My husband tried to be open-minded but wasn’t always successful. If he couldn’t touch, see or smell it, or it didn’t personally happen to him, it wasn’t real. I’m his wife and he wanted to believe me and I could almost see the little wheels spinning around in his brain, fighting to find some way to make sense out of my admission. He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say, Ang.”
“Well, for starters you could say you believe me and you don’t plan to have me committed.”
“I believe that you believe you’re seeing the ghost of your mother, and I promise you, I won’t ship you off to a mental hospital. Today anyway.”
Humph. That didn’t work like I thought it would. “Jake, I don’t want you to believe that I believe. I want you to believe what I’m telling you is actually happening.”
He put his cigarette out on the fire pit, which annoyed the daylights out of me, but I remained silent. After almost seventeen years of marriage, I’d learned to pick my battles, at least most of the time.
He stood up, lit up another cigarette and blew the smoke toward our cherry trees. I imagined them instantly wilting from the poison. “Honey, you know me. You know I don’t really believe in all that crap.” He paced around the chairs and sat back down. He did that when he was trying to think something through.
“You don’t need to believe in all that crap, Jake. You just need to believe in me. I’m not asking you to put aside what you’ve believed for the past forty-five years. I’m just asking you to believe that for me, it is possible.”
We peered at each other but didn’t say a thing.
My mother, who had stayed silent through the bulk of this conversation, thank God, groaned. “Ang, I have an idea.”
“Okay."
She floated behind Jake. “Tell him I know about the prostitute.”
My mouth dropped. My eyes shot back and forth between my mother and Jake. “What’s this about a prostitute, Jake?” I might have said that just a little bit too loud, but who wouldn’t? A prostitute?
Jake jerked his head back and forth, and I was pretty sure he was looking for my mother. “Oh my God,” he laughed. Laughed! “Holy shit, it is true. Your mother really is a ghost, isn’t she?”
That didn’t help me understand about the prostitute, and apparently my mother found that funny too because she was doing the whole head bob laugh thing again.
I, however, did not find it the least bit funny. “Someone had better tell me about the freaking prostitute.” I clenched my teeth so tight I think I chipped one. “Right now.”
Jake stopped laughing, but Ma’s head still bobbed uncontrollably. “It’s not what you think, Ang. I promise.” He suddenly stood up. “Wait. Is she here? Did she just tell you about the prostitute, Angela?” He scanned the deck suspiciously.
The issue of my mother haunting me and Jake believing it, suddenly seemed unimportant or at least less important than the fact that my husband and a prostitute were...well, I don’t know what, dammit and that’s what ticked me off.
Finally my mother got the head bobbing under control and spoke up. “It’s okay, Ang.” She giggled again. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He got propositioned, that’s all.”
“So you couldn’t have just said, ask him to tell you about being propositioned by the prostitute, instead, Ma?” I swear this woman loved to light a fire under my butt just because she could.
Jake stared at me.
I needed to learn to meditate or I’d end up on high blood pressure meds. I probably already needed them. “She said it was nothing, that you got propositioned is all.”
He laughed again, but the humor escaped me. “You could say that." He paused. “So she’s really here, isn’t she?”
I avoided his question because I wasn’t quite finished with the prostitute issue. “What’s so funny about being propositioned by a prostitute, Jake?”
Ma spoke before Jake got the chance. “It was funny because the prostitute was old enough to be his grandmother." Her head bobbed again. “She was close to my age.”
“Oh my gosh. You got propositioned by a grandmother? That takes the cougar thing to a whole new level.” I laughed now too, because it was funny and I knew it was a major hit to Jake’s ego and that made it even funnier.
“Wow. Holy crap. Fran really is a ghost.” The look on Jake’s face was either one of absolute awe or else he was totally freaked out, I wasn’t sure which. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen the look before, really.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Now tell me more about getting hit on by a grandmother." So he did and we had a good, much needed laugh. Afterwards we talked a little more about Ma being the undead, as Jake called her, but his phone rang and in Jake’s world, work was more important than his wife seeing her dead mother.
###
I headed out to meet Mel at Starbucks, but had to wait for Emily to finish getting ready. I’d promised her I’d drop her off at Taylor’s house on my way. Fifteen minutes after we were supposed to leave, she finally bopped down the stairs wearing a blue and white stripped camisole and cut off “booty” jean shorts, like she had all of the time in the world. What was with girls today? Her shorts were so short I could see butt cheek hanging below the fringe. “Seriously, Em. Those shorts are way too short. I’m not taking you wearing that. Go put on something that covers your butt, please.”
The expression of indignation on her face was comical, and of course she gave me the famous eye roll. “Everyone wears their shorts like this, Mom.”
I pushed back the desire to ask her what she’d do if all of her friends jumped off of a cliff, because I always thought that comeback was stupid, so instead went with, “I don’t care what other people are wearing. They’re not my kids. Now go and change your shorts or you’re not going to Taylor’s house.” Did I have this mother thing down or what?
She turned away in a huff and stomped back to her room. Stomping is a pet peeve of mine. I know it was her way of venting her frustration, and it was probably better than a smart mouth – which she used far too often – but for me, it was an invitation for an argument. I breathed in deeply and counted to ten. It wasn’t meditation, but it helped.
Five minutes later she was back downstairs in a pair of shorts just slightly longer than the first and carrying a bigger tote. I was reasonably sure my daughter thought I was an idiot. If she actually believed I didn’t think the booty shorts were in that tote, well then, who was the stupid one? “Lemme see what’s in the bag, Em.”
Her eyes widened. “It’s just my bathing suit and a towel. We might go to the pool later.”
And the first place for the who’s the most stupid contest of the day went to Emily.
I didn’t even attempt to acknowledge her avoidance technique. “Lemme see what’s in the bag, Em.”
She sighed as if she couldn’t believe I’d ask something so incredibly stupid, and shoved the bag out toward me. I managed to take it slowly, instead of snatching it away from her and sticking my tongue out at her. I was the adult, after all.
I pulled out the booty shorts and left her with her bikini and the rest of the bag’s contents. Yes, I realized the irony of taking out the booty shorts and leaving the bikini, and I also realized the size of the bikini would show more of the booty than visible in the booty shorts, and was pretty sure this argument was coming. So before she had a chance to start on me, I gave her my reasoning. “The shorts are not appropriate to wear in public and while I’m not a fan of this bikini, it was meant for a specific environment, so I’m letting you wear it. If, however, I find that you’re wearing it outside of the pool area, I will get you a more conservative one piece and we’ll burn this one together in the fire pit, just to make sure it’s really gone. Do you understand?”
Eye roll. Check. Frustrated sigh. Check.
“Can I get a ‘Yes, Mom’?”
Em grunted, “Yes, Mom,” and headed out to the car.
I considered talking to her about what my mother mentioned
at the memorial service, but decided neither of us was in the right frame of mind for a casual discussion about her life. Not that any discussion about her life was ever actually casual. She was fifteen and couldn't comprehend casual, and every conversation was viewed as a direct assault on her personally, regardless of its content. It was time to do a little research on her computer, instead. I didn’t actually promote sneakiness in general, but when it was about raising kids, I wasn’t opposed to a little amateur detective work.
Emily fiddled with the radio to avoid dealing with me, which was fine with me. I had no interest in dealing with any more drama at that point, considering I had my own personal drama to deal with. I dropped her off at Taylor’s, said a quick hello to Chris, Taylor’s mother, and headed out to meet Mel.
Chapter Eight
Being visited by your dead mother changed a person, aside from the whole am I going crazy thing, that is. Maybe now I saw things differently or was more open to what was going on around me, I don’t know. I knew things were different but I couldn’t quite figure out how. That’s why, when I was at Starbucks waiting for Mel and chatting with my favorite barista, Jenn as she made my venti nonfat with whip mocha, I was slightly taken aback by the woman who hovered behind her. It was just for a second, so I couldn’t be sure if I actually saw her or imagined her.
That’s exactly how I felt when I first saw Ma, too.
My spidey senses told me this probably wasn’t my imagination, but I wasn’t prepared to go there just yet. It wasn’t like I could tell Jenn about it anyway. What was I going to say, “Hey, look behind you, quick! There’s a ghost there.” Jenn didn’t seem to sense anything anyway, so who was I to freak her out? She squirted another dollop of whipped cream onto my drink. “Looks like you need a little extra today, girl friend.”
So much for not noticing anything. I thanked her and grabbed a table in the corner and waited for Mel.
Mel arrived, ordered her caramel macchiato and got right to the subject. Not one for easing into anything, ever. “So, tell me what’s going on.”
I filled her in on what happened with Jake, paying extra attention to the grandma prostitute part. I couldn’t help it. A prostitute the age of a grandmother fascinated me even more than the fact that I could see the ghost of my dead mother. I guess some things just seemed normal when they happened enough.
She laughed. “That’s hilarious. Oh, my God. Jake must have died! He’s so proud all of the time. I bet that threw him for a loop, being propositioned by an old woman. It had to have been a hit to his ego.”
“You know, I don’t think so. I think he liked it. I don’t mean it turned him on – not that kind of like – but I think it flattered him. He probably thinks he’s appealing to all ages now. Good Lord, his ego is going to blow up like a hot air balloon.” We both laughed because we knew it was probably true.
“That’s priceless. Nick would be horrified if that happened to him. Horrified. But totally fun to watch.”
We laughed some more.
We talked about Ma’s ghost and Jake, and agreed it was just the start of something way out of his comfort zone.
“This is going to be tough for him to deal with, Ang.”
“I know, and I’m not really looking forward to it, either.”
I told her about seeing the woman behind Jenn.
Mel’s eyes lit up. “Wait. So you’re telling me you saw a ghost here?”
“Yes. No.” I shook my head. “Okay, maybe?” I took the lid off of my cup and scooped up some of the luscious whipped cream with my finger. Who cared about germs when there was fresh whipped cream? “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean, it was just a flash and really, I didn’t see anything clearly enough to say for sure.”
Mel stirred the caramel on the top of her macchiato with her finger and licked it clean. Kindred souls, I tell ya, kindred souls. “Well, did you say anything to her?”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Jenn, you know any dead people who might want to say, stand behind you while you make drinks?’ No, I did not say anything to her. I may be seeing ghosts but I’m not nuts.”
There was something sort of ironic about that statement.
“Wow. Just, wow. You totally saw another ghost, Ang. Oh my God. Do you know what this means?” I heard a hint of excitement in her voice and wasn’t sure I liked where this was going.
From the corner of my eye, I saw an older woman enter the store. I turned and stared at her for a minute to see if she’d disappear.
Mel turned and stared at her, too. “She’s not a ghost, Ang. I can see her too."
Gawd she was loud sometimes. “Mel, seriously. Like I need everyone at Starbucks thinking I’m a nut case.” I took a big sip of my drink and shook my head.
Mel giggled. “Whoops. My bad.”
Before Mel could drop her, do you know what this means bomb on me, my cell phone alerted me to a text from Emily. She wanted me to come and get her. I texted her back and asked why, since I’d just dropped her off. She must have assumed my response because she sent another text almost immediately saying she didn’t feel well. I couldn’t leave Mel in the middle of this. She’d probably pee herself if we didn’t finish this conversation, so I texted Em back, told her I was in the middle of something and could come in about an hour but to text her dad if it was urgent. Not that I felt Jake would get her, but it bought me some time. She seemed fine this morning and I couldn’t help but wonder if this had something to do with what my mother said. I was probably going to have to figure this out sooner rather than later.
Mel grabbed her phone off of the table. “I knew we should have seen a psychic when we were in New York. I can’t believe we chickened out. We’re going to do that now. Today.” I watched as her fingers swiped up and down on her phone. “We’ll find one somewhere and see if we can get an appointment right away. We’re going to figure this out one way or another, though I’m pretty sure we already know what’s happening.”
I breathed in deeply and felt the tension in my chest. I held my breath for a second and then let it out slowly. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this, this...whatever it is. “Emily needs me to pick her up. She’s not feeling good.”
Mel didn’t look up from her phone. “Jake’s home, right? He can do it. He’s probably looking for an excuse to ride the Harley anyway. Maybe he’ll run into some Harley-riding grandmothers and give them a cheap thrill.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Besides, she was right. I hadn’t thought of the Harley angle. That’s the one thing about Mel that makes me love and hate her at the same time. She’s always right. I quickly called Jake about Em, while Mel called a psychic she found on the Internet.
“He said he’ll get her and didn’t even question why I didn’t want to.” I said a silent thank you to God for giving me such a laid back, trusting husband, and waited for Mel to finish the call.
“Okay. We’re meeting with a woman named Linda. She does tarot card readings and has the gift of sight, whatever that means, but she said she can see us right away, so what have we got to lose?”
“How much is this going to cost me and what if she’s a fake?” I didn’t really intend to sound so critical, but I’d gone to psychics before and was pretty sure I’d been scammed. What’s to say it wouldn’t happen again?
“It’s one hundred and twenty-five dollars, and Ang, if she’s a fake, she won’t be able to validate anything that’s happening, so just don’t tell her what’s happening. Don’t even tell her your mother is dead. Just see what she says. It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”
I thought she was right, so I agreed.
Mel decided to drive us both, likely fearing I’d blow it off, which I might have done. Sometimes it was annoying to be known so well.
###
On the drive to Atlanta, Mel offered me advice on what to say and how to answer questions. She asked if she could be in the room, too.
“Um, yes. Of course you can be in the room with me. If she lets you, tha
t is. I’d much rather do this with you there than by myself. Besides, this is your idea anyway so you should be there.” I didn’t tell her why I really want her there, which was, of course, because I was scared shitless.
Psychic Linda had a tiny storefront in a small strip mall off of Peachtree Street in Buckhead. The mall appeared semi-new and full, which was surprising given the state of the economy. I suspected her business was thriving though. People get scared when the world is in such turmoil and seek comfort in all sorts of ways.
We walked in and read the sign on the desk. Following the directions, Mel rang the bell. We couldn’t hear it, but the sign said Psychic Linda would. So we waited, both of us about ready to pee in our pants, only for different reasons.
I bounced on one foot. “If she’s psychic, why do we need to ring the bell?"
“Stop it. You have to keep an open mind about this or it won’t help. Listen, you’re the one seeing all kinds of ghosts, so don’t you think it’s possible she might be able to too?”
“I’m not seeing all kinds of ghosts. Just one, maybe two.”
“Angela.”
“What?”
“Stop it. You’re freaking out without reason. Save it for later, like when she tells you you’re psychic or something.”
I bounced faster.
“Stop bouncing.”
“You’re not my mother.” I stuck my tongue out at her.
“No, I’m not, but she’s dead and I’m stuck with you.”
“I’m feeling the love.”
“You know I’m right.”
Yes, I knew she was right, which frustrated me, again. “Fine.”
We stood in the waiting area next to a long, brown and green striped couch. Three impressionistic paintings in soft muted colors that didn’t at all match the couch hung on the wall in front of us, but aside from a small floor lamp and the sign, the rest of the room was empty. I was starting to think this wasn’t a good idea or at least that this psychic wasn’t the one we should see. If she was good, she should have been able to afford better furniture or at the least a coffee table.
Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Novel (A Chick-lit Paranormal book) (The Angela Panther Series) Page 7