Talisman (46 page)

“Yes. 
WHO
is it?” Chloe called out snidely.

“
Not funny
, Chloe.  I don’t have time for this.  Open the door,” I demanded in a cross tone.

“I’m sorry,”
my little sister apologized with a laugh.  “I’m
not sure
if I
can
let you in. The last time you were here, you acted like a roughneck brawling in a bar.  Mom made
me
clean up the mess that
you
made
ALL BY MYSELF
, so she could go make the funeral arrangements and stop by the hospital to see about her hand THAT
YOU
BROKE!”

I ignored her wisecrack
s and pounded even louder on the door.

“L
et me
in!
” I yelled.

“
Daddy’s service is tomorrow morning. 
Hey
— Katie did such a
good job
getting you ready for the dance…Let’s see how she does making someone over for a funeral,” Chloe snickered.

I could
see she was dead-set on tormenting me, so there was only one thing left for me to do.  I walked over to the front living room window, laid Ty’s jacket on a chair, and picked up a wrought iron plant stand that was sitting on the porch.  Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion overcame me, causing me to stagger backward.

“I’ll tell you what,
” Chloe called out, “If you managed to pick up some manners while you were out, I’ll let you in. 
How’s that sound?
”

I could hear her laugh
ter intensifying.  I didn’t have time for her little games, especially now.  Not only had she pissed me off, but I felt weak and strangely queasy.

Okay, if that’s how she wants to play
.  I removed the plant and swung the sturdy wrought iron stand against the fragile windowpane.  Glass came crashing into the living room.  As soon as I’d tossed the plant stand down on the porch, that “sick feeling” started to subside.  Mentally, I deduced it was stress — “Chloe-stress” — that had been the culprit.  Then I picked up Ty’s jacket and hopped through the broken window effortlessly, making sure I cleared any large shards.

I looked over at Chloe, who was standing in the doorway with her mouth gaped open.  I pointed to the fragments of glass that now litt
ered the floor of living room.

“Oh, you mis
sed a spot,” I simpered snidely as I threw the jacket over my shoulder and strode past her.

“I’m
NOT
cleaning that up!” Chloe raged.

I smiled and kept trotting up the stairs. 
“
I
wasn’t the one Mom told to ‘clean up the glass in the living room’!” I called down to her and gave my bedroom door an extra-hard slam.

I threw myself against the door and slid down to the floor.  My closet door was open, and I stared at the Lavish garment bag still hanging on the hook. 
My bottom lip began to quiver, so I clenched my lips together and took a deep, calming breath.

Everything reminds me of him
.

Even though I didn’t feel like talking, I needed some sort of connection to the outside world, especially if I was going to hold up in here for a while.  I felt so low I figured,
Why even get up
, so I crawled over to my nightstand where I’d plugged in my cell phone.

I looked at the screen. 
Full charge
, I noted.

Missed Calls: 1

Voicemails: 1

Missed Texts: 38

Most of the texts were from Katie and a few from some of my classmates at school, telling me how sorry they were to hear about Daddy…There was one from Charlie, instructing me not to even think about coming in to work next week…And two from Ty.  The first one was from late last night.  It simply said, “I’m waiting.”  The last one was just as straightforward.  “I’m so sorry, Shi…CALL ME.”

I couldn’t deal with returning his text right now, let alone
talking to him. 
What reason would I give him for not calling him back last night?  Mike was possessed, and he attacked me?
  Last night’s little scuffle between them in the parking lot would seem like a tickle-fight compared to what would probably come from
that
disclosure.

Listlessly,
I pressed the button to listen to the voicemail as I picked myself up off the floor and crawled into bed.  As soon as I heard the voice on the phone,
I gasped
.  My eyes began to flood with tears as I listened to the message.

Hey, Shiloh…I wanted to wish you

an early Happy Birthday

I hope Bea didn’t work you too hard today…

Look in your closet before

you head out to the dance…

There’s a little somethin’ in there for you…

But don’t worry, you’ll still get

your cake in th
e mornin’.

I love you, Shiloh…

I’ve loved you from the first

moment I held you in my arms,

almost eighteen years ago.

Like I told ya, I knew you were special,

and I know one day, you’ll finally see

just how special you truly are.

You were brought into this world for a reason…

Not just to
make your old man proud of you…

Good-b
ye, Shi

Hearing my father say the taboo word he would never utter when we parted was haunting.  He was right.  “Good-bye” sounded truly irrevocable —
so final
— especially now.  I threw my head against the pillow and curled my body under the sheets.  His message spoke to me almost like he knew what was headed my way.

How did he know I’m supposedly “special”?
  I quickly dismissed the implication from my head. 
Of course, every father tends to think “his daughter” is “special”…but could he have known his end was near?
  That was the one question I pondered all afternoon and well into the evening.

I cried myself to sleep,
heartbroken but still thankful for my “accidental” birthday present —
Daddy’s message
.  His voice saved forever for
only me
to hear.

Chapter  14  —  My Tears Fell Like Rain

After a
long night of tossing and turning, I found myself wide-awake fairly early.  I rolled over to check the time. 
4:59 AM
.  The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour.  I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.  Aside from the crying and sad reflections, the thing that baited my thoughts the most and forced my mind to race wildly was the question I kept repeating over and over —
WHY?

Why did Daddy have to die?  He’d been murdered, but why?  Why can’t anyone else see that?
  I’d finally gotten a few answers to some of my questions.  However the answers, as irrational as what they were, led to even more speculation. 
Why did I stumble upon that diamond wand?  Why the heck was that thing buried in, of all places, my backyard?  A Talisman?  WHY ME?

My father’s funeral was in
just a matter of hours.  What shred of peace my isolation had provided would eventually come to an end then.  I would rather sneak off to the funeral home to say my farewells to Daddy alone than be surrounded by people constantly telling me “what a great person he was” and that “he’ll be missed”.  I already knew that.  An “in-your-face reminder” wouldn’t serve any sort of purpose.  It would just feel like salt being ground into a fresh, deep wound, and its sting would be nothing less than grueling.  I gazed at my little golden topaz. 
Why couldn’t you make me “invisible” today?

I lay
in my bed for a few more minutes, staring at the ceiling without purpose or reason. 
Whether I’m in here or out there, all of my problems will still shadow me.  Might as well get up while everyone else is still asleep
.  I threw back the covers and planted my feet firmly on the floor.  There was no need to get dressed. I still had on my clothes from yesterday.

I pulled open my lavender bedroom door and listened.  I found the stillness of the dark, lifeless house very soothing. 
Despite the fact that I’d spent most of yesterday locked in my room, I needed the solitude my emotions craved.  My sanity depended upon it.  I crept out of my bedroom, making sure not to rouse Chloe, and tiptoed down the hall.

I
arrived downstairs to the soft pitter-pat of raindrops hitting the roof of the front porch.  I rubbed my eyes and peered out the broken living room window. 
Still raining
.  My eyes were swollen from the countless number of tears that had fallen.  I’d never cried that hard, for so long in my life.  The emptiness of the house overwhelmed me, and I felt more of them about to surface.  I took a deep breath to hold them back, but it was pointless.  They were like the drops of rain.  Nothing could stop their imminent fall until the ugly veil of darkness had lifted.  I couldn’t foresee my heartache being eased anytime soon.

I wish tears w
ere like raindrops…All I would need is the sun to come out and wash away all of my sadness
.

I wandered over to the fireplace
, still plagued by the image of Daddy suffering.  I could see everything with such clarity and felt every twinge of his pain.  My anger escalated as I thought of all the random visions I’d had on the night of his death.  In spite of my induced clairvoyant state, I couldn’t see
who
had killed him. 
By WHOSE hands did my father fall victim to?

I ran my hand along the grain of our oak mantle and stopped at the spot where Daddy’s Christmas stocking would hang, year after year.  Then I turned towards the corner of the room where our Christmas tree would stand.  I could picture Daddy setting it in place like it was yesterday. 
Picking out our annual Christmas tree was always one of
our special outings
.  Charlotte and Chloe would stay home while Daddy and I drove over to Beckley to select one from Mr. Bennett’s tree farm.  Although the drive there and back took about three hours, we would make a day of it.  Charlotte didn’t have a clue that we would sneak off to watch an afternoon matinee and pick out a tree later,
after
the movie.  Daddy always followed up our yearly tradition with a stop by Lynn’s Diner for two steaming cups of hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and extra mini-marshmallows.  My mother always looked madder than a hornet when we returned.  She never understood why it took us
so long
to pick out a ‘simple’ Christmas tree.  Like clockwork, Chloe would be whining for Daddy to hurry up with the lights, so he could lift her up to place the star on top.  Chloe
never
let me touch it.  She claimed it was a job for “fairy princesses” only.  I’d let her have her way, without any fuss, while I thought about our secret outing where “fairy princesses” weren’t allowed.  That helped take away
some
of the sting.

I found
the reflection surreal.  There would be no more moments like that.  Last year’s Christmas with my father was now to be known as
my last
.

A loud r
umble rose from my stomach.  My appetite was nonexistent, but considering I hadn’t eaten anything yesterday, I figured it would probably be wise to throw at least a piece of toast inside my tummy.

As
I crept towards the rear of the house, something in the dining room caught my eye.  I paused for a moment.  Apparently some folks had stopped by yesterday to pay their respects.  Our long, cherry dining table was littered with numerous cake containers and fancy gift baskets.  One in particular caught my eye.  It was a large cornucopia, with various fruits cascading out of it.  It was very cheery and festive, but lying on the dining room table the way it was, forced another disturbing image to emerge.  Solemnly, I stared at the empty armchair at the head of the table.  Thanksgiving was right around the corner.  There would be no “Daddy” sitting there, carving our turkey and stuffing his gut this year…No one helping me prepare any of the food for our feast…No one to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with me…No one to place bets with on all the football games over the holiday.  That chair would inevitably remain empty —
just like my heart
.

I continued down the hall, not knowing if the pains rising from my belly were actually from hunger or my own sorrow.  I staggered into the kitchen and threw a couple slices of bread in the toaster.  I was feeling a bit parched, so I poured myself a glass of orange juice as well.

I nibbled on my modest breakfast while I absorbed the loneliness of the kitchen.  I would have given anything to turn back the clock — just to be in this very room with Daddy, eating his blueberry pancakes. 
Why was I such a stickler about tardiness?
  I would’ve run late in a heartbeat if I’d known our conversation that morning would be our last.  In fact, I wouldn’t have left at all.

I aimlessly looked around the kitchen as I sipped on
my last bit of juice.  There was a note written on the white message board above the phone.  It read:

Ramsey Funeral Home

Wake at 11:00 AM

Funeral at Noon

Graveside Service

Luncheon to follow at Welch Annex

The terrible-twosome rarely wrote anything down. Whether either of them did so for my benefit or not, I felt compelled to make some sort of peace offering.

I really don’t want this day to have any more drama added to it.  I’m already on Charlotte a
nd Chloe’s shit-list.  I could make them some breakfast, and a little cooking might serve as a good distraction.  After all, it’s going to be a long morning, and even though I’m still pretty steamed about the applications, I did break the living room window on purpose…But the curio was truly an accident!

I sprang from my chair and whipped up a batch of buttermilk biscuits
, complete with sausage gravy, in about an hour.  It was officially confirmed that I’d lost my appetite when I finished the gravy and didn’t have the slightest interest in even tasting it.  Once the eggs had been scrambled and placed in a serving bowl, I started brewing the coffee.

My eyes fell on Daddy’s
thermos, which always rested to the right of the coffeemaker. 
That thing will never leave the house again
.  As soon as the coffee stopped brewing, I grabbed the old container and filled it up.  I don’t know what possessed me to do it.  Maybe I just wanted it filled one last time, the way Daddy would do so, right before he went off to work — no cream or sugar, just strong and black.  I had something in common with the old thermos.  It had been “abandoned”, just like me —
but not by choice
.

I heard someone coming down the hall.  
It’s probably Charlotte.  She must smell the coffee
.  I really didn’t want to see her just yet, so I grabbed the thermos and fled out the backdoor, headed straight for Daddy’s workshop.

The weather was still dreary and the rain didn’t seem like it was going to let up one bit.  At the sound of the thunder
roaring above, I bolted across the yard and pulled the hide-a-key out from under the small terra cotta planter that set by the door.  I fumbled with the lock and hurried inside where I knew I could prolong my solitude.  Charlotte rarely came out to the workshop.  I knew she certainly wouldn’t venture out here in this weather, just to pick a fight with me.  At least I didn’t think she would.

One thing was certain —
it was still clean.  Daddy hadn’t been out here at all.  I still didn’t see the rush in cleaning it up for him
that day
.  Even though Daddy had claimed, “he had a lot of projects to work on”, I’d be willing to bet he hadn’t stepped one foot in here since Thursday evening, when I showed him how I’d cleaned it up.

Odd
…

I paused to take a
drink of coffee from the thermos. 
Yuck!  How did he drink this stuff?  No cream, no sugar — No taste!
I decided to forgo any thoughts of a second sip and got right to work.

There were a few little things I hadn’t gotten around to, so I figured,
What the heck
, and grabbed a broom to sweep up all the remaining scraps of wood lying on the floor.  I found a little comfort in knowing I was finishing this for Daddy.  It was the last “official” thing I could do for him.

As I swept, the broom accidently knocked over a drawer from Charlotte’s dresser that he’d been fixing.  It was almost finished, all that lacked was a new front to be cut and attached to the unfinished drawer box.

I spotted the furniture-grade, mahogany board Daddy had picked up to use for the new drawer front lying on top of the table-saw.  I looked out the window towards the house and then back at the lonely piece of wood.

Daddy would hate the thought of a project being left unfinished.  It wouldn’t take much, just a few cuts, countersink some screws, a couple of coats of stain, a little sanding, and slap on a new handle
.

I noticed the board
had already been measured and marked.  It was just lying there screaming, “cut-me, cut-me”.  I felt a little roguish as I approached the only piece of equipment Daddy had ever
forbidden
me to touch, let alone use.  But he wasn’t
here
to fuss at me.  I turned on the table-saw.  A part of me wished the door would fly open, and that he would come running in to punish me for even thinking about using such a dangerous piece of machinery.  I stared at the spinning blade.  I never understood what the fuss was about.  Daddy always said it could “kick-back”, and I might “pull back a nub”.  But
he
never did.  It never “kicked-back” on him —
ever
.

Two cuts…T
hat’s all
.  I placed the board against the guide and took a deep breath.  Carefully, I ran it through the sharp titanium-blade and cut off the excess width. 
Like cutting butter…Perfect.
  I took a second to admire my work. 
See, that wasn’t so hard
.  I still didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

I flipped the board
around and lined up its length, preparing for my final cut. As I started to slowly maneuver the piece of wood through the blade, suddenly, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.  It was flailing about, knocking against the window.  I glanced over to see my feathery little friend flapping its wings, perched on the outside windowsill.  Unfortunately, I stared a little longer than what I should have, because at that moment, the table-saw unexpectedly “kicked-back”.  The jerking force threw my hand, along with the board, up and under its razor-sharp spinning blade.

I automatically
closed my eyes and screamed to brace myself for what was sure to be a horrifically gory mishap.  I didn’t want to see what tragic scene lay before me, so I was too scared to open them.  I could envision an ambulance carting me off and missing my father’s funeral.  That was, if Charlotte even bothered to call 911 before I bled out.

Oddly
enough, I didn’t feel
any
real pain, just a minor tap against my hand.  My rigid body began to loosen up, and I forced open my eyes.  I spied my hand firmly wedged under the saw blade that had
stopped spinning
.  Its claw-like teeth were just pressing against my hand.  The blade appeared to be
“stuck”
while the motor continued to hum.