The Sasquatch Hunter's Almanac (41 page)

V
ANESSA SPENT MOST
of those first few days on the couch, greeting well-wishers, feebly eating from the paper plates offered to her, speaking with lawyers and funeral-home directors and anyone else who managed the boring paperwork of the dead. The nights passed more garishly. She slept in fits and starts, her quietude crumbling without warning into a lurid, private panic, followed again by a catatonic calm. The darkness added to her grief; she pined for the mornings and was relieved when they finally arrived, however late and leisurely. The night after hearing about Eli's ghost was the first night Vanessa slept well. She woke to find morning waiting for her, streaming across the bedspread with its thin cold light. She could hear the houseguests stirring, Ginger in her old bedroom, Amelia and Jim in the guest room. She rose to find Amelia.

The guest room was on the first floor, and Amelia had turned it into her own personal pigsty, littered with magazines and drained tea mugs and plates of half-eaten sandwiches. Jim was there, too, Amelia's husband, a man whom Vanessa would have liked to enjoy less. He was a pretty fantastic guy. This was confusing for Vanessa. It suggested that Amelia, too, was fantastic.

Amelia and Jim's children were with Jim's mother, who lived slightly north of Lilac City.

Vanessa asked Amelia to step outside with her, and Amelia begrudgingly complied. Once there, standing on the back deck, shivering, Vanessa asked Amelia about Eli.

Amelia wrapped her arms around herself tightly. “I can sense what he's doing now. It's like he's part of my brain. Or like a prisoner I've brainwashed. For example, I don't need to look over my shoulder to know he's doing something disgusting.”

“Disgusting? Like what?”

“Like dry-humping a tree. Like a dog. Panting while he does it.”

Vanessa put her face in her hands, wanting to scream.

“I'm just kidding. He's just floating there, like an idiot. Floating and waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“Yeah. Waiting for me to say okay.
Okay, you're free, Eli. You can go, little buddy.
”

“Why won't you?” Vanessa cried. “Why won't you say it?”

For a moment, Amelia put on her cruelest expression, and Vanessa braced herself for the next invective, but then something changed in her stepdaughter's face, and it was no longer Amelia the confident woman who stood before her, but Amelia the confused child, the brave-seeming girl who wet her bed into her early teens.

“I don't know,” Amelia muttered. “I want him to be there. Just this once. I want him to be there, to be around. In whatever way he can be. You know?”

Vanessa chewed on her lip. Amelia trembled. Probably from the cold, but also maybe not.

Vanessa studied the grove of apple trees. Outlined in those fragile, hoar-frosted limbs was Amelia's life: how alone she'd been, how starved for her father's attention. Vanessa recalled the night of her wedding to Eli, when they dropped Amelia off at her mother's house; Vanessa had spotted Gladys standing sentinel at the upper window, her pale hand holding open the curtain, her bitter face glowering down at them all, even at her own daughter. What a horrible fate for any girl.

Thank God it had not been Ginger.

“He's not there,” Vanessa found herself saying. “He's not.” It was so very true what she said, and she saw the truth of it cross Amelia's face, saw the anger return, the embattled cruelty. “You made the whole thing up. He's with me.” She felt him there. “He's always been with me.”

Amelia clenched her fists for a moment, as though she had been bitten and was shocked by the pain. And then, exhaling, sounding exhausted or just plain bored, she said, “Okay. Whatever. It was only a big joke, anyway.”

Vanessa muttered her thanks. She was relieved. Now she almost felt as if she could move forward. Eli was free.

She wanted no hard feelings. She owed it to Eli to be good to Amelia. She came forward with her arms open, intending an embrace.

Amelia recoiled.

“Fuck off, Vanessa,” she said, and reentered the house.

AMELIA

The truth is, Eli, I'm not going to let it all go that easily. I lied to Vanessa. You're not some big figment of my imagination, as she'd like to think, but that was my gift to her. She's happy now. She's humming away downstairs while Jim and I pack; she's humming away, “Que Sera, Sera” (God, I hate that song). Maybe she's humming it to you, drinking her wine, looking forward to having the house emptied. I'm glad for her. That sounds bitchy, sarcastic, but it's not. I'm glad for her and her future solitude.

I suppose she'll still be a part of our lives, but she's only ever been a small part and that's how she'll stay.

Ginger asked me one day, years ago, when she was still little enough to be forward about those things, You don't like my mom, do you?

I was taken aback by the question, and then thoughtful. I said to her, I don't know your mom, Ginger.

I was trying to be nice when I said it, but how true it was.

It wasn't about hatred, like I'd always thought. It was just that we were strangers.

Oh, Eli. You're jumping up and down now, throwing your arms all about, sitting on top of my luggage as though to keep it closed (which is useless, remember? You're still the consistency of a fart). You don't want me to leave here. You want me to stay here, because you want to be here, too. At your house with your wife and your other daughter.

That stopped you, didn't it? Here you are now, sulking. You're ashamed. I'm right, aren't I?

Thank you. Thank you for nodding.

It's nice to see this side of you.

But, Eli, I can't leave you here. It's been uncomfortable, having you around all of the time, but it's also sort of great.

I don't know you, either.

I know Gladys. Poor Gladys. She's unwell (says the daughter who is talking to a ghost, ha-ha).

I know Ginger, sort of. Poor Ginger. She's unwell, too. Not in the vindictive way of Gladys, but, God, so guilt-ridden.

You did a number on us all, didn't you, Eli?

Or did we all do it to ourselves?

Because I know you didn't mean it. Just like Marion didn't mean it.

I even know you loved us. You were selfish and stubborn about it, but you did.

Jesus, I hope I'm not accidentally forgiving you here. I mean very much for you to spend the next thirty years trailing me like a misshapen shadow. You owe me that much. Wouldn't you agree?

You're opening your arms up to me, offering an embrace. That's so unnecessary.

But. Fine. I'll hug you back.

Just this once.

Jim's watching me. His mouth is slightly open; he's off-balance. I shake my head at him, warning him not to come closer. In one of his hands is a tube of toothpaste. His medicine bag, in the other hand, is ajar, about to spill its contents onto the floor: my Xanax, my sertraline, our Ambien. He watches me wordlessly as I open my arms up to nothing, fold my arms around nothing, hug nothing hard.

Harder than I mean to.

It's humiliating, Eli, my crying like this again.

Your bathrobe is dry and scratchy. It smells like my childhood.

Jim says to me, Amelia. Honey. Are you okay? What are you doing? Who are you talking to?

I can't talk to Jim right now. I want to but I can't. My head is lolling on your shoulder. I can feel how there you are, how not there you are.

I'm so pissed at you, Dad.

I'm so glad you're here.

Just wait for one more minute, okay?

 

AFTERLIFE

 

 

LIFE SICKNESS

Four days after his death, Eli attended his own funeral service.

The Fates were there, too: the tentacled grandma, the apelike mother, the chicken-legged granddaughter; they were his escorts to the underworld.

Eli met the Fates at the instant of his passing. They sat together on the rocky floor of a misty gray hillside. The cliff face swelled over a large lake, also smooth and gray. Other ghosts sat on opposing cliff faces, either alone or with their own strange witches.

“Daughters of the Air, we're called,” Ape Mom told him. “Fates, to the layperson. It used to be, before they changed our benefits, that we'd earn our souls back by doing good deeds, but
those in charge
decided to cut corners.”

“The retirement package is total shit,” Chicken Legs said.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Eli said, but he was neither sorry nor glad.

“Well, it gets worse,” Ape Mom said. “You're our last job.”

“Really?” Eli asked indifferently.

“It's true,” Chicken Legs confirmed, bobbing up to him on her enormous speckled gams. “We've been laid off.”

“We're not the first,” Ape Mom said. “The whole underworld's in debt. We thought we were safe, having worked here for three billion years, but just when you get comfortable…”

“We're being replaced,” Chicken Legs said. “Or they're just letting you souls police yourselves.”

“I'm sorry,” Eli told them again.

Ape Mom shrugged her wide, hairy shoulders. “Ah. You know. I like to look at the bright side. We've all got things we'd like to do.”

“
I
don't have anything else
I
want to do,” Chicken Legs grumped. The tentacled grandma growled deep in her wide throat. “Right. Neither does she,” Chicken Legs added, thumbing at the bulging squid.

“We got a good severance package,” Ape Mom reminded them.

“It's no golden handshake,” Chicken Legs said.

Gramma grunted. She waved her tentacles around and then brought two of them together to make a malevolent cutting motion.

“Yeah, yeah, Gramma,” Ape Mom said, rolling her eyes. Then, to Eli: “She's going to miss killing people off. Only thing she's good at, she thinks. She should take up knitting! With those arms?”

“I hope all goes well for you,” Eli said mechanically.

“I forgot your emotions are shut off,” Ape Mom laughed. “You'll feel like yourself again once we're reality-side.”

Time passed, but aside from the random banter of his attending Fates, Eli was not aware of it. He was uncertain if an eternity had passed or only a moment when Ape Mom slapped him on the back and said, “Time to go, hombre. Up and at 'em.”

Eli rose obediently to his feet. He blinked at the same gray cliff face he'd stared at for ages. Gramma slithered forward and put a tentacle on him, and he felt electrocuted.

The world snapped into focus. Sharp colors blinded him; the strong smell of fresh flowers made him want to retch. His senses, reborn, overpowered him. He dropped to his knees, cowering with his hands over his ears to muffle the loud sound of a ceiling fan. It occurred to him that, other than the detached, soft voices of the Fates, he had heard no sounds since his death.

The worst of it was that the return of his woe—everything from life that was undone, all of his ambitions, all of the people he missed—overcame him.

“Life sickness,” Ape Mom told him pityingly. “It'll pass. Hang in there. In another minute, it'll be like you never left.”

She spoke the truth. Soon enough the intensity faded, and Eli was able to pick himself up. He saw, with some embarrassment, that he was naked. Ape Mom noticed the pained expression on his face and told him not to worry.

“You're nude as the news, yeah, but no one can see you.”

Chicken Legs sneered. “
We
can see you.”

Gramma appreciated this and shook with what Eli figured was laughter.

Ape Mom rolled her eyes. “Don't listen to them. They couldn't care less about your dick and your unwashed butt.”

Blushing, Eli tried to ignore the three attendants and concentrate on his surroundings.

He recognized the room. They were in the old Palouse grange. A few familiar people wandered around as though lost. The grange had three tables, laid with punch and food and, Eli saw approvingly, alcohol. An expensive silver frame housed a black-and-white photo of Eli's face. It sat prominently on the table, staring back at him with an important expression.

Eli the Ghost floated over to study Eli the Man.

Vanessa had chosen an older photo of him, the photo used by his practice back when he'd been a podiatrist, back when he'd been married to Gladys.

He looked young. Striking, one might say. In this photo, he looked exactly like a man at the top of his game, a man who would never die.

Wow,
Eli the Ghost thought,
what bullshit.

A car door slammed.

“More guests,” Ape Mom announced.

“Does he even know what's going on?” Chicken Legs asked.

“Of course I do,” Eli said irritably. “This is my funeral service.”

“Saucy!” Chicken Legs said. “It's always fun to see their personalities come out, huh?”

Gramma waved her tentacles in agreement.

“Try not to bother him too much, dear,” Ape Mom told Chicken Legs. “He's got a lot to figure out this afternoon.”

Chicken Legs sulked, picking at the wooden floorboards with the claws of her feet.

Ape Mom explained to Eli then: He was here to finish his life's most important business.

“My most important business? What is that?”

“Don't ask me,” Ape Mom said. “Has nothing to do with us. It has to be a resolution of your choosing. And, sorry to say, it can't be a grocery list.
One thing only
. Just one thing you want resolved.”

“And then what happens?”

Ape Mom shrugged. “We resolve it. Sort of.”

“How will I know what it is?” Eli asked. He could think of a million things he wanted to do: make love to Vanessa once more, for example, or publish a final paper about Mr. Krantz's whereabouts. “How will I know if I made the right choice?”