My Deja Vu Lover (25 page)

  
About halfway through a so-so comedy with too many commercials, he slid slowly down on the bed, tucked a couple of pillows under his head, and stretched out full length on top of the quilted spread.

  
“We can turn that off.” I waved at the TV.

  
“No, it’s all right. I can see it fine this way.”

  
Only if he kept his eyes open. Within five minutes he was sleep-breathing, with that little hum he always did on each exhale. I edged off the bed and carefully arranged the blanket over him. Then I leaned over and kissed him softly.

  
“Good night, Tommy.”

  
“Um hmm,” he murmured.
 

  
Next morning there was a wheelchair waiting at the Minneapolis airport when we arrived by bus, and suddenly I was surrounded by people who seemed not only able, but actually eager, to help. When he booked the flight, Tom had explained about the injured knee in a brace.

  
We were put in front seats on the plane, the ones with extra leg room. Not comfortable, but also not unbearable for him.

  
“So that’s how to get these seats,” he said to the flight attendant. “All I need to remember is to bust a knee every time I fly.”

  
She giggled, then rounded up a pillow and blanket for him.

  
“You’re really milking this,” I told him.

  
“I do my best,” he said, all serious-faced, but his eyes twinkled.
               

  
And of course when they wheeled him off at SeaTac, with our backpacks on his lap and me tagging along behind the efficient attendant, Macbeth was at the gate and ready to take over.

  
Sometimes life works.

CHAPTER 25

  
Efficient, yes, agreeable, no.

  
Mac drove, I rode shotgun and Tom stretched out his leg across the back seat.

  
“So how’d it go?” Macbeth asked as we drove out of the airport and headed north toward city and home.

  
Happy me, off the plane, out of the driver’s seat, gabbing brightly. “Fantastic, imagine, we honestly met a woman who remembered Millie. Okay, she’s pushing one hundred but believe me, her mind is sharper than mine.”
 

  
It occurred to me, from Mac’s silence, that maybe he didn’t consider that much of a recommendation, so I added, “And she had a copy of Millie’s obituary and she pointed us to Millie’s parents’ graves.”

  
From the back seat, Tom added, “And bless her heart, she fed me.”

  
I swung around as much as possible in the seat belt and grinned at him. “Oh yes, lady-killer has a new admirer.”

  
“One who makes me sandwiches.”

  
“That’s all it takes? Gosh, I should clue in Sandra.”

  
“And end our friendship? I’m gonna miss you, woman,” Tom said.

  
In the middle of joking with Tom, I think we both started to notice Macbeth was unusually silent. He seemed agitated, then annoyed, then angry when we explained the trip and what we’d discovered.

  
Looking back at Tom through the space between the front seats, I rolled my eyes toward Macbeth.

  
Tom shrugged, clearly as puzzled as I was. At Tom’s house Mac helped him out of the car and held his elbow while they walked to the front door. I followed along behind them lugging Tom’s backpack.

  
The door flew open and Tom’s mother rushed out, stared at the cane and the knee brace, and then her face softened to the edge of tears.

  
“Oh darling, you really are hurt!” Turning to Mac, she added, “Mac, how good of you to bring him home. Did you go all the way out to the airport? We could have done that. Tom, why didn’t you call us?”

  
Mac said, “No trouble at all, really.”

  
And then she spotted me and cried, “April! Hello, sweetheart, for heaven sake. Did you go meet him, too? Honestly, you boys, letting April lug that heavy pack. Well, come on inside.”

  
So Tom had not mentioned I was in Minnesota with him and was the reason he’d been there. But he had a Tom answer, wrapped his arms around his mother, kissed her cheek, told her not to worry, he was all right, and tomorrow he needed to go get x-rays. He even added a low grunt of pain, the stinker, and his poor mother all but burst into tears.

  
Fortunately I didn’t need to answer because Mac said, “Thanks, we can’t stop, we’re running a little late.”
 

  
He didn’t say where we were going that made us late, but about that time Tom’s father arrived at the door and in a swirl of questions, both parents talking at the same time, we escaped.

  
Mac and I got back into the car, gave cheery waves and smiles, and were out of there.

  
“I wish they’d treat him like an adult,” Mac muttered.

  
“I wish I had parents like that,” I said.

  
Mac gave me a brief, unreadable look, then maintained the sort of silence that was not encouraging so I kept my mouth shut. I was not intentionally working on a grudge. I pasted on my smile until we reached my place.

  
When he parked out front, I asked, “Is Cyd home?”

  
“Should be.”
 

  
“You coming in?”

  
“No.”

  
“Okay, well, thanks for all the help. It was really nice of you to provide the tickets.”
 
See, I tried to be friendly.

  
“April. Listen to me.” He turned to face me and there was no smile, no nice gap teeth showing to make him human. Could have chiseled his face from granite. “This has to be some coincidence.”

  
He held up his hand to keep me from speaking, totally unnecessary because my mind went blank. I hadn’t a clue what he meant and so had no reply forming. Sure, I knew he’d hoped we’d find nothing, and that didn’t earn him Brownie points in our friendship. But we’d found proof. I thought he would accept proof. Didn’t have to like it. And now here he was, literal minded Mac, still blaming my imagination.

  
“This accident which included a couple of movie actors running into the woman’s brother, it’s the sort of thing that gets glamorized and retold in those magazines that end up by the checkout counter,” he said. “The story probably got picked up in some ‘remember when’ issue, maybe featured on a cover.”

  
Did he think we’d made up something? “Mrs. Thornton knew Millie’s family. She had the obituary. We saw it.”
 

  
“I understand. It did happen. There was a Millie Pedersen,” he agreed. “Maybe last summer, maybe ten years ago, you saw the story someplace and it stuck in your subconscious. It doesn’t mean you were Millie Pedersen.”

  
Ho-kay. Now I had more to say. “So that’s why you gave us the plane tickets, because all this time you haven’t believed a word I’ve said. And you hoped we’d go back to Minnesota and find out there had never been such a person.”

  
I heard myself going shrill and fought to stay calm.

  
“April, the past doesn’t matter. Obviously there was a Millie Pedersen. You found evidence. I understand. But that doesn’t mean you’re her reincarnation. It only means that somehow you heard about her. And you’ve mixed up reality with a story.”

  
What had Tom said? Something about knowing I never confused imagination with reality.

  
“Thanks for the ride.” I meant it in several ways because that’s all Mac’s friendship was, a ride. Nothing real or stable. He’d sent me off on what he’d hoped would be a washout.

  
I opened the car door and started to get out. Like Tom had said, I could hold a grudge.

  
Mac reached over and touched my arm. “April, do me one favor.”

  
I didn’t turn to look back at him. I did say, “What?”

  
“You think you’re in love with Graham Berkold because he reminds you of a love story you once heard. He’s married. He’s trouble.”

  
“Ya think so?” I muttered.

  
“I know so. And he’s going to hurt you. For your own sake, get over him.”

  
I slammed the door and marched up the walk, too furious to answer. Anything I could think of to say right then would be way past taking back. Mac, Tom and Cyd were the only family I had and I didn’t want to destroy that.

  
Cyd was waiting for me in the kitchen, wine bottle on the table and ravioli in a pan on the stove. Smelled wonderful. I dumped my gear on the floor of my room, kicked off my boots and padded in to join her. By then she had our plates served.

  
She took one look at me and poured the wine.

  
“I love Mac but he’s a bastard,” I said, then took a big gulp from the glass she handed to me.

  
Cyd laughed. “How’s Tom?”

  
“Kind of beat up. He’s going in for x-rays tomorrow. Did a job on his knee. And he’s got bruised ribs. Probably ought to get those x-rayed, too. He went down really hard on a patch of ice. Hey, your down jacket was a lifesaver.”

  
“Good, I don’t get to wear it much around here. So tell me what all you found and what mean old Macbeth has done this time.”

  
Between forkfuls of ravioli, I told her what we’d learned, and Mac’s reaction. “For some reason he’s mad at Tommy. Made some remark about him growing up.”

  
“He thinks we are all irresponsible.”

  
“Apparently he didn’t really want to help me when he offered those plane tickets. He only wanted to prove I was wrong.”

  
“You think?”

  
“Looks like it. I mean, there it all was, really plain and exactly matching what I’ve seen, so what’s his problem? Is he so set against the idea of reincarnation? I never would have figured him for religious objections.”

  
Cyd said slowly, “I think he told it to you in his last bossy instruction, April. I think Macbeth is really pissed about Berkold.”

  
“But why?”

  
“Now you’re going to be mad at me.”

  
“No, I’m not. Okay. Should I be?”

  
She let out a heavy sigh, downed a gulp of wine, put both elbows on the table and looked me in the eyes. “April, you know Mac, he thinks he’s big daddy for the rest of us inferior and not too bright folk. He doesn’t mean to be obnoxious, but lord, he can be. Anyhow, he asked around about Berkold and apparently the man has a history of brief affairs. Women love him, men detest him.”

  
“And that’s Macbeth’s business because?” My voice came out a lot sharper than I meant it to be.