Portia’s pacing the floor and Mimi’s meditating on the couch. TB’s cooking up eggs again, but this time with groceries we purchased from the H-E-B grocery. I’m wondering — for not the first time, let me tell you — if there’s some way I can turn off this crazy ghost talent I’ve inherited.
“How do we explain this?” Portia asks.
How indeed? All hell broke loose the night before, me emerging from the woods covered in dirt with leaves and twigs in my hair, Stinky in my arms, forensics running up with latex gloves and plastic bags, grabbing the crusty knife in my hands. Wanda stared at me as if I’d lost my mind, but when TB took Stinky, placed him on the ground, and the two headed for the parking lot like Andy Griffith and Opie at the end of that Mayberry show, it was too much for Wanda to comprehend.
“Why don’t y’all head back to the accommodations and we’ll talk in the morning,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I’ll have Officer Jackson follow and make sure you’re in safely.”
Make sure we’re not going anywhere, I’m thinking, although if I were a suspect, why would I hand her the murder weapon?
“Can we stop by a grocery store?” Mimi asked.
At that point, Wanda threw her hands in the air, barked some orders to Officer Jackson, and headed to her car to no doubt call in new information about this group of Louisiana crazies.
She wasn’t the only one thinking I’d lost my mind. If Portia could have disrobed me with words, I’d have been butt naked before we reached the car. The questions came flying fast and furious.
“Leave her be,” Mimi said, wrapping an arm delicately around my shoulders since I was pretty gross.
“That’s fine,” Portia retorted. “You witches can burn together.”
She stormed off toward the SUV where TB was pouring water into a bowl for Stinky. That scene only made Portia more exasperated and I could hear a stream of obscenities from behind the vehicle. TB sent me a questioning look and I shrugged.
“She did say witches and not some other word?” I asked Mimi.
“Don’t mind her. She’s got her reasons.”
That thought hung with me all night, because Mimi wasn’t talking about me finding yet another piece of evidence linking us to a murder. I broached the subject after Wanda released us and we returned to our hacienda, when Mimi insisted I take a bath before bedtime in the soaking tub of the master bedroom. She threw in herbs and flower petals — where she got these, I haven’t a clue — and added something powdery from a jar.
“What happened out there? Why was Portia so upset? I realize me finding a weapon and possibly going to jail was enough but there’s more, isn’t there?”
Mimi pulled back a sleeve and started swirling the water with her fingers graced with a variety of rings. “She had a tough childhood, sweetheart. Before you and Sebastian came along your parents were quite the swingers, always having academic parties to go to and visiting professors to entertain. Your mom had it under control but your dad drank a lot.”
She leaned back and I stepped into the tub, amazed that all those potions she placed in the water felt calming.
“So, why be mad at me?”
Mimi smoothed my hair back from my face, a gesture that warmed me to my toes. “She’s mad at the world, Sweetpea. And she’s resentful that you and your brother didn’t have to go through all that.”
“Go through what exactly?”
“That’s a story Portia has to tell. I will tell you this, never underestimate people or nature. Always look below the surface because you’ll be surprised what you’ll find. Reality is a funny thing, and it’s different for everybody.”
Mimi tossed her head like she was finished with the conversation. Which she was.
“I supposed you’re not going to elaborate on that.”
She just smiled. “Now, how do you like your bath?”
“You mean, how do I like my milk shake with leaves?”
Mimi grimaced. “It’s not like that.”
I can see my toes but the water’s murky and there’s all those herbs floating around. “What on earth am I soaking in?”
Mimi moved from being on her knees to getting comfortable cross legged. “I guess it’s time for a lesson.”
I sunk deeper into the water because the last thing I needed was a lesson on the “craft.” But then, the water felt so good. I’m down with being a witch if this is where it leads.
“First of all, your aura needs cleansing. It’s about as dark as the Mississippi.”
That brought me back from my road to nirvana. “What?”
“There’s a lot of pain around you, honey, and things you need to let go.”
“Like my father being murdered and haunting me, my husband in love with a real estate cookie, and my daughter….” I couldn’t finish that last part. “Oh, and me seeing a dead woman that may land me in jail.”
Mimi reached over and grabbed an oversized plastic cup she must have borrowed from the kitchen. She dipped it into the water and I watched as the herbs parted ways, then flowed into the cup with the rest of the bath water. The scene mesmerized me so I didn’t see the deluge coming.
“What the…?”
Mimi doused me with the water, pouring the entire cup over my head.
“One more time,” she said, and did it again.
I wiped my eyes and spitted out a lavender sprig. Mimi sat back and took my image in, examining me in my naked glory. I suddenly felt exposed and wrapped my arms about my chest. I had to admit, I felt better.
“Baking soda and Epsom salts,” she began. “The combination makes for a great detoxing bath, helps restore magnesium levels, heals muscle pain, and, in the witch circles, cleans your aura. I’m no scientist but I’ve been told there’s physics behind this, something to do with our energy fields.”
“Great,” I managed as the drops of this elixir fell off the end of my nose.
“You soak in it, naturally, but you must also pour it over your head. I prefer doing this three times.” And, without warning, I got another dose.
As I was trying to regain my sight from the moisture in my eyes, Mimi placed two pieces of rose quartz in each hand. The transformation was immediate.
“There are lots of stones you can use to ease depression and restore your equilibrium but I always go back to the standard.”
I have always loved rocks, collected them as a child. And in Louisiana, you had to purchase them because our soil is nothing but mud. That came in handy for I had an exotic variety hailing from around the world and loved holding them in my hands, feeling the different vibrations. Katrina stole most of my collection, but I still carry around the ones I recovered, mainly black tourmaline and angelite, protective stones that repel negativity.
“Rose quartz is like a bath for your emotions,” Mimi said. “It calms the soul, helps alleviate grief, anger, stress, trauma, and restores female energy.”
I closed my eyes and the combination of Mimi’s science experience and the stones made me feel whole again. When I opened them, Mimi was smiling.
“I put jasmine, lavender, and chamomile in the water, all great herbs for a calming, restorative bath and I highly recommend them.”
I nodded. At that moment, I would have done anything she asked.
“But, I think plants aren’t your calling. I’ll teach you the ways of herbs, but I think your talent is sitting in the palms of your hands.”
This morning, I think of that delicious bath the night before as I watch Portia pace the living room, Mimi murmuring her mantra, and TB cooking up something smelling like heaven. I dip my hands into my pockets and feel those soft, polished quartz stones. My breathing slows and I feel more at peace.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell Portia. “Stop pacing and have some breakfast.”
“Okay?” she bellows. “How can you not be concerned about this?”
I sit down and start spooning out TB’s Cajun potatoes laced with red bell peppers, onions, and yes, spices. “What choice do I have? If she wants to lock me up, she will. There’s nothing to connect me to this crime except Dad, and he’s gone. Plus, she knows that if I killed this woman I wouldn’t show the police where the body was, then go retrieve the murder weapon.”
Portia shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re so calm about this.”
Me neither. Maybe Mimi should package that stuff.
Plus, as much as I wish I could experience other ghosts, which would mean I’d see my precious daughter, my talent is water. I want to believe that I’m evolving, and seeing Elena would prove that fact, but so far into my SCANCy life that hasn’t been the case.
I swallow. “Elena died by water, Portia. The knife I found in the woods last night didn’t kill Elena.”
TB pauses at the stove and looks my way. My desire to “evolve” is what caused a split between us last week and I’m admitting this as much for his ears as to convince myself. Only I can’t help but still be hopeful I’ll be able to one day talk to Lillye.
Portia continues her fussing, Mimi recites a mantra, and Stinky begins to howl as I hear a car pull into the driveway. The thought of a quiet jail cell suddenly seems enticing.
“She’s here,” Portia says after looking through the living room window.
Mimi, TB, and I join her and all four of us stare as Wanda exits her car. She heads to the other patrol car containing the officer hired to keep an eye on us. She tells him something and he starts up the engine and drives away. Wanda stares off at the disappearing car.
“What is she waiting for?” Portia asks, while Stinky howls again.
After a few minutes, Wanda walks to the passenger side of her car and opens the door. A middle-aged woman dressed much like Mimi emerges and the two head for the house.
“This could be good,” Mimi whispers.
Portia shakes her head. “I don’t see how. Might be social services come to lock us up in a mental ward.”
TB doesn’t wait until the duo knocks on the door. He opens it and welcomes both women inside, explaining that breakfast is ready if they’re hungry.
“That’s kind of you, but we’ve eaten,” I hear Wanda say all business-like before she crosses the threshold. Once she does, however, I can tell she smells TB’s creation. “Although if you have extras….”
I almost laugh, but think better of it. Stinky, much to my surprise, heads over to Wanda and the other woman and starts rubbing up against their legs. Wanda doesn’t appear to enjoy the contact but the other woman leans down and begins massaging him, telling him sweet affections in Spanish. The cat eats it up, rolls on his back, and closes his eyes.
“This is my mom, Juanita Juarez,” Wanda explains.
Juanita looks up from her place at the floor and smiles and we all sigh with relief. The energy in the room shifts like someone opened a curtain and sunlight poured in.
Mimi is the first to offer a hand in greeting. “Mimi McKay. A pleasure.”
Juanita rises and shakes Mimi’s hands while Wanda finishes the introductions. Stinky whimpers in protest at having his massage interrupted.
“And that’s Stinky, our special cat,” I offer.
Wanda stares at Stinky for the anomaly that he is and Stinky winks.
“There’s something not right with that cat,” Wanda mutters.
“Why don’t we all sit down and have something to eat,” TB asks.
“Great idea,” Mimi says a little too enthusiastically and I’m not sure if she’s nervous or excited that another person with woo-woo powers is among us. I doubt we told her that Wanda’s mother reads tea leaves, but I suspect she knows by some form of universal guidance.
The five of us fill up the dining room table while TB pours us coffee and places bowls of goodness in the center. Even though having her mother present eases my heart and gives me hope that Wanda believes my psychic abilities, she’s sending me a look that says nothing will explain the scenario of last night.
“That wasn’t the murder weapon,” I say, thinking why not just throw it all out there and she can start the insanity procedures. I hope McAllen has a nice mental hospital. “Elena drowned.”
Wanda laces her hands together on the table and doesn’t say a word.
“Elena showed me the knife but I don’t know why. I only see ghosts that have died by water. I saw all ghosts when I was little but I repressed it and then Hurricane Katrina….”
“You’re a SCANC.”
This floors me silly. Now, I’m gazing at Wanda like she’s a freak. “You know what that is.”
Wanda’s countenance never changes. It’s unnerving but effecting. She’s likely good at her job. But I’m not talking. I haven’t a clue what to say.
Finally, she relents, nodding toward her mother.
“You’re a SCANC?” I ask her mom with the same expression and Portia grimaces. “I mean, not a skank but someone who can talk to specific dead?”
Juanita laces her fingers through her coffee cup, embraces the warmth and smiles. “For me, it’s fire.”
“Wow.” Like I said, I should stick to writing, I have such a way with words.
“My mother wanted to meet you,” Wanda explains. “You’re the first SCANC she’s met. We didn’t know such a thing existed until we saw this Facebook page for a convention in New Orleans.”
“We were there,” TB says, and leaves it at that. I glance at my husband and know he’s thinking about Dwayne Garrett, the descendant we met there, a man whose angelic properties lean toward Lucifer. Dwayne was the man who came two moments from slitting my throat in Natchez until Stinky and TB arrived to save my sorry butt.
I decide to head back to safe territory with Juanita. We share SCANC information and what trauma led to our specific talents — for Juanita, it was a fire during her college days — and I notice Portia absorbing this information. I should have told her before now, I’m thinking, should have explained who I am. She sits at the head of the table dressed in a nice blouse and sweater over her usual navy blue slacks. Does the woman even own jeans?
Breakfast finished, TB rises and offers coffee refills. Juanita holds a palm up while she studies her cup.
“Did your father have something to do with primroses?” she asks.
We all look at one another, but flowers? Dad?
“He was into birding, not gardening,” I say.
Wanda, on the other hand, frowns like she’s on to something. “Anyone have a laptop?”
TB grabs his Mac from the counter and hands it to her and she fires it up. While Wanda searches the internet, TB pours everyone another round of coffee and Mimi asks Juanita questions about tea reading. Or coffee, as is the case.
Finally, Wanda finds what she’s looking for. “Primrose Place. Just outside of Corpus Christi. It’s a rehab hospital.”
This spurs Portia into action. She grabs her briefcase and pulls out the folder she’s brought on Dad. “There was a reference to Corpus right after our father came here. A large amount was drawn on his credit card by a company called Westfield Healthcare.”
Wanda nods. “That’s the parent company. When did this happen?”
“The first payment was in September 2005. There was another two weeks later and a final payment near the end of November.”
My heart sinks. Two months after Katrina. While we gutted our houses, Dad was in rehab?
“Did our father leave here before that poor girl died?” Portia’s hoping to clear Dad and get us out of here.
Wanda looks at her mother, who shakes her head. She pauses, then pulls out her own folder, placing a timeline in front of us.
“Your father showed up three years ago in McAllen on August 25, 2005, attending the biology convention through Saturday, August 27.” She pulls out a hotel receipt. “He was at the Hilton by the Convention Center. We arrested him when he bought drugs off a plains clothes cop. He kept going on and on about his family in New Orleans and how he needed to go home to help with hurricane preparations. We agreed to let him go the next morning, and he swore he was heading back to Louisiana.”
Mimi shakes her head. “He never made it.”
“Something happened,” Wanda says. “He never left. When we found the video footage of him with Elena — taken the afternoon of August 26 — we brought him back in. That time, he was a different man. Skittish, uncooperative. A few days later, he disappeared.”
“He went to rehab,” I say.
“And Elena went missing.”
There’s that catch again in Wanda’s voice and her mother takes her hand and squeezes. A silence falls upon us as we contemplate Dad’s week in McAllen but none of it makes sense to me. Finally, Wanda touches my forearm and nods towards the back patio. I look back at Portia who’s concerned that I’m about to talk to a cop by myself but I send her a half smile. After the comfortable breakfast we had, and Wanda bringing along her psychic mother, it can’t be that bad. Can it?
I follow Wanda on to the patio, the poolside space where I first saw Elena. It’s late morning and the sun’s blinding so even if my ghostly friend showed up, I probably wouldn’t see her.
“My dad didn’t do anything to that woman.” The words come pouring out before I know what I’m doing. I touch the quartz in my pocket and the fear and trepidation disappears, making the words emerge like a stream without conscious thought. “She liked my dad, I just know it. There was kindness in her voice when she mentioned him, and I know that because she said his name. And the knife, I don’t think it had anything to do with either one of them. He got into something here, he couldn’t have done….”
Wanda holds up a palm and I stop my rambling. “I’m going with y’all to Corpus. Let’s find out what happened there.”
“If he checked into rehab, he would have been there awhile.”
She nods. “But he might have had an apartment.”
“What?” This doesn’t make sense. “Why would he have an apartment if he wanted to enter rehab.”
Wanda smiles but it’s more like those snarky ones you see cops deliver on TV. “Why indeed?”
That confidence I felt earlier holding on to my stones disappears. “Is my dad a suspect? Am I?”
Wanda pulls on her sunglasses, something else you see on those cop shows. She looks off into the pasture alongside the house and those crazy trees are bending in the wind, back and forth, back and forth.
“If what you say is true about your abilities…,” Wanda says slowly. Even though her mother shares my talent I feel that Wanda remains skeptical. “Then the woman we found at the park isn’t Elena.”
My breath catches. For some reason, deep down I know she’s right. Where did that knowledge suddenly come from?
“The body we found,” I begin, “she died by that knife, didn’t she?”
“Early to tell but her rib bones show signs of trauma associated with a stabbing.”
Elena must have known about the murder, but where is Elena?
After we make arrangements and pack up, we all pile into the SUV and head to the coast. Wanda took her mother home and arrived back at the Rodriguez hacienda to provide an escort, waiting in her cop car on the highway. Mimi assures Portia that Wanda’s presence is a good thing.
“Then why do I feel like she’s leading us to jail?” Portia retorts.
The ride’s two and a half hours through the interior of Texas, flat lands full of cows, cactus, and those weird trees.
“What are those things?” Mimi asks.
We’re so used to hardwoods like live oak trees solidly grounded with branches stretched out like arms, sometimes draped with Spanish moss reaching all the way to the ground. I used to climb those massive limbs in Audubon Park back home. Louisiana contains tall pines as well, trees that reach toward the sky, and bald cypress that resemble Christmas trees with knees protruding from wetlands. Looking out at this arid landscape and thinking of home makes me incredibly thirsty. Wish we would have stopped at that crime scene convenience store for a water.
“Mesquite,” TB says, bringing me back.
“What?” Mimi asks.
“Those trees.”
“Like you would know,” Portia says.
TB frowns and goes back to reading his American history text book; he has a final the week after we return. I gaze at my husband, soft blond hair falling about his face, those baby brown eyes reading something about Jamestown, and I wonder how many times I’ve said something equally hurtful.
“He would know,” I say. “TB knows lots about Texas.”
Portia snorts but TB looks over at me and offers a guarded smile.
“I’ll bet he read everything about the state before we went on this trip,” I continue. “He usually does that.”
Mimi and Portia in the front seat say nothing and TB goes back to reading. But he leans my way and whispers, “Not really.”
I can’t help it, I start giggling. First, TB smiles, then we both break into laughter.
“What’s gotten into you two?” Mimi asks, smiling back at us.
We gain control, I stare out at the mesquite trees and the small towns passing by, and TB goes back to reading. We finally get to the coast around two and we all sigh when we spot the blue waters sparkling in the afternoon sun. People from Louisiana can’t be away from water long.
“That’s actually the bay,” TB says and this time no one disputes him. Might be because he has a map of Texas in his hands. Where did he find time to get that? “We have to take a bridge over to Padre Island.”
We follow Wanda across the bridge, but what’s on the other side is not what I expected. Padre Island’s equally flat with little trees and development in spurts, at least on our side of the island. It’s not far off the beach destination I envisioned, with hotels, palm trees and the like, but more natural.
After a few miles up the beach we reach an oasis, a lovely building surrounded by lush vegetation so it’s hidden from view until you practically drive up to the front door. On the outside, it looks like a condo complex with a gurgling fountain, those palm trees I was dreaming about before, and lots of flowers. Only upon closer scrutiny can one see the security measures in place.
We’re about to get out of the SUV when Wanda raises a hand like a stop sign, motions to Portia, and the two enter the building.
“How come she gets to have all the fun?”
I’m trying to be funny because inside I feel like screaming but no one laughs. My father suffered in this place for weeks and I had no idea.
“It looks lovely,” Mimi says which helps a little.
Just then my phone rings and it’s an Alabama number.
“Tabitha?”
“Hey dawlin’.”
“Hey.”
There’s several moments of silence which seems weird for my talkative cousin. “Is this about the coat?” I finally ask, because I think maybe she’s trying to find a way to ask for it back.
“Oh no, I told you that’s yours. I have plenty.” Then, with an afterthought she adds, “Unless you don’t want it.”
“Uh, I’m a bit far from Alabama to bring it back.”
“No worries. Keep it. Plus, I’m heading to Mobile this weekend for a Carnival luncheon with the big wigs and I bought a new one for that. It’s a lovely tweed.”
“That’s nice.” Sounds expensive as usual.
“It’s going to be a fancy soiree at the Mardi Gras museum in Mobile. All the kings and queens will be there for the upcoming season. Isn’t that something?”
“Cool.” I check my watch, wondering what’s keeping Portia.
“You know, Mobile started Mardi Gras.”
I cringe because I’ve heard this so many times from Mobilian residents. The two brothers who founded Louisiana celebrated Mardi Gras at a Louisiana bayou in 1699, but the revelry that followed in New Orleans was crude and lawless. A group of Mobile businessmen came over around the middle of the 1800s and founded the first krewe in New Orleans, a more civilized undertaking, which is what we both have today. But, now Mobile thinks they started it all. Or maybe I’m just a New Orleanian who’s too protective of her traditions. One thing’s for sure, I’m wanting this conversation to end.
“When I get home, I’ll mail it to you.”
“What?”
“The coat you lent me.”
“No, no. Honey, I don’t need it back. Wait, where are you?”
I rub the bridge of my nose. “Texas.”
“Texas? My, my, you travel a lot. Whatsha doing in Texas?”
I’m in no mood to discuss Dad at the moment because Portia and Wanda have emerged from Primrose with frowns and I’m dreading what might be coming next.
“I have to go, Tabitha.”
“Wait, there’s something important I need to tell you.”
“Can I call you back?”
Tabitha’s pauses and I can hear her sigh. “Okay.”
“I’ll call you tonight.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up. Wanda and Portia meet us at the SUV.
“There’s a reasonable hotel down the beach,” Wanda says. “And there’s a great Tex-Mex restaurant next door. Why don’t we get checked in and meet up later? I have some things I need to do.”
I’m about to ask a million questions when Portia heads to the driver side. Obviously, decision is made about what we do and where we go next. Once we’re in the car, however, Portia sighs and looks my way, fatigue written all over her face. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
I nod. What on earth went down in Primrose?
We check into the hotel which is right on the beach. It’s reasonable but basic and Portia’s not too pleased; she was hoping for an indoor pool, hot tub, and exercise room. There’s an outdoor pool a few yards shy of the beach but it’s November, the water’s likely chilly, and the pool area is strewn with leaves and other beach debris.
“So much for that idea,” she mumbles.
We all get separate rooms and head out in different directions, TB and I sneaking back to the van to gather up Stinky since the hotel doesn’t allow pets. We enter the establishment through the back door and use the stairs, convinced everyone else will take the elevator. When we reach our room, I let Stinky go and he immediately crawls beneath the queen bed’s coverlet. TB heads for the balcony and lights up like a kid at Christmas.
“We’re right on the beach.”
I nod. I wish I could be excited but I’m dreading the news about Dad. TB picks up my emotion and comes inside to sit next to me on the bed, careful not to sit on the lump that’s Stinky. One of two queen beds, I might add. While he takes my hand, I wonder if he’ll want to sleep separately. There hasn’t been lovemaking initiation the last two nights, but then, we had a lot of drama to contend with.
“Go take a hot bath or jump in the ocean,” he says. “I’ll do some research on the Internet.”
“If they have Internet.”
“It’s almost 2009, Vi. Everyone has Internet.”
I do as I’m told, head to the bathroom and slip on my bathing suit. TB’s busy searching through his luggage, grumbling about forgetting something important, so I silently head outside. I bring my quartz stones and include my angelite for measure, placing both inside the pocket of my bathing suit wrap. The temperature’s warm, a far cry from that cold front in Alabama, but there’s a nip in the air. I dip my toe into the Gulf and debate whether to jump in or not; it’s not that warm. I decide to plop down in the sand and watch the waves for a while, let the afternoon sun bake my face, enjoy the wading birds skittering along the beach. I lean back and close my eyes, delight in the red splotches that appear with the warmth.
Only she’s there.
At first, it’s like gazing at Wanda’s laptop, watching my father meet Elena at the park, the two of them discussing…what? I notice Dad smiling, Elena touching his forearm lightly. A friendly conversation? Elena appears to get serious and after a few moments, Dad looks around as if checking for eavesdroppers. She leans in close and slips Dad something into his hand.
I jolt upright. I don’t remember seeing that on the video. This time, Elena’s right in front of me, nodding her head. I gasp, loudly, because she’s scared the bejesus out of me.
Elena utters a few words in Spanish that I brand to memory and then she vanishes. I think back on what I saw inside my head. Was it something important in the vision, some clue as to what happened to Dad? Yes, the ghostly woman was sitting across from me like they usually do, trying to tell me something, but I also received information while I was relaxing or napping. Was I sleeping or just hovering between reality and my subconscious?
The image of Mimi meditating that morning comes to mind. She begged me to join her, wanting to explain the basics when I waved her off.
“I can’t get my brain to shut off,” I had said. “ADHD and all.”
Mimi took my hand and squeezed, which signaled to me that this was a lesson I needed to hear. “You don’t have to shut off the brain. Just ask for guidance and try to relax, try to convince your mind it doesn’t need to be working non-stop.”
“That’s the problem.”
Mimi had leaned in, whispered in my ear. “You get answers.”
Maybe I need to try this, I think. I lean back in the sand and close my eyes, tell my brain to shut up but of course thoughts come flying through. I’m thinking that I’m thinking too much and then I shake my head and start over. It’s frustrating the hell out of me trying to not think but then I’m thinking that I’m frustrated over not thinking.
“Geez, Louise,” I say, sitting up in the sand, watching a flock of pelicans soar by without a care in the world. And that’s when I remember my rose quartz and angelite.
I decide this experience needs water so I head to the water’s edge, letting the Gulf tickle my toes as they sink into the dark, wet sand. The sun and wind bathe my face and I pull out my stones, close my eyes, and hold them lightly in my palms. I do what Mimi instructed: tell myself to relax, ask to be surrounded by the protective white light and let my muscles release. I lean back and take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and close my eyes.
“Dad?” I ask the darkness. “Tell me what happened.”
Those splotches of red and orange the sun creates behind your eyelids fade away, first replaced by that white light I’m envisioning — or am I? — and then darkness descends. Sounds of waves and birds move off to some distant shore. My father appears but it’s like we’re hovering next to each other surrounded by black.
“Vi?”
“Where are we?”
He smiles broadly but there’s pain in his gaze. “I’m so glad to see you.”
I’m trying to remain neutral, worried that emotions might take me away, but I’m scared for my father. Is this purgatory? Mimi said when you die you don’t bring pain and suffering with you to the afterlife, but Dad doesn’t appear to be at peace. I fear he’s hovering somewhere else.
“What happened to you, Dad. Why are you here?”
“I don’t know where I am. Do you?”
I want to say I’m in Padre Island looking for you, but not sure how to proceed. “I’m in Texas, Dad. On the Gulf of Mexico. You’ve been here.”
He nods and smiles like it’s a good memory, then his countenance changes rapidly as if he remembers something. “I had to hide.”
“Hide? Why?”
“They were after me.”
I can’t help it, ripples of goose bumps skitter across my skin. “Who?”
He doesn’t answer, stands there frozen, his face wrinkled in pain, thinking of some past horrible event.
“Was it Elena?” I ask.
Her name brings him back. “It wasn’t her fault.”
“What wasn’t her fault?”
There’s a faint beeping in the background and Dad starts fading like a bad television connection.
“What was?” I say louder. “Dad!”
“Ask Wanda,” is all he says as he fades from view.