“I tell you, the guy was downright obsessed with genitalia,” Bea said, laughing, as she filled Robert in on her afternoon visiting the Atis Rezistans with Lizbeth. The three of them were sipping rum punch, snacking on fried akra and spicy pikliz while waiting for Charlie to arrive back at the hotel for dinner. Bea used a napkin to dab her bare arms, slick with the smelly insect repellant she’d learned, the hard way, to apply before each foray onto the veranda. The rain had stopped, but the sky remained ominously dark. She pulled her thin scarf tight around her neck in anticipation of the next downpour.
Lizbeth seemed jumpy, as if the air were filled with tiny electric charges that only she could feel.
“Who will join me in another rum punch?” Bea offered, listening for Stanley’s shuffle.
“Perhaps we should order our meal,” Robert suggested.
Bea agreed. She appreciated how long it took the kitchen staff to prepare an order. Everything made from scratch. Not a thing going to waste. And besides, there was absolutely nothing wrong with a good, long cocktail hour, in her opinion.
“What about Charlie?” Lizbeth asked. “Shouldn’t we wait?”
“She’ll catch up with us. It’ll be fine,” Bea insisted.
“Your granddaughter is not back yet?” she heard Stanley ask. “There is a big storm coming, and sometimes the roads get flooded.”
“She’ll get here. I know my Charlie. A little water won’t stop her.”
“How can you be so sure, Bea? Why, if it were my grandchild—” Lizbeth stopped mid-sentence, as if the word had frozen her tongue.
“I am somewhat concerned too, Madame Bea,” Robert added. “I know how these roads can be. And if there is any problem, her phone will have no service out there. Perhaps I should find somebody here with a car and go look for her.”
“We should have never come here anyway,” Lizbeth added. “Not a one of us. Not you, not me, not your granddaughter. Y’all should do like me and just pack up and head home first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Would everybody please relax?” The vibe at the table that night was making Bea crazy. Both Robert and Lizbeth seemed particularly on edge. “If something happened to Charlie,” she said, “I would know.”
“How can you say that, Bea? How would you know?” Lizbeth swatted at a mosquito buzzing around her head.
“I know things.”
“Well, I know things too. But that doesn’t make me a psychic.”
Bea laughed. “You never know, Lizbeth. Maybe you simply haven’t tapped into your powers. They say we all have the ability. It’s just that some of us choose to develop our skills, and others don’t.”
“What, Madame Bea?” Robert said. “Are you telling us that you are a seer?”
“These days they call us sensitives. Me, I like to think of myself as a plain old-fashioned psychic.”
“Oh, good Lord,” Bea heard Lizbeth say, not quite under her breath.
“That is very interesting,” Robert said. “And what is it that you are so sensitive about?”
Bea pushed her round glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Well,” she began, wondering how far she should take this. “I can read people’s energy. And, sometimes, I have dreams.”
“Ha! I can do that, too,” Lizbeth said. “It’s called intuition and imagination, where I come from.”
Bea shook her head. “This is different. Trust me. A whole other ball game.”
“So where’s your crystal ball?” Lizbeth teased.
Bea ignored the crack. “My real specialty is as a medium.”
“You’re trying to tell us you’re one of those folks who talks to dead people?”
“I communicate with people who have crossed over, and relay their messages to those who are still living.”
“Madame Bea, you are even more fascinating than I first thought.”
Bea lowered her eyes and pulled at one of her dangly earrings. “I don’t know about that, Robert. It’s just what I do. Something I was born with.”
“I’ve seen those psychics on TV,” Lizbeth said. “The way they get people to talk, the way they spit back whatever they’ve heard? And who’s gonna tell me they weren’t just told everything there was to know before those cameras started rolling?”
Bea shrugged her shoulders. “Nobody says you have to believe it.” She removed her glasses, and turned to Robert. “To be quite honest with you, Robert, I’ve been picking up on something all evening. In fact, I’m sensing someone standing beside you right now.”
“Remarkable,” he replied, almost in a whisper.
“Oh, please,” Lizbeth muttered.
“Is it all right with you if I pass on a message?”
“Go right ahead,” he answered.
Bea closed her eyes. The hum of the city beyond the wall filled the air as they waited.
“Someone with an M in their name is coming through. A soft-spoken woman. She says to tell you the pain is gone. A Marilyn? Marcie? A woman with long brown hair, hair that she wears piled up on top of her head. A very elegant woman, with beautiful hands.”
Robert was silent for a minute. “Marie-France. My wife,” he said softly. “She passed away three years ago.”
Bea should have known. The woman was as stunning as Robert was charming. What a couple they must have made. “She needs you to know she’s okay.”
“That’s incredible, Madame Bea.”
“She’s been with you, on your travels. She says to keep up the good work.”
Robert was silent for a moment. “Is that all?” he finally asked.
“A question for you, Robert. Is there something you keep finding in your luggage when you travel? Like a pebble or something?”
“A seashell,” he answered excitedly. “A small conch. I always wonder how it gets there.”
“Marie-France puts it in your suitcase, to remind you of the vacations you took together, at the beach.”
“Mon dieu.”
“And she’s asked me to tell you to please stop forgetting to water her plants.”
Now Robert laughed. “Astounding. Simply astounding.”
Bea took a deep breath, placed her glasses back on her face, and returned to her drink. After a few moments she turned to Lizbeth. “Now let me ask you something. Have you ever sensed Luke’s energy about you since he passed?”
“Oh, quit it, Bea. This is nonsense.”
“So there’s nothing strange you’ve ever noticed around the house, like objects moving, not being where you left them?”
“Of course I misplace things. I’m getting older.”
“That’s not what I mean. Think, Lizbeth. Think hard.”
“Well,” the woman finally said. “There is this candle, right in front of Luke’s picture on the mantel. Keeps going out. Must be a draft coming from someplace, but Lord help me, I haven’t been able to locate it.”
“That’s your son. Luke’s trying to communicate with you.”
“Now, come on, Bea.”
“I’ll stop if you’d like, but I’m feeling right now like he really wants you to acknowledge his presence. Shall I go on?”
When Lizbeth didn’t answer, Bea took it as a yes. “And he’s not alone, he’s coming through with someone else. He’s making me feel a ‘D’. A very strong ‘D’ is coming through. Who’s Darryl? He says to tell you thanks for sending him off with his nine iron.”
“My husband. Luke’s father. I told you his name was Darryl. We buried him with his favorite golf club. I probably already told you about that, too.”
“But he says he wishes you’d picked the sand wedge instead.” Bea couldn’t tell if the sound coming from Lizbeth was a laugh or a cry. “They want you to know that they’re together, and that they’re getting along fine.” She paused for a minute. “But it’s really Luke that’s coming through strong. He’s the one who wants to be heard.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Lizbeth said.
“He needs you to know that he felt nothing. That his passing was fast, and painless.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Lizbeth asked.
“I’m supposed to tell you that he knows you often wish it were you instead of him who had the accident,” Bea said. “He wants you to stop that. And he knows how hard you’ve been trying to cope. He sees you sitting in his room, on his bed, at night. He hates how difficult it’s been for you. He wants you to focus on the happy times you two had together.”
“You could say that to anyone, Bea.”
“But he’s aware of what you’re doing now,” she added, “and he wants you to know that he’s incredibly proud of you.”
“It’s him I was supposed to be proud of, not the other way around,” Lizbeth said quietly.
“Lizbeth, Luke needs you to tell Senzey that he did not abandon her, that he loves her.”
Lizbeth was silent.
“And he apologizes for not talking to you about her before he passed. He was waiting for the right time, but he waited too long.” Again Bea paused. “And then there’s the baby.”
“You’re trying to tell me Luke knows about the baby?”
“Senzey and the boy, they need to be together. Those are Luke’s words.”
“A boy?” she asked excitedly, before quickly composing herself.
“Luke says he’s with you, and not to be afraid.”
And then he was gone.
“You are most amazing, Madame Bea,” Robert said, his voice far quieter than usual.
Bea dabbed at her forehead with the edges of her scarf and slumped back in her chair.
“She has quite a gift, it seems, hasn’t she?” he asked Lizbeth.
“I don’t know what to think. But if she’s so gifted, then why didn’t she say all this to me before?”
“You didn’t ask,” Bea piped in.
“I think I need that second drink,” Lizbeth said.
“If only you could use your powers to find Charlie,” Robert said, as the sky broke open and lightning flashed behind the palms.
“Now, that would be worthwhile,” Lizbeth agreed.
Bea again shook her head. “Actually, it doesn’t work that way. Usually a person needs to have passed on for me to hear from them. Sometimes I get feelings, but it’s just too difficult to get anything from a person you’re close to. And there’s nobody on this Earth closer to me than Charlie.”
“So, is that why you couldn’t simply use your senses to check on your daughter here in Haiti, instead of coming all this way yourself?” Robert asked.
Bea let out a mischievous giggle. “Well . . . maybe.”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe yes and maybe no.”
“And what is the ‘no’ part?”
“I actually told Charlie I had a dream. But truth be told, I needed Charlie to come here. Charlie needed to come here. The girl needs her mother in her life. Not to be living with memories and nightmares that are eating up her insides like worms. I’ve waited way too long for those two to come back together, and I wasn’t about to wait any longer. How much time can an old woman like me have, anyway?”
“Please, Madame Bea. You radiate youth.”
Bea laughed. “That’s very kind, Robert. I think. But we all know how short our time on this earth truly is. And what’s the point of wasting that time holding negative feelings toward those who are closest to us?”
“That is true,” he answered.
“Family belongs together. That’s all there is to it. Am I right, Lizbeth?”
Perhaps Lizbeth’s answer was drowned out by the sea of rainwater spilling down the eaves, cascading onto the pavement below and rushing down the long driveway into the streets of Port-au-Prince, or perhaps she hadn’t answered at all. The only thing Bea knew was that, for all of them, their adventures in this crazy country were far from over. She pulled her scarf even tighter, sat back, and waited for Charlie’s return.