Chapter 34
1999
Mike set down the last box, his pale face ruddy from the exertion of carrying everything Clara owned. Hand on hip, he took a deep breath and looked around the small loft apartment she’d decided to rent.
“Is that it?” she asked, making a pathway between the boxes so she could reach the bathroom.
“I sure as hell hope so,” Mike said, plopping down on top of a plastic tub that held Clara’s books. “’Cause I’m done.”
Clara laughed. “Get yourself a beer. I put some in the fridge to chill last night.”
“Oh, you are a doll!” he exclaimed, pushing to his feet and picking his way through to the small kitchen. “So, was Ray pissed you?” he called out, hoping to be heard through the closed bathroom door.
“Kind of,” was called back, though muffled.
“I bet,” he muttered to himself, heaving himself up to sit on the countertop, letting the flip flops drop from his feet. He knew Raymond Van Wurt well. Ray said jump, you asked how high. He said stay, you asked how long. The fact that his pet had moved out had undoubtedly not gone over so well.
“He didn’t understand,” Clara explained, buttoning her shorts as she made her way into the living room. “He thought that Isabelle had pissed me off.”
Mike chuckled. “Did she?”
“No more than usual,” Clara said, beginning to slice into the tape that held the boxes shut. “Isabelle is a woman with more money than sense who likes martinis a little too much.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Mike said, holding his beer up in salute before taking a long pull. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I think I’m going to ask Jeff to move in,” he said, staring off into what he hoped would be a future with the gorgeous blonde. “What do you think?”
Clara kept her back to him, knowing full well that question was coming. Mike had struck out more than he’d made homeruns in love. He was a good guy with a sweet face and beautiful eyes, but few saw him as more than a twink with lots of money. He’d met Jeff Stanley four months before at a party, and in Clara’s opinion, the only thing Jeff had done for Mike was introduce him to Valium and better oral sex.
“Clara?” Mike said, hopping down from the cabinet and sauntering into the living room. He leaned up against the wall, waiting for an answer.
Clara sighed, finally turning to face him. “You sure you want to know what I think?”
“Why? Is it bad?”
“I don’t know about bad, but I don’t know about good, either.”
“Damn it, Clara!” Mike threw the cap to his beer across the room where it bounced off the huge windows that fronted the building. “I am thirty-three, almost thirty-four years old! I’m going to end up some creepy old eccentric with a million cats!”
“No you’re not,” Clara chuckled, tossing the newly-emptied box aside. “That’s not old, Michael, and you know it. Well,” she said on second thought, “not ancient, anyway.”
“Nice. Just because you haven’t even reached your mid-twenties yet doesn’t mean you can’t be sympathetic to my plight.” Mike flopped down onto the floor, a pout on his face.
Clara managed to hide her smile as she sat on a box in front of him. “Listen, Mike, I think Jeff is a nice guy, but I don’t think he’s the nice guy for you.”
“Why?” he asked, his eyes beginning to fill as he looked up at her.
Clara slid off the box and sat next to him. Her heart broke for him. The one thing Michael James had never experienced in a pampered life was true love. He’d had lovers, and he’d had users, but never a man who loved him for who he was as a person, and not how much money was in his wallet. The problem Clara knew was that he lured men to his table or his house with the size of his bank account. For whatever reason, men just weren’t interested in anything else he had to show them. Including a massively large heart.
“I don’t know, sweetie,” she said softly, reaching out to intercept a hear as it fell from one eye. “I wish I did. I wish I could call my grandmother here right now and ask her, but the truth is, she wouldn’t tell me if I did. It’s something in your plan this go ‘round, and it’s something you must have to learn from.”
“Fuck lessons!” Mike roared, jumping to his feet and stumbling over boxes as he tried to pace. “Damn it, Clara! All I want is someone to love me. Me!” He pounded his own chest. “Is that too much to ask for?”
“I’ve been asking myself that very same question for the past seven years, Mike. I understand.”
“Clara,” he pleased, kneeling in front of her. “I want a home. I want a family. I even want a damn dog, even though I’m allergic!”
Clara smiled.
“Am I asking for too much? Why don’t you like Jeff? Why isn’t he the one?”
“Do you think he’s the one, Mike?” she asked, taking his hand in hers. “Because honestly, it doesn’t matter diddly what I think. It only matters what you think.”
Mike sighed, swiping angrily at another falling tear. “I don’t know.” He looked down at his fingers, the tip of his index finger wet with his frustration. “I think he might be. Maybe.”
Clara nodded, though red flags were flying all over the place in her head. “Then you need to do what you need to do. If you feel it’s right, I support you one hundred thousand percent. I’ll help you guys move him in. Just,” she brought his face up with a finger under his chin. “promise me you’ll think about it first, okay? Be sure.”
Mike nodded, smiling in gratitude. He hugged her tightly to him, whispering into her ear. “Thank you, Clara. Thank you.”
Clara got the office ready, lighting a few candles to bring a warmth to what used to be a cold, rather sterile room. The blinds were closed, allowing the candle light to filter throughout the room, bringing the harsh brightness of the sunny day, which she felt gave things an artificial, impersonal feeling.
The coffee was brewing, though it was specifically for the client. Two years ago Rebecca had urged Clara to make a drastic change in her diet and intake. She was asked to purify her system, ridding herself and her diet of sugars, caffeine and fatty foods. Rebecca had explained that they were toxic to what she called the “energy highway” that everyone possessed, causing not only blockage in arteries, but also in clarity. Especially sugar. It had been a very difficult road for her to hoe, and the caffeine headaches had been murder, but she’d gotten through it.
Her first client of the day was due in three minutes, so Clara quickly straightened the throw pillows she’d bought for the couch, and opened up a new box of Kleenex to put on the glass top table. More often than not readings got emotional for the client.
At nine a.m. on the button there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Clara called out, making sure her cell phone was turned off and left out of sight.
The office door opened, and Clara was surprised to see one of her favorite singers walk through the door. She walked over to her, professionalism as firmly in place as her friendly smile.
“Hi. I’m Clara,” she said, extending a hand, which was quickly taken.
“Christine Gray.”
“Welcome. Please, come in.” Clara and the singer got themselves situated, Christine declining a cup of coffee. “Okay, do you know anything about me? What I do, who I am, what you’re in for?”
Christine smiled, pushing a long, dark strand of hair out of sky blue eyes. The white tank top she wore hugged her firm torso nicely, as did the well-ventilated pair of jeans she wore. “I know you talk to dead people, but beyond that,” she shook her head. “Not a clue.”
“Okay. Well, yes, you’re right. I do talk to dead people, and lucky me, they talk back.” Both women smiled. “So, I only ask a few things of you before we begin. Please give me no names, no details of any events or person. And, during the reading, if you could refrain from expounding on anything I tell you, but keep it simple to what I ask. Okay?”
Christine nodded, sitting back in the cushions. She casually crossed one leg over the other, swinging a long leg lazily to and fro. Clara cleared her throat, trying to ignore just how gorgeous her current client was, and closed her eyes.
Grandma, help me get through this without looking like an idiot, please.
She took several deep breaths, opening her mind to connect to the spirit world. Within a few moments information began to come. She opened her eyes, watching as the scene unfolded seemingly in her office. She was looking so intently into the past that Christine glanced over her shoulder to try and get what Clara was so focused on. Seeing nothing, she waited in silence for Clara to speak.
“Okay, I’m seeing what looks to be an empty room. White walls. A window, sunlight on the floor.” She saw something in the corner and tried to focus on it. “It looks like there’s… orange juice?” Her attention was caught by Christine’s gasp. She glanced at the singer. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Yes. Very much so.” Christine tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but wasn’t entirely successful. She wanted to explain, but remembered Clara’s words of warning not to expound. Instead she blew out a breath.
“This feels like a scary place, Christine,” Clara said, unconsciously hugging herself. “Very dark. Can I ask you where this is?”
“it’s the apartment in Queens where I lived with my parents.” She bit her tongue to stop anymore information from coming. The ironic thing was, her parents was an off-limits topic with everyone else, but for some reason she felt like talking to Clara about it.
“Okay. That’s fading. Now I’m seeing containers of Chinese food, it looks like. Chop sticks.”
Christine chuckled and nodded. “Yep. I used to eat Chinese with my mother.” She stopped cold, realization coming to her. “Wait, if you’re seeing someone, does that mean they’re dead?”
Clara could see the pain in the singer’s eyes, and her heart reached out to her. “Typically,” she acknowledged. “But maybe not in this case. Let’s see what else I get. Okay?”
Christine nodded. When she was just a child, she’d come home from school to find her home empty: no furniture, no belongings, no parents. Her father had been in trouble with shady characters her entire short life at that time, and so Christine had always just assumed they’d gone on the run. She hadn’t seen them in more than twenty years, never hearing from them again.
“Okay, let’s see,” Clara blew out a breath, feeling somewhat under pressure now. “Who had blue eyes? Same color as yours.”
“My mother.”
“Okay. That’s who I’ve got with me, Christine. I’m so sorry.”
Christine was silent for a long moment, trying to absorb what she’d just been told. She swallowed several times, not wanting the emotions to rise anymore than they had to. She’d been abandoned by the woman, left to fend for herself at nine years old. She felt the woman who’d given birth to her didn’t deserve her tears.
“Take your time,” Clara said softly, able to feel the battle being waged inside her client. She wanted to cry herself, able to feel the anguish held within the spirit who stood to her left.
“What does she want?” Christine finally managed to ask.
“Let’s find out. Okay?” Clara reached across the narrow table and touched the singer lightly on the knee. “She’s telling me she was forced to leave. She had no choice. Does that make sense to you?”
Christine nodded, not sure she wanted to believe it. “Yes, it does.”
“Good. Okay, wait, say again?” Clara asked the woman who seemed so anxious to finally say what’s been on her mind for so many years. “She says she was messed up. In the head,” Clara demonstrated what she was being shown by moving her finger in a circle next to her head. “She said tried to get Carla to take you-“
“that drunk old hag?!” Christine erupted, her hands fisted at her sides. “I’m sorry,” she nearly whispered, trying to force her anger down and away from herself and certainly Clara.
“That’s okay. Hold on. She’s talking again. Talkative, this one.” Clara held up her hands, “Whoa, wait. Slow down.” Her head was a jumbled mess of messages, images and sounds. It was almost as if the woman only had a few precious seconds to get out everything she’d needed to get out for so long. From the looks of Christine’s fidgeting body, that was probably fairly accurate. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got it. She wants you to know that she loves you, she’s sorry, and that it was quick. Your father is still alive. She was killed in an accident, Christine. She was crossing a street when a car ran a red.”
Christine nodded, finally giving in and letting her tears come. They were slow, but there. She wiped at them with the edge of the tissue she’d pulled from the box.
“She also said you should make time for Adam.”
Christine’s head shot up at that one. “Why? Is he okay? How the hell does she know about Adam?”
Clara couldn’t help but smile. “On the other side they know about everything. She won’t say. Just that you should see him.” She smiled. “She also said you’ll make a wonderful mother.”
Christine’s dark brows drew. “A wonderful mother? I don’t have any kids, nor any plans for them.”
Clara shrugged. “I just tell you what I hear. I feel her energy fading,” she said, the signal growing weaker and weaker as her head became more her own rather than the temporary home of Christine’s mother. “Anything else before I lose her?”
Christine opened her mouth, the words I love you nearly falling out. She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.
“She’s gone,” Clara said softly. “And, Christine? She can hear you any time. Okay?”
Christine smiled, a little sheepish. “Thank you so much. That was… wow. Really amazing.”
“You’re welcome. Any time.”
They both stood and Clara offered a hug, which Christine returned. “Powerful stuff, Clara. Powerful stuff.” They walked to the door. “I’m very impressed with you. Guess they’re right what they say.”
“What’s that?” Clara asked, her hand on the doorknob as her client stopped out into the hall.
“You really can talk to dead people.” With a mega watt smile, Christine was gone.
“And it’s true what they say about you, too,” Clara muttered as she closed the door. “You’re hotter than hell!”
Chapter 35
2000
“… three, two, one, Happy New Year!” A crowd of voices cheered, noisemakers going crazy. All around the huge beach house in Malibu happy couples found each other and kissed to bring in the new millennium.
Clara received a sloppy kiss from her drunk girlfriend. Well, girlfriend may have been slightly too strong of a word for what Leah was. More like bed warmer. Clara turned her head after the kiss, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, trying to hide her disgust. The woman spent most of her time drunk, and if she was sober, she liked to call herself a model. Clara never said anything, after all it was good to have a dream.
“Happy New Year, baby,” the drunk woman slurred in Clara’s ear, leaving the remnants of their shared kiss on her lobe.
Clara pulled away, yet again keeping her revulsion in check. “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink, Leah,” she said, holding the already-tall woman steady on her four inch heels.
“No way!” Leah said, pulling away so fast that she toppled over backwards, nearly knocking the beverage table over.
Embarrassed, Clara looked around to see who all had seen. Glad to be in the clear, as everyone was still busy celebrating, she helped Leah to unsteady legs, and eventually out of the house altogether.
“Where we goin’, baby?” Leah asked, folding herself into Clara’s car, one of her heels snapping in the process. “Goddamn mother fucking cocksucker!” she cried, throwing the now-useless show outside of the car.
“Damn it, Leah!” Clara yelled, hurrying back around her car to snag the discarded shoe and tossing it back inside with her girlfriend. She got back on her side and started up the car, making sure Leah’s door was locked using the child safety locks.
“Why the hell did’ju take me there, anyways?” Leah asked, turning angry hazel eyes on Clara.
“Because you wanted to go,” Clara steamed.
“Nah uh!”
“Don’t start this shit with me again, Leah,” Clara warned, her voice dangerously low. “I’ll leave you on the side of the road so fast…”
“I told you I didn’t wanna go-“
“No, that is not true and you know it. I’m the one who didn’t want to go to some friend’s party of yours. I’m the one who suggested a quiet New Year’s at my place. I’m not the one who is drunk out of my fucking mind!” When there was no response, Clara glanced over to see that Leah had passed out, her mouth hanging open and saliva beginning to dribble out. “God, you’re so pathetic,” she muttered. “And I’m pathetic for staying.”
Clara pulled up in front of the bungalow Leah shared with three other people, one of the roommates helping her to get the tall woman inside. Once inside Leah’s dark bedroom, Clara got the unconscious woman settled on the mattress, the other high heel off, and a sheet covering her sleeping form.
She stood next to the bed and stared down at her. Though it had only been a few months that they’d been together, they had been disastrous ones. More times than not Clara had picked Leah up from a bar or a party, either drunk or stoned out of her mind. When she was sober, Leah could be a lot of fun, and was great in bed, but those times were becoming fewer and fewer in between. Clara wondered why it was that such a beautiful woman was destroying herself from the inside out.
“Hey,” Jules Gilbredth said from the kitchen as Clara made her way towards the front door. Jules had been roommates with Leah the longest, the two models having known each other for five years.
“Hi,” Clara replied, stopping a few feet shy of the door.
“Tough one tonight?” Jules asked, raising her coffee mug in invitation.
Clara thought about it for a moment, looking into Jules’ deep blue eyes. She smiled, deciding that she would definitely like some.
Clara realized she was sitting in a rowboat, her grandmother behind her. They were on a lake, a small island far off to the left, mainland to the right.
“Row, Clara,” Rebecca ordered.
Clara tried to turn back to look at her guide, but a stern “Row” stopped her. She grabbed the oars in either hand, trying to figure out the mechanics of rowing a boat, which she’d never done before. It took a moment, but then she had them moving.
“Where am I going?” she asked, the wooden oars chopping cleanly into the water that lapped at the sides of their boat.
“I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Clara had the distinct feeling that further conversation was not welcome, so remained silent in her task. The day was beautiful, the sky above the wonderful golden hue that she’d grown accustomed to during her trips to see her grandmother. They were alone on the lake, and it seemed they were alone period. No one could be seen on the small tropical island, and the mainland was too far away to see anything other than the large and small structures scattered about.
“Pull in here,” Rebecca said, pointing towards a dock that seemed to have come out of nowhere.
Clara managed to maneuver the boat until they were right along side. She jumped out and quickly tied off the boat, as though she’d done it a million times before. Reaching a hand down, she intended to help Rebecca from the boat, but the dark-haired woman only shook her head. Confused and slightly hurt by her seemingly distant demeanor, Clara simply nodded and backed away. She had no idea where she had been directed to go or why, as Rebecca had never done anything like that before.
Soon the dock ended and Clara stepped onto land, though as soon as she stepped down, she was no longer on that land, she had entered the after shadow. Darkness encroached around her, along with sounds of far-off humming and a distant cry. She walked down a hallway, wide yet seeming to close in around her. Aimless spirits walked towards her, their large, fearful eyes staring at her, silently pleading for her help.
Clara ignored them, knowing that her grandmother had sent her there to do something, and she just hoped she know what it was when it happened, or when she came upon… whatever. Ahead of her was a door, closed, the handle bright silver among the gloom. Clara stood before it, taking a deep breath before entering. Somehow she knew on the other side was her destination.
The room beyond was dark, as though the walls had been painting a dark gray. It was square and empty, except for the woman who sat dead center. Her hair was long, acting as a shield from whatever might frighten her as her face was completely obscured.
Clara took a careful step closer to the woman, noting the woman’s thin frame and clothing that hung from her limbs in tattered remnants of what used to be jeans and a t-shirt.
“Hello,” Clara said, unsure of what to do or say. The woman looked up and Clara gasped. She immediately recognized her as Nancy August, mother of Rachel August, a girl Clara went to middle school with. “Nancy?” she whispered, slowly lowering herself so she was kneeling in front of the woman. She knew Nancy had committed suicide during her and Rachel’s eighth grade year. Rachel and her sister had then been moved to Arkansas to live with an aunt.
Nancy looked up into Clara’s face, her own pale, eyes large and frightened. She said nothing, nor did she have to. The fear was quickly replaced with absolute despair. Her head slowly fell again, her hair reforming its shield.
“Nancy, I have to get you out of here,” Clara said, reaching out a hand to gently brush strands of stringy hair aside. “Will you come with me?” Clara almost couldn’t look into those unbelievably sad eyes as Nancy looked at her again. She shook her head.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Yes you can.” Clara took one of Nancy’s hand, so cold and limp within her own. She stood, Nancy’s arm raising with the movement, her hand still clutched in Clara’s. Satisfied that she had her, Clara turned, still holding Nancy’s hand and began to head for a second door that nearly completely blended in with the wall. “See? I told you-“ Clara turned, shocked to see Nancy still sitting in a defeated heap at the center of the room. She looked down at her hand, stunned to see it was empty, as she swore she had still been able to feel Nancy’s hand within her own.
She hurried back to Nancy, determination dogging her steps She squatted in front of the woman again, brushing long strands of hair aside.
“You can do this, Nancy. You have to do this. Do you understand?”
Nancy looked at her, slowly shaking her head. It was as if everything movement the woman made was in slow motion. “I can’t. I can’t go.”
“Yes. With me, you can go. Let me take you from this place. This awful, awful place you’ve put yourself.” Clara looked around the room, feeling a thrill of fear race down her spine as she felt like the walls were beginning to push in on her. She felt suffocated and sad. “Come on.” She took her hand again, this time taking them both and holding on tight. Holding on for dear life.
Clara got to her feet, gently tugging and stepping back to encourage Nancy to move. It was as though the sitting woman were a ninety year old man stepping out of his wheelchair for the first time in twenty years.
“That’s it,” Clara smiled, taking another step back.
Nancy groaned as one foot hit the ground, pushing enough to get the other flat on the floor. She rested, her head lulling forward with the exertion. Her legs nearly gave out as she began to stand.
“Don’t give up, Nancy. You’re doing it…”
Nancy grunted as she got to her feet, her legs weak, arms so very thin. “It’s so hard,” she whispered. “So hard.”
“I know it’s hard. God, you’ve been here so long. Come on. Keep it coming.” Clara took another step backwards, not daring to take her eyes off Nancy, who was still slowly coming. Together they made slow progress, coming closer and closer to the door. “Almost there,” Clara said, dropping one of Nancy’s hands to grab the doorknob behind her. Nancy’s arm fell limply back to her side, as did her head. She began to turn into dead weight as Clara tugged the door open. “Oh no you don’t!” she cried, grabbing the woman in her arms before Nancy fell to the floor.
Arms dangly limply over Clara’s own, Nancy was nearly dragged over to the door where Clara turned so her back was to the room, and all but pushed Nancy through to the golden light of the other side.
Clara watched in awe as Nancy stood straight as she hit the light, her head flung back, arms wide as she was filled then surrounded by the healing magic of the light. It was nearly blinding, but utterly beautiful to watch. When it all cleared, a young, radiant woman with short red hair stood in Nancy’s place. Her green eyes sparkled as she smiled at Clara.
“Thank you so much,” she said, taking both of Clara’s hands in hers once more.
Clara could only smile and nod, truly astonished by what she’d just witnessed and been part of. Nancy’s soul was truly beautiful. “You’re welcome.” She watched as Nancy hurried off, finally finding peace.
Clara’s eyes flew open, a gasp torn from her lungs. She sat up in bed, the sheet falling to reveal her naked breasts. She looked around, disoriented and wondering why there was a sleeping woman laying beside her. A sleeping, naked woman laying beside her. It took her a moment to realize it was Jules.
“Shit,” she blew out, scrubbing her face with her hands. Everything came back to her, and she felt a shiver pass through her and down her spine. She remembered Nancy, and the amazing moment when she’d crossed. Incredible. Now if only she knew of a way to find Rachel and tell her.
Clara drove home in the early morning hours of 2000. Everything looked fine, so she assumed Y2K hadn’t struck, ending the world as everyone knew it. She actually knew people who had gathered bottled water and non-perishable foods, stockpiling them “just in case”. The city was still asleep, dead after a night of bringing in the new year. Clara just wondered how in the world she was going to remember to write a new millennium on her checks.
Her mind drifted back to the disaster of a party she’d attended – against her better judgment – with Leah. Disaster wasn’t even the word for it, and she felt foolish for even bothering. It was definitely over between them, and in her mind, good riddance. This, of course, led to the stupidity of sleeping with Leah’s roommate, Jules.
“Ah, hell,” she blew out, running a hand through her hair, which was a mess without a brush. “Did I just do a clichéd lesbian or what?” Pretty much. She thought about Jules, and wondered if maybe there could be something more between them than just a night of really good sex. “No,” she said allowed, knowing better than to go there. Jules wasn’t much different than Leah, except maybe with a few less drugs. Her life was just as much about drama as anyone else in that house was. A very unhealthy environment.
As she pulled into the parking lot of her building, Clara blew out a heavy, tired sigh. She hadn’t gotten much sleep, and felt emotionally exhausted, though wasn’t entirely sure why. Sure, the incident with Leah had been draining and completely embarrassing, but nothing out of the ordinary with the difficult model. Then Nancy August’s face popped in front of her mind’s eye. She remembered the entire thing from start to finish, and felt it had to be one of the most profound things she’d ever experienced in all her years in the spiritual world.
She pushed open her car door and climbed out, her entire body aching from lack of sleep and enthusiastic sex. Thoughts crept back into her mind as she dug her house key from the ring. The lock clicked open, and she pushed into her apartment.
Was that what happened to souls when they committed suicide? Were they lost forever, or at least until someone like herself could rescue them from themselves? Rebecca had once told her that those who took what she called ‘an early exit’ were destined to turn right back around and live a similar life to what they’d just escaped. They’d planned it for themselves, and had to keep going until they finished it and learn whatever was meant to be learned form it.
So, what happened with Nancy? Did she fall through the cracks? Did her fear and pain in life keep her trapped within that fear and pain, keeping her from crossing, from finding that door that was just within arm’s reach?
Clara had no idea as she tossed her keys to the coffee table and kicked her shoes off. She padded off to the bathroom, desperately wanting a shower. She wanted to wash off the stupidity of her night with Jules, and the disgust of her night with Leah. Stripping her clothes off, she left them in a pile on the bathroom floor as she turned the shower on, nice and hot.
The water blasted over Clara’s skin and hair, causing a deep, satisfied groan to escape her throat. She pushed her hair off her face, surprised at how long it had gotten. Her hair was past her bra strap, and she tinkered daily with the idea of cutting it. Mike had threatened to kill her if she did. She took her time, allowing the heat to relax her tension-filled body. She had a few readings to do that day. More than once she’d patted herself on the back for moving out of Malibu and closer to the office. She had grown to despise the long commute every day, and made for some really long days.
Dressed in a white terrycloth robe, Clara rubbed the water out of her hair as she padded down the hall towards the kitchen. She was starving and had a hankering for a banana-nut muffin. A bite of muffin in her mouth, she grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and prepared to go sit in the living room when a knock on her door startled her, making her nearly drop her water.
Cautious, she walked over to the front door, wondering who in the world would be knocking at her door at five-thirty in the morning. Relief filled her when she saw Mike standing in the hall through the fisheye. She quickly unlocked the door and opened it, concern taking the place of fear.
“Hey. What are you doing here so early?” she asked, ushering him inside so as not to awaken any of her neighbors.
“Hi. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked, noting the muffin and water she held. “I guess not.”
“No. I actually just got home not too long ago. Sit down. Want me to make you some coffee or something? Decaf, but…”
“Yeah. Sounds good, actually.” Mike followed her into the kitchen where she set about making him coffee. She rarely made the stuff, but kept a one-cup maker and a can of decaf around just in case the mood struck. He hopped up onto the counter, reaching to the cabinet beside him to grab a mug. “How was your New Year’s?” he asked, trying to keep the hurt from his voice.
“I’m an idiot, that’s how it was,” Clara said, leaning against the opposite counter where Mike sat, picking chunks off her muffin and popping them into her mouth. “I never should have gone with her, Mike.” She shook her head in disgust. “God, it was awful.”
“No sympathy from here, sweets,” he said, playing with the handle on his mug.
“I know, I know. I should have gone over to Williams’s with you and Jeff.” She let out a long breath. “It was stupid. Mike, she was loaded when I picked her up. Why the hell did I not just turn right then and there and leave?”
“Because you’re a fool,” Mike said with a tired sigh.
Clara stopped, realizing she had question that was never answered. “Mike, why are you here so early?”
Mike didn’t answer for a long moment, his expression troubled. “I’m actually glad you didn’t go with us last night,” he finally said, voice quiet. “Very glad, in fact.”
“Why?” Clara grabbed the creamer and sugar container she kept around specifically for her friend.
“Because you would have said I told you so, and I didn’t much want to hear that last night.”
Clara took the mug from him, pouring him a cup of coffee before handing it back to him, as well as the creamer and sugar. “How do you mean?”
“I mean about Jeff. He’s an asshole, and I’ve known it all along. I just didn’t want to face it that yet again I’d made a grave mistake.”
“Oh, Mike,” Clara said, suddenly feeling her exhaustion creeping back in. “What happened?”
“I lost track of him for awhile at the party, Larry keeping me company. Well, finally I went to find him and saw him with Deaton Wagner’s dick up his ass.” The words were said with such calm, so matter-of-fact.
“Oh no,” Clara said, covering her mouth with her hand to stop herself from saying those very words: I told you so.
“Oh yes. And it gets even better from there.” Mike hopped down from his seat on the counter and readied his coffee. “It seems my dear Jeff has sucked off just about every man at that party over the past year. The funny thing is, he was sucking off my dick during the past year, too. Well, when he was ‘in the mood’ that is.”
“Mike, I’m so sorry-“ she put a hand to his shoulder but he shrugged her away.
“No. No, you were right all along, and I’m man enough to admit that. I was a fool, Clara, and the worst part was I knew it. But,” he said with a big smile, “that’s okay. It’s truly okay. I spent the entire night up fighting with the son-of-a-bitch and I’m exhausted, but I’ve come to a decision.”
“What is that?”
“That Jeff Connors can kiss my ass. I don’t need him to make me happy. I don’t need anyone to make me happy. All my life I’ve been thinking that it would take Prince Charming on a white horse to gallop in wearing leather chaps and only that would make me happy.” He shook his head. “No more. No man can bring me that kind of happiness.”
Clara grinned from ear to ear, glad to hear it. Mike had always put his happiness in other’s hands, and had constantly been hurt because of it. It was about time he realized that true happiness had to come from within. Others simply were accessories in life. She hugged him tight, wanting to express to him just how proud of him she truly was.
Mike clung to his friend, one of the only people in his life who had truly accepted him for all of him. He ran his hand over her back, placing a kiss at her temple.
“What do you say to some breakfast and shopping this morning?” he asked, pulling slightly away.
“Oh, I’m sorry Mike, I can’t. I have some readings, but” she said at his look of disappointment. “I’ll be done by eleven. But, I’ll tell you what. You look absolutely exhausted, so why don’t you crash in my bed and get some good sleep, okay? It’ll be quiet and safe. Take yourself a nice, long hot bath and be ready by eleven-fifteen at the latest. Then, we’ll go grab something to eat and shop our hearts out. Okay?”
Mike nodded, taking a slight step back from her to grab his coffee. “Okay. All that sounds wonderful.”
“Awesome! It’ll be fun.” Clara gave him her best smile. “But, in the meantime, I need to get ready for my run, then I’m heading into the office, okay?”
Chapter 36
Clara waited for her client to quit with the explanations, wanting nothing more than to throttle the woman. She’d been told explicitly to keep her comments and/or stories to herself, but that didn’t seem to matter. Glancing at the clock on the wall above her client’s head, Clara was irritated to find that the woman had been yapping on and on for nearly twenty-two minutes. Finally the woman slowed down to take a breath. Clara took her opening.
“Okay, so what I’m hearing in my head is: ask about Saturday spaghetti dinners-“
“Oh my goodness, yes! We had the most wonderful dinners! You should have seen…”
Another twenty minute story began, Clara’s mind beginning to drift. Suddenly she saw a clear picture of Nancy August sitting in that dark room, hair hanging in her face, body limp and defeated.
The woman was startled from her rambling when Clara gasped, her eyes opening wide in shock and fear.
“What is it?” the client asked, sitting forward on the couch hoping for some good gossip from her mother.
“I’m so sorry, Mary, but I need to re-schedule our appointment,” Clara said, her hands trembling as she managed to get to her feet. “I’ve just remembered something very important I need to do.”
“What? Wait a minute, I paid for a full hour, and I want my hour today!” Mary demanded, her diamond-covered finger glinted in the candlelight as she waved it at Clara.
“I’ll give you two hours next week, I promise. I have to go.” Clara grabbed her keys and hurried out the door.
It took three tries to get the key into the lock on her car door. Finally successful, she climbed in and the car roared to life. She was followed by a chorus of angry horns as she plowed into the busy late morning traffic. She grabbed her cell phone out of her bag, trying to dial with one hand and drive with the other. The call finally went through, though caused a cry of frustration from Clara as it went straight to his voice mail.
“Shit!” She threw the phone to the passenger seat and sped off towards home.
Mike’s car was still parked out front, the hood cool. She jogged up the path past it to the front door of the building and pushed inside. She ran up the flights of stairs until she reached her door, panting and out of breath. She tried the knob, which was locked, so inserted her key, pushing the door open.
“Mike?” she called out, tossing her keys to the coffee table and heading further into the apartment. She stopped in front of the closed bathroom door, hearing the dripping of water from the dripping faucet into the filled tub. Music was playing. Clara kept a small CD stereo in the bathroom, which she figured Mike must have decided to use.
Blowing out a relieved breath, Clara headed into her bedroom and changed her shirt. She’d gotten herself so freaked out about Mike she’d saturated her t-shirt with perspiration.
“Disgusting,” she muttered with wrinkled nose, tossing the shirt to the laundry basket.
Feeling better, she made her way to the kitchen, grabbing herself a bottled water from the fridge and turned on the TV. She knew Mike was notorious for his long soaks, so knew she was in for the long wait. Part of her felt guilty, like maybe she should get hold of Mary Walker and continue their session over the phone. She thought back to the annoying older woman with all her diamonds and pearls and never ending stories and thought better of it.
“Hey, Mike, I’m going to head out for a minute. I’ll grab some of that fudge you like,” she called out, grabbing her keys again. “Be back in a few. Be ready, I’m hungry!”
Without waiting for a reply, Clara bounced out of the apartment, her relief turning to a state of near giddiness. She walked down to the market around the corner, which had some of the most wonderful organic fudge she’d ever eaten. She loaded up the basket she carried with all kinds of munchies, as she had the feeling there would be a lot of discussions throughout the day with Mike.
He would be starting his life over again, essentially. He and Jeff had lived together for more than a year, and their lives and finances had become entangled. That would no bode well for Mike’s many businesses. But, Clara reasoned, he was incredibly intelligent when it came to money, so she knew he likely had something in place already. At least she hoped he did.
“Honey, I’m home!” she called, setting the paper sack down on the kitchen counter. She hummed along with the music that was blasting from the bathroom. “You’d think he would’ve gotten over Bon Jovi back in 1987,” she muttered, putting the groceries away.
She munched on a carrot stick, trying to find something that would take the edge off her hunger as she waited. A glance at the stove clock told her she’d been waiting for forty minutes.
“Okay, this is ridiculous,” she muttered, leaving the half-eaten root on the counter and heading down the hall to the bathroom. Shot Through the Heart had just begun to play. She knocked on the door. “Mike? Come on, man. I’m about to start eating the couch. Are you almost done?” Nothing. “Mike?”
Fear began to seize Clara’s gut once more, her intuition telling her that something was terribly wrong. She tried the door handle only to find it locked. She pounded on the door.
“Mike! Michael! Don’t you dare do this to me!” She pounded again, rattling the knob with so much force she felt it coming loose. “Michael!” She pounded against the door with her shoulder, but was getting nowhere.
Trying to decide what to do, Clara took a step back, using her foot and all the force she could muster. The door splintered enough for her to reach inside and unlock the knob. She sliced her hand open on a jagged piece of wood but didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to her friend.
The walls in the bathroom nearly vibrated with the loud music, which Clara immediately turned off. The room was cool, the once-hot water long gone cold. She cried out when she looked at the tub.
“No! Mike, no!”
She fell to her knees beside it, taking her friend’s pale face between her hands. His eyes were unfocused, lids at half-mast. His lips were slightly opened, a tiny smile curling up the corners, lips blue. The water that reached his mid-chest was an eerie pinkish red color. His left hand was in the water, palm up and resting on his thigh. The wicked cut could be seen through the bloody water. His other arm rested along the side of the tub, a blood trail leading from it down to the floor.
Clara didn’t know what to do first. See if he had a pulse? Cry? Scream? Call for help? Nothing? She didn’t have to try for a pulse, as she knew in her heart that he was already gone, but she tried anyway. Two fingers to his throat, she felt across the cold, clammy skin, desperately hoping she was wrong. Nothing.
“God damn you, Mike,” she whispered, a sob tearing from her throat. The tears fell in to mix with the ruby water. “Damn you!” she screamed, shaking his violently, his lifeless body like a rag doll, head lulling to the side. Her sobs were uncontrollable now as she hugged his head to her chest, blood smearing the new t-shirt she’d put on an hour before. “Oh, Mike.”
Clara sat numb as the paramedics placed Mike’s body on a gurney, covered him with a sheet and tied him down. She sat on the couch, watching with red, swollen eyes as he was removed from her apartment. A police officer was asking her questions, a small notepad in his hand.
“Ma’am, I know this is hard, but I really need you to answer these questions,” he was saying, though Clara could barely hear him, his voice seeming to come from a far distance. She stared at him, not even registering the color of his hair or eyes. He sighed, getting to his feet from where he’d been squatting next to the couch. “She’s in shock,” he explained to another officer.
Clara wasn’t sure what she was. All she knew was she couldn’t get the vision of her best friend out of her mind. She kept seeing his eyes, dead and glazed over. She thought of her grandmother, and the previous night when all Rebecca would say was, “Row.” She’d led Clara to Nancy August, where she’d saved her from her own devastation. That thought made her come to life, especially when she saw Rebecca standing over in the corner of the room.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” Clara yelled, jumping to her feet and scaring the hell out of the personnel in the room. “Why, Grandma?!” she demanded, walking over to where Rebecca patiently stood.
Officers looked at her, seeing absolutely nothing that she was screaming at. They exchanged glances, wondering if the woman had lost her mind.
Clara didn’t care, nor did she see them. “Why? Why did you let this happen! You knew, didn’t you? You fucking knew!”
Rebecca remained silent, but trying to send as much love and comfort to Clara as she could.
“Nothing to say? Fine. Well fuck you, Grandma. Fuck you.”
Chapter 37
“Here, drink this.” Isabelle placed a goblet of warmed brandy in front of Clara, who had been sitting on the uppermost portion of their deck for hours. She hadn’t spoken a word since breaking the news the previous afternoon. Hell, she’d barely breathed, from what Isabelle could tell.
Clara heard the older woman’s voice, but had a hard time responding to it. She could smell the strong odor of even stronger alcohol. She glanced at the dark liquid, turning her gaze back to the sea.
“Honey, you’re not going to do yourself any good if you let yourself fade away.” She studied Clara’s profile, unsure what to do. Clara hadn’t wanted to go back to her apartment, so she’d been given a room in the main house so Isabelle could watch over her. She was very worried about the young woman. “Clara,” she began again, placing a warm hand on Clara’s arm. “Please talk to me. Tell me what happened.” All they’d been told was that Mike had died in her apartment yesterday morning.
Clara cleared her throat, which had become raw and tight from lots of tears and no talking. She reached out absently until she felt the warm snifter, taking a small sip. She nearly choked on the strong taste and even strong effect, but decided that maybe a little numbness was what she needed. Finally she turned to face Isabelle.
“He slit his wrists in my bathtub while I was working.”
Isabelle gasped softly, covering her mouth with a heavily-ringed hand. “I was afraid it had been something like that. I know Mike was rather unsteady.”
“Says who?” Clara demanded, anger rising as she wanted to protect the memory of her friend.
“Says everyone, sweetheart. Between his drinking and valium use…” her voice trailed off.
Clara said nothing. She knew Isabelle was right, but didn’t want to go there. “I honestly didn’t think he’d hurt himself when I left that morning,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I swear.”
Isabelle listened, her own pained dulled slightly by the two snifters of brandy she’d had before bringing Clara her own. Even still, she could see the terrible pain in those strange colored eyes.
“I raced home at one point because I had a bad feeling,” Clara continued, taking another sip, feeling her emotions begin to rise. “I thought everything was okay.” Her face fell as fresh tears stung her eyes during their escape. They plopped on the metal table with hollow notes. “He might have still been alive then,” she cried, her words nearly unintelligible.
Unsure what else to do, Isabelle left her seat and went to Clara, pulling her into as much of a maternal embrace as she could muster. Though grateful for the comfort, Clara wished it were coming from someone else. She had no idea who, but she had a craving for affection and comfort from someone who knew her as well as she knew herself. Her soul cried out for it. If only she knew where to find it.
The funeral was on Tuesday, January 5th. Clara would never forget that because it landed on Jason’s birthday. He would have been twenty-five that day. Clara looked up into the sky, the minister’s words turning into mumbling in her mind. She didn’t care what he had to say. His words had no bearing on her life, or Mike’s. She doubted he even knew Mike.
A testament to Michael James and his business practices were the amount of people who had shown up, very few in tears, but all in expensive suits. She looked around at them, wondering if any of them had any clue just what a wonderful human being he’d been. Did they know anything about him, outside of the newest artist he had been sponsoring? Did they know about his warm heart? Or his desperate need for acceptance and love? Likely not, she figured. Very few knew the Mike that she did, and it had cost him his life.
Her attention was caught by something further off in the cemetery. She wasn’t entirely surprised to see Rebecca standing next to a large tree, her eyes focused on Clara. The irony wasn’t lost on Clara, as her grandmother had shown up at Jason’s funeral, too. Two men in her life whom she could have helped. Two young lives that were taken in the blink of an eye, both of which she could have prevented.
She turned away from Rebecca, not wanting to see her, nor talk to her. She shut her mind down: nobody’s home.
A huge crowd had gathered at Mike’s downtown gallery, the art cleared out to make room for the celebration that had been planned. Clara didn’t want to go, truth be told. What she wanted to do was pack up and head home. She had never felt so alone in all her life. Many of the people who were talking and eating she knew, most of them Mike’s business associates and customers that she’d met at one function or another. Others were Raymond’s friends and colleagues. None were friends of Clara’s.
She nursed a glass of wine, foregoing food, as she hadn’t had an appetite in the four days since it had all happened. She wandered, looking at the pictures that still adorned the walls, only the more massive pieces having been removed. Half the time she didn’t know what she was looking at, her mind wandering.
“How are you holding up?” Raymond asked, stepping up beside her. His tie was loosened, top button unbuttoned on his shirt. She was surprised to see the casual dress.
Shrugging, Clara sighed. “Okay, I guess. I’m just trying to wrap my mind around all this, I guess.”
Raymond nodded in understanding. He set his empty wine glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “I understand that very much. I liked Mike, but I am sorry for your loss, Clara. I know you two were close.”
“Yes, we were.” Making a decision, she turned to her boss. “Ray, I’d like to take some time off.”
“Oh? How much? Are you going somewhere?”
“I’m not sure how much, to be honest. I want to head back home for a little while. I need to get away for a bit, you know?”
Ray’s brows drew. “You’re not planning to come back, are you?”
Clara blinked at him, surprised. She hadn’t even given that thought very serious interest, but now that he had… “I don’t know. I mean, I know we all lost him, and I’m not trying to be melodramatic about all this, but I really need to get away and think about a few things.”
“Here’s the problem with that, Clara,” he said, turning to fully face her, all business. “If you decide to go off back to that tiny town you came from, you might as well stay there.”
Clara stared at him, stunned.
He continued, “This is a business, and I can’t very well decide to just go hopping off somewhere to think. I have to be there to run my business. You’re it, Clara. It’s not like I can call in someone to take your place while you decide on what you’re going to do. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Anger began to fill her as she stared into dark, uncaring eyes. “I understand perfectly. Then I guess consider this my two weeks notice.” She set her wine glass on a low table and walked out of the gallery.
Clara felt like an indulgent teenager as she cruised along the Interstate, sipping her first mocha breve with extra whipped cream in more than two years. Fuck the “energy highway”. She was going to do her own thing now, and the spirit world be dammed. She sipped, moaning at the strong taste of espresso and mocha, licking the whipped cream off her upper lip. She turned her car stereo up louder, enjoying herself and the freedom she felt as she headed back towards her hometown, all that she owned loaded into her car. What wouldn’t fit had been left. Just like old times.
The further away from California she got, the more snow lined the landscape. Though she had enjoyed her time in the California sun, she had missed truly inclement weather: cold nights and fires in the fireplace. Even so, she knew she wasn’t going to enjoy scraping her windows in the morning, once she stopped at a hotel in New Mexico, which she would be reaching within two hours.
It had been a wonderful day’s drive, though it hadn’t started out great. Clara had left the gallery during Mike’s funeral reception and had forced herself to go back to the apartment. She’d packed up her car, left a note with keys under the landlord’s office door, and had left town. She’d driven to a small town in Arizona where she’d gotten herself a room and had hidden out to think. Had she done the right thing? Was it time to leave California and the life she’d created there? Would she find that Raymond was taking some sort of action against her? Wouldn’t surprise her if he did.
She had sat in that hotel room with it’s double bed, scarred dresser and black and white TV and had stared at the ceiling as she lay on the bed. She’d contemplated calling her parents, but then realized she’d left the cell phone Raymond had given her at the gallery. She didn’t want to pay crazy charges in the room to make a call, so had tried to sort it all out on her own.
She’d thought of her grandmother, her abilities, and Mike. In the end she’d come to the realization that what was the good of being able to communicate with the spirit world, and help those in it if she couldn’t even help save those in her own world? Every time she saw Mike’s face she saw Jason’s. She knew nothing in life was arbitrary or coincidence, but still. Why had two men who had been her closest friends died in such horrible ways? Both times she knew, but was still unable to stop it?
Somewhere inside she heard “because you weren’t meant to”, but she couldn’t believe that. Wouldn’t believe that. In her mind there was no reason for that to happen. No excuse. She was done. Going home was the best thing she could do for herself. She planned to leave every part of her life back in California where it belonged.
Night had already fallen when Clara pulled into the parking lot of a Motel 6. She had stopped during the day and bought herself a new cell phone and plan. She unloaded any valuables from the car and then carried in the dinner she’d picked up for herself before checking into the motel. It was almost cold by now, but she didn’t care; she was famished.
After she got herself settled and had eaten, she pulled her new phone out of the box and began to play with all the new features. She loved fun gadgets. Satisfied with her new ringtone, she dialed her parents’ house. After three rings, the line was picked up by her mother.
“Hey, sweetie,” Stephanie said, glad to hear her daughter’s voice. “Where are you? This is a Denver number.”
“I’m in New Mexico, but I’m coming home.”
Stephanie felt her heart fill with gratitude, kept it low key. She closed the newspaper she’d been reading and tossed it aside. “I’m so glad to hear that, Clara. You know you have a place to go.”
“Thanks, Mom. I appreciate that.”
“Are you okay? How did the Van Wurt’s take you’re leaving?”
Clara blew out a breath, focusing on a water stain in the ceiling by the corner. “Not thrilled, but I Raymond didn’t exactly give me a choice. I told him I was coming home for awhile to try and deal with what happened with Mike, but he all but said, you leave, you stay gone.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” Stephanie leaned back into Max who remained quiet, trying to figure out what was being said from his wife’s responses. “I think it’s wonderful and a smart move for you to come home.”
“Do you?” Clara asked, for some reason filled with doubt, despite knowing it was the right choice.
“Yes. Very much so.”
“Okay. I’ll be home tomorrow sometime. Probably afternoon, but it depends on how early I get out of here.”
“Okay, sweetie. We’ll be waiting for you. Still have your old room, too.”
“Good thing I brought my bed back, huh?” Clara smiled, feeling better just hearing her mother’s voice. “Is dad there?”
“He sure is. Want to talk to him?”
Max took the phone from his wife, glad to speak to his youngest. “Hey, sweetpea. Coming back home, huh?”
“Yep. I had enough.”
“I’m glad. And, Clara? I’m so sorry we couldn’t make it to your friend’s funeral. There was just no way with work.”
“I know, Dad. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Clara slapped her cell phone shut and tossed it onto the comforter beside her. She felt an unusual loneliness embrace her. Always one to spend time alone, and rarely needing the presence of another, she felt uneasy with the feeling. Like when Mike died, she felt a craving for something that she just couldn’t put her finger on. A craving for someone to hold her, and let her know it would all be okay. She needed to be comforted in a way she’d never been before, but knew there was no one in her life that could do that. Once upon a time her grandmother could offer that kind of comfort, but not anymore. Besides, what she wanted was comforting of the physical body, not her soul.
Chapter 38
Clara stepped out of her car, her breath coming in white puffs as the chilled, early-spring air whirled around her. Soon the snows would be disappearing, bringing green grass and blooming flowers with it. For the time being, it was a bitterly cold March afternoon.
She walked between the rows of knee-high stones, her boots crunching on the snow-packed grass. It was a gray day, the sky heavy and pregnant, threatening more snow. She inhaled the clean, cold air, allowing it to fill her lungs and remember the reason she was there.
Clara hadn’t been to Jason’s grave since the day he was buried ten years before. She wasn’t sure what had brought her there, but felt compelled to see him. She knew that cemeteries were essentially for the living, as the dead were long gone, but still. She need to talk to him.
Someone had recently visited Jason’s grave, fresh flowers adding color to the otherwise dreary landscape. She cleared a small patch of grass to sit on then sat down cross-legged.
“Hi, Jay,” she began, feeling stupid talking to a stone. Looking at the date of his death brought the dream from that night back to her mind all over again. She remembered seeing the accident, watching as Jason was catapulted out of the car. She could recall the fear and panic like it had all just happened yesterday. “been a long time.”
Clara sighed, feeling a weight on her shoulders trying to push her down. She didn’t even bother looking around, as she didn’t want to see anything. Or anyone. She had been back in her hometown for three months, living the ordinary life of a woman in her mid-twenties who worked at the bakery her mother managed. She had turned a blind eye to anything remotely out of the ordinary. She wanted to be like everyone else.
“I’m not sure why I’m here, Jay, but I am. I know you know what’s been going on with me. My life in L.A. What a crazy place that is.” She shook her head with a small chuckle. “Crazy indeed. Complete opposite of here. You know, Jay, I wanted to get out of here so badly that it never, ever occurred to me that I’d want to come back.” She stopped, looking at the stone, seeing Jason’s young face in it. “You think I ran, don’t you?” Only the gently falling snow - which had been promised in the weather report – answered her question. Everything was so calm, so still. Not even any animals made a sound. “I don’t want to think that about myself, though. I do think it was time to go. Most the time I think that, anyway.”
She raised her face to the sky, allowing a few flakes to land on her tongue. “I do like working at the bakery, though. It’s different. Never done anything like that before.” She shrugged. “It’s nice. I think I’ve gained ten pounds since working there, though.” Her smile was met with the distant barking of a dog.
“I’m thinking of buying a house. I was smart in L.A. and managed to save a lot of money. Never done that before. I’ve got more than enough for a down payment on something small. I’m not real keen on staying with my parents anymore.” She grimaced at the thought. “Definitely time to move on from there. Oh, Jason,” she blew out, reaching out to touch the cold granite of his headstone. “I miss you. After all these years, I still miss you.”
With a heavy sigh, she pushed to her feet, kissing two fingers and laying them on Jason’s name. “Take care my friend. I don’t think I’ll be seeing you over there anymore. I hope you can understand and forgive me. It’s time I moved on. Lived a normal life for the first time in my life. I love you.”
Clara shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, trying to shrug off the cold. She was about to pass through the wrought-iron gate that surrounded the cemetery when something caught her eye. Looking down she saw a white feather. Looking up into the sky, she saw no birds, and there were no trees nearby. A soft smile tucked up the corners of her mouth as she picked it up, tucking it carefully into her wallet.
“Well, what do you think?” Stephanie asked, opening and closing the cabinet doors, both above and below the kitchen counters. The small house had two medium-sized bedrooms and a tiny third that would make a great home office, Clara thought. The living room was a nice size: not huge, but not small. The yard was small, which was a plus as Clara wasn’t huge on yard work.
“I like it,” Clara said, standing in the empty space and turning in a small circle to look everything over one more time. They’d already spent thirty minutes there. She looked at her mother. “What about you?”
“I think it’s great,” Stephanie said, nodding in approval as she checked out the fridge. “They left the fridge, which is a plus. That way you’ll only have to buy a stove and washer and dryer.”
Clara nodded in agreement. “And a couch. And a bed. And a-“
“I got it,” Stephanie laughed, walking over to her daughter. The fact that Clara was looking to buy a house made her happier than she’d been in a long time. To her that meant her youngest was intending to finally stay put. She put an arm around Clara’s shoulders. “Verdict?”
Clara let out a long breath, nervous but very excited. “I’m going to take it.”
2001
A hand snaked out from under a layer of blankets – SMACK! The beeping finally stopped, but it was replaced by a groan.
“Too fucking early to go make the doughnuts,” Clara muttered. She slipped her hand back underneath the covers, pretending she hadn’t heard or turned off her alarm. BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! “Damn it!” She exploded out from underneath the heavy bedding, bare feet slapping against the wood floor as she hurried to her dresser, stubbing her tow on the bed leg along the way, and shut off her second alarm. She’d been working at the bakery for more than a year, and still was unable to wake up at three forty-five in the morning with just one alarm.
Clara rubbed at her eyes as she padded her way to the bathroom to do her morning business and get ready for work. She was now the chief baker, so had to be there at what she called ass crack a.m.
Within moments the sound of running water filled the small house, along with a loud, low throaty groan of approval. Clara stood under the spray, letting the warmth fill her in the cold, early-autumn morning.
The drive to the bakery was an uneventful one. She let herself in, flicking on the lights as she made her way through the building until she was in the back room. The smells of sugar and flour always hung in the air, no matter how well the place was cleaned. The bakery had been in that same building for more than sixty years. It wasn’t likely the smell would ever go away.
When Clara had first started working at the bakery, she’d tried and sampled everything the store had to offer. That was mainly when she’d gained those extra ten pounds. Now, she’d grown fairly immune to the temptations of pastries and pies. Over the past six months she’d been feeling a need to cleanse. She wasn’t sure why, and was actually fighting it. The thought of going back to the strict diet she was on in California brought back too many memories, and made her feel that she would once again be slave to the whims of the spirit world. She didn’t want to go back there.
Clara turned on the stereo, music filling the kitchen area as she began to prepare the goods for the day. Soon she was stripped down to a tank top and jeans from her bundled clothing to block out the cold. It got downright hot once those ovens were fired up.
Raw doughnut dough laid out, another batch in the oven, Clara peeled off her latex gloves and grabbed the paint chips out of her backpack, sitting on a stool as she sorted through them. She had decided to do an overhaul to her house: new paint, new rugs and decorative accessories. She’d been in the house for more than a year but had yet to really make it her own. Sure, she had bought furniture and had hung pictures on the walls, but somehow it didn’t feel much like a home to her. Part of her felt she’d kept somewhat of an emotional distance from the place because her heart wasn’t totally set on the path she’d set herself on. Part of her still wasn’t. At least re-vamping the house would give her something to do.
Since coming back into town, Clara had kept mostly to herself. She saw her parents and sister regularly, of course. The friends she’d had in school had either moved on from their hometown, or she had lost touch and wasn’t entirely keen on re-connecting. Even so, she felt a restlessness setting in that she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. How to make it go. What to think. What did she want? The answer to that question eluded her to the point of frustration.
Soon the snow began to clear completely, fresh flowers blooming in the manicured garden of Stephanie Greenwold. Birds had come back, their cheerful songs filling the air, and their little gifts littering car windows and hoods. Time marched on, and so did Clara’s many home repairs.
It was mid-May when Kerri caught Clara up on a ladder, studiously painting the outside of her house, a brush in hand as she worked on the trim.
“Wow. I must say, you are quite ambitious,” she said, walking across the thick, lush lawn towards her sister.
Clara glanced down to see her teen feet below her. “Well, somebody’s gotta do it. Don’t have anyone to give a honey-do list to.” Kerri matched her grin. “What’s up?” She stuck the brush into the paint tray that was attached to the ladder, and then carefully climbed down, rubbing her hands on the thighs of her sweat shorts.
“I came by to see the new place.”
“New place?” Clara asked, twisting the cap off her bottle of water.
“Yeah. Mom says you’ve done a lot of remodeling. Show me.”
The sister’s headed inside the small house, which Clara had been working on nearly non-stop for the past two months. The entire inside had been painted, new light fixtures installed and thick floor rugs gave the hardwood personality.
“Very nice, I must say,” Kerri said, peeking her head into the large of the two spare bedrooms. “I may have to hire you for our place.” She grinned at her sister.
“There is no way in hell I’m climbing a ladder tall enough to reach the trim on that monstrosity,” Clara declared, leading the way into the kitchen where she poured her sister a glass of decaf iced tea.
“Thanks.” Kerri added two bags of sweetener to it before sipping. “I recall you actually liked that monstrosity when you lived there.”
“Yeah, well I was a teenager and didn’t know better. I didn’t have to clean it all.”
Kerri laughed, joining Clara at the kitchen table. They sat across from each, Kerri playing with her wedding ring as she tried to decide the best way to approach the two reasons she’d actually come. She decided on the good news first, news that she knew Clara would be excited about. She wasn’t so sure on the second bit.
“Zane and I have actually decided on a new purpose for your old apartment,” she began, eyeing her sister.
“Oh yeah?” Clara asked, oblivious to the fact that she was about to be told she would be an aunt come fall. “What’s that? A torture chamber?”
Kerri grinned. “Maybe some day, but for now we’re turning it into a playroom. Well, it will be baby storage for a little while until-“
Catching on, Clara was out of her chair in three point five, grabbing her sister in a furious hug. “Oh my god! When?!”
“I’m due in November.”
“That’s wonderful news!” She moved back to her own chair, feeling exhilarated. “I wondered if you guys were ever going to reproduce.”
Kerri rolled her eyes at her sister’s choice of words. “Yes, Clara, the breeders will reproduce.”
Clara snickered, finishing her water and tossing the bottle in the garbage. “I’m very happy for the two of you. I’m sure mom was beside herself when you told her.”
“Well, actually I haven’t, yet. I wanted to wait until their barbeque this weekend.”
For some reason a thrill traveled through Clara at knowing that she was the first to know. “Then I can’t wait to see her and dad’s face. I’m glad I’ll be there to see it.”
“Clara,” Kerri began, her voice losing the excitement of baby news. “I need to ask you for a favor.”
“Sounds serious. Go ahead.” Clara readied herself, unsure what her sister would ask of her. She could count on one hand the times Kerri had asked anything of her, and was curious, though for some reason had a sense she wasn’t going to like it.
“Before I ask, I want you to know that I understand how you feel about things. I understand why you’ve walked away from your gifts-“
“No,” Clara said, scooting back from the table to grab an apple from the basket on the recently installed butcher block. She kept her back to her sister, not wanting to see her face.
Kerri had expected that kind of reaction, so had come prepared to plead her case. She walked over to Clara, leaning against an adjacent counter as Clara cut the apple into slices.
“Do you want one?” Clara asked, clearly trying to change the subject before it had even begun.
“No. Clara, what happened to you in California was awful. I know Michael meant a lot to you, and I know his death – and how it happened – has hit you hard. I see a change in you. It’s almost like before you were filled with this wonderful light, and since you’ve come back home, it’s gone. Or at least very dim.”
“Yes, Kerri, it is. I’m done with all that, and I asked that you respect me enough to drop it.”
Kerri sighed, knowing there was nothing more she could say. Clara was right: she had to respect her enough to take to heart what she said. She nodded, giving her sister a small hug. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll tell her you can’t.”
“Thank you.”