.

  "There is a presence here, a warm, protective, loving presence, but of course you already knew that, didn’t you?" She approaches me and lays her hand on my chest, over my heart. "There are tracings of her within you still."

  "She can...she—"

  "It's called possession. She has no corporeal form, but her spirit can inhabit and animate substances, such as air, water…a human being."

  I turn back into the living room, uncomfortable with the pressure of her hand; my skin has grown hot, and my chest feels hollow. "But why is she here? Is it..." I gesture at the typewriter. "...unfinished business? Her unfinished play?"

  "That," Genevieve replies, "I cannot answer." Her eyes close. "She is quiet, or unable to speak to me. She tries but…" The woman shakes her head. "Her spirit grieves. For you."

  "For me? But I'm not dead. She's the one who—"

  "She lost you as you lost her. You are each untouchable to the other. Planes of existence separate you now, and there are few bridges between."

  "Few?" I pounce on the word. "But there are bridges? There are ways to—"

  She holds up her hand, bidding me to be silent. I cross my arms and briefly consider pouting, but a distinctive sound snares my attention. Genevieve and I turn, in sync, to face the couch.

  Portia has been lying on the cushions since we entered, nestled deep within the folds of a green-and-blue plaid blanket. I noticed her but paid no mind, too curious about Genevieve's reactions. But now the cat has begun to purr, and there are movements in the blanket all around her, as if something is crawling about underneath.

  "What's happening?" I lean forward but take no steps nearer.

  Genevieve is less hesitant. With a fearless sweep of her arm, she grasps the corner of the blanket and raises it up, to the level of her eyes, and smiles at the sight that greets her.

  I feel silly at first, and then melt.

  "Kittens…" I have never seen creatures so small, so lovely. There are six of them, it seems, all white save one, which is black with three white feet.

  My companion is equally charmed. She smiles at the animals and at me. "It appears that you are now a grandmother, Darcy."

  I laugh softly. "I guess I am. Oh…seven cats. But that's a lucky number, isn't it?"

  Genevieve shrugs, wrinkling her forehead. "All numbers are lucky, if used in the proper time and place. But, dear, I must go." She takes my hands. "I apologize. However, your lost one is elusive. She plays hide-and-seek with me. I think…" She regards me for a long, weighted moment. "I think she may only be able to communicate with you."

  "But—"

  "But," Genevieve says, with an arched brow and a curved mouth, "perhaps we could coax her out of her silence together. If you’re willing."

  I shake my head, confused, staring down at the medium’s hands in mine. "If I’m willing to do what?"

  Genevieve laughs, patting my wrist. "Well, a séance, my dear. What else?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Portia lounges, at ease, on the couch, licking her offspring and purring.

  "What are you going to do with all of them?" Alis coos. She leans down to kiss a squirming kitten's nose.

  "I'll put an ad in the paper, poster the town. Try to find adoptive parents to take them away once they're two months old or so. For now," I say, squatting down to survey the babies, "they'll have to stay here, I suppose. I wouldn't know how to safely move them, and Portia seems to like this place better than the house."

  "But is it warm enough?"

  I frown. "I figured I'd sleep here tonight, to make sure the generator is working properly. I brought all of those blankets, just in case." I gesture at the pile of fleece on the armchair.

  Alis pets Portia and nods. "That sounds like a good idea. Will you be afraid, though, to stay out here alone? I could stay, too, if—"

  "No, there's no need. Besides, I'll hardly be alone."

  "True. Seven cats to keep you company."

  I wasn't referring to the cats, but I smile, anyway, and stand up with a stretch and a yawn. "What time is it?"

  Alis glances at the silver band on her left wrist. "Nearly eleven o’clock. Wow! I didn't realize... But I guess time flies when you're racking up exorbitant hourly fees in a meeting with a long-winded divorce attorney." She shakes her head, sighing.

  "I'm so sorry! In all of the excitement over the kittens, I forgot to ask about your meeting. How was it?"

  "Awful. Just as I expected. Apparently, Jason wants the house free and clear in exchange for letting me keep my car." She scoffs. "Darcy, you've seen my car. It's ancient!"

  "You aren't going to let him get away with it, are you? That house belongs to both of you."

  "To be honest, I don't care much about it. I don't know if I have the strength to fight him in court. I just want to be done with it, with him, so that I can move on..." Her lashes lift, revealing tears at the corners of her eyes. She wipes at them hurriedly and sniffs, holding her head in a pose of defiance. "But I'm not going to give in. I've spent the past ten years of my life giving in to his demands, and that's over. I want what is rightfully mine. That's what I told Kip—my lawyer—and he thinks we can win this thing."

  "Wait. Your lawyer's name is Kip?"

  "Ridiculous, isn't it? But I think he knows what he's doing..."

  I rest a hand on her arm. "I'm really proud of you for standing up for yourself. That's admirable and brave."

  "Thank you." She blushes, breathes out a little breath, and shrugs her shoulders. "Hopefully I'll be granted a settlement large enough to cover the legal fees, at least. Oh, thank goodness we never had kids!"

  "It is fortunate, given the circumstances."

  Alis kneels down to brush her cheek against Portia's side. "I'll stick with kitties for now. Hey!" She leans backward to look up at me. "Maybe I should keep one of these babies... I always wanted a dog or a cat, but Jason was allergic. And he hated animals."

  "That would be wonderful. You can take your pick of the litter when they're ready to go."

  She smiles, all sadness vanished from her too-blue eyes. "I'm excited now! I have to think of a name, and buy a collar, and a scratching post, and lots of those fuzzy mice..." She ticks each item off on her fingers.

  Charmed by her enthusiasm, I laugh and help her to her feet. "You're going to spoil it, Alis."

  "Well, it'll be nice to have someone to love."

  I look at her—our faces are close, half an arm's length apart—but she's avoiding my gaze. "Alis," I begin, but she steps away, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head.

  "Darcy, I'm sorry about yesterday. I really— I don't know what came over me. I was completely out of line. I guess I've just been lonely, and you've been so kind... I got confused. And kissed you." She offers me a feeble smile. "I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

  "There's nothing to forgive. We've both been through hell..." I lift my arms and then drop them back at my sides helplessly. "We both find ourselves suddenly alone, and that's... It's scary." The words sound true, but there's a snag in my throat when I speak, like a burr. "Please don't torment yourself over it."

  "Oh, you have no idea how sick I've been! I was so worried all day long. I wanted to apologize during breakfast, but I just... You seemed so out of sorts; I thought my bringing it up would only make matters worse. So I agonized during my entire shift, wondering if you hated me, or thought I was a slut, or, worse, an insensitive slut, or maybe just pathetic."

  "None of the above," I smile, reaching for her hand. She gives it to me and moves a few steps closer. "On the contrary, I think you're...an angel."

  Her features change, r
elax, from agitated and nervous to softly glowing. "You only say that because I wear so much white," she laughs quietly, indicating her hospital garb.

  "Actually..." I shake my head at her and place my hands on either side of her forehead, massaging her temples gently, rhythmically. "It's the halo. Dead giveaway. You light up any room you're in."

  Her eyes widen, two round pools of blue, and I catch my own gaze lingering over her lips.

  Not again, I think, frustrated…but unable to look away.

  "Ow!"

  At Alis' cry, Portia hisses, and we break apart.

  "She scratched me!"

  I observe Portia warily. She licks a paw, eyes closed, by all appearances cucumber cool. "Let me see," I say, taking Alis' arm in my hands. A small gash marks the back of her wrist. There's no blood, but the wound has already turned pink and puffy.

  I sigh. "She's never done that before. It's so strange."

  "Well, I should clean the area; cat scratches are prone to infection."

  "There's a first aid kit back at the house, under the kitchen sink. I'll come with you—"

  "No." She cradles her arm and reaches for her coat. "I'm a nurse, remember? I can take care of it. It's no problem." Alis eyes Portia. "Maybe she's unhappy with me because I want to take her baby."

  "Maybe," I agree, doubtfully.

  "Cats are observant. They notice things."

  "I'm really sorry, Alis."

  "Oh, it's fine." She smiles, wraps a red scarf around her neck and picks up a flashlight. "I should get myself to bed, anyway, or I'll be the walking dead tomorrow."

  "Yeah, I'm pretty tired, too."

  "So...have a good night, Darcy. And stay warm!" The door closes with a dull thud behind her.

  "Portia..."

  The white cat meows prettily at the sound of her name and begins to rub her soft body against my legs.

  I never saw Portia display signs of aggression before, but cats are unpredictable creatures, not held to ordinary patterns of behavior. Maybe she saw a shadow, or smelled something she disliked, or felt that her kittens were somehow in danger...

  Or maybe Catherine made her do it.

  I try to expel the thought but can't help wondering: Can a ghost experience jealousy?

  Guilt consumes me, and I sit down next to the kittens, bringing my knees up to my chest. Portia hops up beside me, and her purrs lull me to sleep.

  ---

  It's still dark. I rub at my eyes and stretch, moaning as pain shoots along my spine, over my back and neck. I slept sitting on the couch and feel sore all over. I look about the room dazedly, wondering what caused me to awaken.

  Portia is napping along with her kittens, her limbs and tail curled around them, keeping them warm.

  With a shiver, I realize that I am not only sore but cold, too. My teeth chatter as I leap from the couch to the floor and grab some blankets from the armchair. I should have brought slippers, I think, yawning, as I make my way toward the bedroom.

  I stop short at sight of the rumpled quilt, the tossed-off sheet. Catherine never did bother to make a bed after she slept in it. Her fuzzy green monster slippers peek out from beneath the bed frame. I nudge them toward me with my foot and then slip both feet inside the pair. They fit. We always wore the same size, in shoes, clothes—even rings.

  My hand clutches the engagement ring now as I seat myself on the bed and run a hand through my tangled hair. Before Catherine died, I always made an effort to look my best for her. Being a writer, she had a neverending supply of compliments poised at the tip of her tongue, words that made my whole body tremble. But lately I resemble nothing so much as a starved Yeti. And I couldn't care less.

  Another shiver. The generator must be broken. Or off? Did I even turn it on yesterday? I meant to, but... It's so hard to remember, to keep time straight. There's been something very nonlinear about the past months, and it's taken a toll on my grasp of the present, past and future.

  The compulsion to sit down at the typewriter brings me to my feet, the slippers sliding over the floor with a dry, sandpapery noise, and I find myself seated once again in the desk chair, fingers positioned, expectant, over the keys.

  I owe this to her at least, I think, as the edges of my perception blur—like seawater pulling back, ever so subtly, from a damp shore—because the face I dreamed of this night was not Catherine's.

  Two women haunt me now. Past and present.

  My skin tingles. The scent of flowers assails my nose, but then all senses fade. I’m lost.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "I think we should throw a party."

  I hold the knife over the cutting board, mid-chop, and shoot Alis a look of disbelief. "A party? As in...food? Wine? Music? Fun?"

  "Yes," she laughs, her hands buried in banana bread dough. There's a streak of flour on her cheek, and her apron strings have come undone. "A little dancing might be nice, too. What do you think? We could both use a pick-me-up, and it will be Christmas soon... You've got this big, beautiful house." She raises her arms, gesturing all around us. "Let's make it festive! Come on, Darcy."

  I drop the knife when she grabs me from behind at the waist, turning me to face her fully.

  "Pleeeeease?" Alis falls to her knees and folds her hands, pleading in her best imitation of a whiny five-year-old girl. She succeeds in looking heart-stoppingly adorable and making me all too aware of her womanly assets, barely concealed beneath the loose apron and deep vee of her white sweater.

  "Oh, Alis. You're serious about this?"

  "Deadly," she grins, with a flutter of her lashes. "I'm tired of being responsible and worrying about the divorce papers and worrying, most of all, about you—"

  "Why me?"

  "You're miserable, and of course you have every right to be sad and grieving, but it's the holidays! Everyone has to be happy during the holidays. Or else! It's, like, a law."

  I shake my head at her and smirk.

  "Darcy, we should be hanging up lights and decorating a tree. Shopping! We have to go shopping!"

  "I don't know, Alis..."

  "Okay, listen, I'm hardly in the Christmas spirit myself, but I think planning a party would force us to muddle through all of our twisted emotions and realize that, yes, our lives have changed, drastically, but there's still time. There's still hope." Her eyes shine. "For both of us."

  My heart pounds, caught up in her passion. But a party? With people and their questions, their clichéd condolences, their whispers and stares?

  "We'll make up a guest list together and only include the people we both feel comfortable inviting."

  "But that's the thing, Alis. I don't feel comfortable around anyone right now. I'm not even comfortable when I'm alone."

  "Darcy—"

  "Besides, I'd be an awful hostess. Morticia Addams is cheerful in comparison."

  She smiles and lays a hand on my shoulder; its warmth distracts me, makes my heart beat even faster. "Stop thinking so much. You need this. You want it, too, although you'd never admit it."

  I open my mouth to speak, but she silences me with a look. In the short time since Alis moved into the house, I’ve learned to recognize that look: like magic, it vaporizes contrary opinions.

  "No more excuses. I'll handle the details. Just say yes."

  "You aren't leaving me much room for argument," I laugh.

  Alis crosses her arms over her chest in mock frustration and begins to tap her foot on the floor. "So?" she leads, eyeing me closely.

  "So..." I sigh, defeated. "All right, let's do it."

  Alis flings her arms around my neck and squeals. "Thank you so much! You won't regret it, I promise. We've going to have the best Christmas party in the history of Christmas parties—"

  "Setting your sights a little high, aren't you?" I turn back to the cutting board and resume my task.

  "Always," she says, flashing me a victorious smile. She pours her dough into an oiled bread pan and turns on the oven. "Well, with Jason, I didn’t really set my sights on an
ything. But now I feel—I don’t know." Her hands still, and she glances over her shoulder at me. "I feel renewed, Darcy. Thanks to you."

  "Me? I haven’t done—"

  "You have. I’d still be suffering beneath his roof if you hadn’t—" She shrugs, turning back to her pan. I watch her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. "I just needed someone to say aloud what I’d been thinking silently for years. And, anyway, it's nice having something to look forward to again, isn't it?"

  I take a deep breath, regarding her. Heat floods my chest, and for a moment I find myself unable to think, only feel. Gratitude. And friendship. I've never made friends easily. But it seems as if I've known Alis forever, as if all of my life led me up to this point, here, right now, standing together in the kitchen, baking bread and making plans.

  "Yeah, it is nice," I say finally, watching her clean the counter with a kitchen towel, listening to her humming gently to herself.

  ---

  I remove a can of tuna from my pocket and open the lid, pouring its contents into the small bowl at the foot of the sofa. "Eat up, Portia. You need your strength." I pat her back, and she meows appreciation.

  Closing the cabin door softly behind me, so as not to wake the sleeping kittens, I trek back to the house to fetch some hot water bottles, raising my hood against the falling snow. It’s the fluffy kind of snow: the flakes whirl in the air like bits of cotton candy, weightless and glittering blue in the afternoon sun.

  Christmas is in six days, and it will likely be a white one—though, if Alis has any say in the matter, it will be a silver-and-gold one, too. In preparation for the party, she’s begun decking the halls of the house with sparkle: shining bows and ornamented wreaths, strings of vintage lights wound round the banister, old-fashioned tinsel garlands swooping above every entryway. Whenever I find myself sinking into somber thoughts, one of Alis’ decorations glitters at the corner of my eye…and I smile, despite myself.