The Widow's Walk (4 page)

“Mike!” Liz flipped on the light and ran into the bathroom. She knelt beside him and brushed damp hair out of his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sick!”

“Calm down. Let me get the thermometer . . .”

“Just give me some more of those pellets.”

“Yes, hang on.” She was back in a moment.

His hands shook as he grabbed the small blue tube and frantically twisted the top.

“Let me help.” Sadness and concern spread over her face.

Mike pushed her out of the way, and she landed on her ass. He dumped five pellets into his mouth like a goddamn drug addict in withdrawal. “Where were you?”

“In with Eddie.” She shrunk away, fearful, her eyes wide as saucers.

“The hell you were. I bet that dress is laid across the chair, and that you’ve been on the widow’s walk.” The nausea began to subside. He rose and gulped a drink of water, then tossed the plastic cup onto the floor.

It clattered to rest next to Liz, on her hands and knees, tears running down her face. “No, I wasn’t. I resisted. I did!”

His vision cleared, but Jared was wide-awake, furious, gut-punching Mike on the inside. He didn’t trust himself alone with Liz right now. Something dark, dangerous, impulsive had awakened within him.

Mike walked into Eddie’s room. Soft baby breaths came in regular rhythm. No dress, no shoes, no smell of lavender. Only a strong urine odor from an unrolled, freshly changed diaper on the floor. Liz must have dropped it when she ran to his assistance. She wasn’t lying this time.

He left her sobbing in the bathroom and went to sleep, or at least tried to, in one of the guest bedrooms. Had Jared summoned Elisabeth, or was it the other way around? Was he in any more control of this than Liz?

Chapter 6

I should have just gone up there last night and none of this would have happened. Elisabeth would have stayed hidden, and Mike and I would still be asleep.

Liz gave up on sleep and plopped back down in the bed to watch the sky lighten. Hounding Mike wouldn’t help. How was she going to pretend nothing happened and drive off to class leaving him alone with no one to talk to?

She dressed before Eddie woke and went to make a cup of tea before Mae arrived, grateful for the privacy, the quiet. She took it upstairs and paused before the closed guestroom door. No light filtered out underneath, and there wasn’t a sound coming through the paper-thin walls.

Elisabeth agitated.
This is where I stopped, tempted to go to Jared
.
But I went looking for Edward and drowned. Go up to Edward. Now!

Liz’s impulsive alter-ego hadn’t learned.
No more escapades. You caused enough trouble last night.

The cuckoo clock dinged and clucked seven times, the back door slammed, dishes rattled. Mae and Kevin’s muted voices, snippets of their conversation drifted up the stairs.

“Cold this mornin’ . . .”

“Should be stayin’ off the bay. . .”

“Hope he’s feelin’ better.”

She sank onto her vanity chair and brushed her hair, staring at the image looking back, the woman with dark circles under her eyes, with no laugh lines since she hadn’t laughed in a while. Just a mouth pinched, jaw set.

“Liz.”

Her brush clattered to the floor.

Mike stood in the doorway, beard uncharacteristically scraggly, teeth clenched, eyes

narrowed. “I thought you’d heard me knock.” He ran his hands through his hair in a fruitless attempt to tame the spikes.

She ran to him, but his recoil discouraged her from throwing herself into his arms. “Are you all right?”

He cleared his throat and took two steps back. “Congested, coughing. Didn’t sleep much. I’m going to get some tea and go back to bed.”

“Should I stay home and take care of you?”

Mike laughed. “Take care of me? Finish me off, more likely. No, please go. I hope by the time you get home I’ll have woken up from this nightmare.” He strode out, and his footsteps padded downstairs.

The door to the kitchen creaked open.

“Michael, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” The door swung shut obliterating Mae’s fussing.

Liz kissed the sleeping baby, who’d likely not forgiven his mother leaving before his early morning nursing. Her breasts were already getting sore. But she had to go and would have to find a time and place to use the breast pump. Her toes smashed into the front of her pumps on the way down. She paused at the door to the kitchen. Should she leave without saying goodbye to Mae and Kevin? No, that would be an awful thing to do.

She pushed through. Six eyes trained themselves on the woman responsible for all the tumult. Somehow, she’d gone from a solid, upstanding society matron to a flighty eccentric leading them all down a stairway to disaster.

Mike stared into his tea.

“Mornin’ Liz.” Kevin shuffled from one foot to the other.

Mike must have told them what happened last night.

“I put your tea into a travel cup.” Mae was putting on a good act.

Liz bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t apologize. She had done nothing wrong. “Thanks, Mae. Eddie is still sleeping.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep a listen for him.”

No one else said anything. She pushed so hard the door swung back and forth on its hinges and nearly whacked her in the ass.

As she went out the front, Eddie wailed from upstairs. “Da, daaaaa!” Even he’d given up on her.

The only thing that tasted good, if you could call it taste, was the sweet tea with lemon. Mike wrapped his hands around the cup, trying to recapture some warmth.

Mae came downstairs holding Eddie and the thermometer. “Liz looks God-awful, too.” She handed the baby to Kevin and pressed the gauge onto Mike’s temple.

The beep magnified into a blare through his clogged sinuses.

“No fever. But that cough . . . ya better go to the doctor.” Mae mixed Eddie some cereal.

The baby looked around. His bottom lip started to quiver. “Daa.” He gazed at Mike, forlorn.

Oh, Jeez. Just what I need. A squalling baby.
“She’ll be home soon, slugger. Eat.” Mike plunked down a sippy cup of juice, hoping the sweet liquid would distract him. It worked.

“Got anything laying around I can take for this cold, Mae?”

She paused her baby feeding duties to grab a bottle of liquid and some tablets from a cupboard. “I still think you should go to the doctor.”

Kevin pushed his chair back and dabbed his chin with a napkin. “I’m goin’ to the barn to see to the horses. I can drive ya, Mike.”

“No thanks. I’m okay.” He grabbed the medicine. It was only a matter of time before Eddie’s patience blew. And only a matter of time before Mae and Kevin found out about last night. He wouldn’t be the one to tell them, but how could such a thing stay secret?

Mike stopped off in the guest bathroom
.
Hot shower steam made him cough more. He got out, dried off, and with only a towel around his waist paused in the hall, inhaling fresh air until the spasm passed and made his way to one of the guest rooms.
It’s warmer in here, No ghosts to chill it down. Still out of breath,
he
fastened the bedroom shutters closed to block out the light. That did nothing for the headache.
I wonder if you can take this pain stuff with alcohol
.
Oh what the hell.
He popped the pills and washed it down with a swig of the cold medicine with as much proof as a shot of whiskey. That would help him sleep.

Mike fell onto the bed and lay on his back staring at the door. Would Elisabeth’s ghost come in here looking for him? How could he have pushed his wife like that? She was only trying to help and wasn’t responsible for what happened.

He gave up on sleep, dressed, and went downstairs. Mae was sitting on the floor of the parlor building block towers with Eddie. Some annoying kid’s show droned in the background.

“Goin’ to the doctor?” She called.

“Nah. I took the medicine you gave me, plus the pellets Liz got. I feel better.” Lying seemed to be getting easier and easier, a fact that pricked his conscience like a pin. One untruth would lead to another, then another, and soon he’d be trying to explain more unexplainables.

Mae turned her attention back to Eddie. Mike sneaked out.

The deserted road with blackened snow piled on the shoulders did little to lighten his bad mood. Everything was dead, dormant, deserted. Would the spring ever come, and would his life ever get back to some semblance of normal?

Moonstone Candles and Crystals
was closed. Mike read the calligraphy sign Sandra had left on the door.

Winter Hours by Appointment

Call and I’ll be right down

Blessed Be,

Sandra

(508) 444-6787

“Moonstone, can I help you?” Her voice seemed deeper on the phone.

“Sandra, this is Mike Keeny. I’m over at the shop and need . . .”

“I’ll be right over, sweetie. Three minutes.” She disconnected.

Five passed, but she hurried down the street from her house, her coat unbuttoned and streaming out behind in the winter wind.

She thrust her gloved hand into his, squeezed it, then leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You look awful.”

“I’ve got this rotten cold.” She couldn’t know why he was really here. Sandra unlocked the door. “Liz said you were sick.” A tiny gong resounded as she pushed it open and flicked on the lights.

The twang walked up his spine like sharp fingernails.

“Sit down. “Sandra collected the cards and crystals from a table and moved them to a side counter. “Would you like some tea?”

Mike hesitated. If the guys ever saw him here . . . “Sure.” He sat on the plush chair and watched her fill a silver tea ball with loose leaves.

Sandra put the kettle on a hot plate and joined him, smoothing the black and gold tablecloth as she sat down. “You’re troubled by something. I can see it in your eyes.”

Mike squirmed.
Damn, why didn’t I just go to Davey Jones’ Bar? A few shots would stop the cough, and I could spill all to Davey about my wife having a mid-life crisis. If the guys ever found out about a psychic reading, they’d laugh me off the bar stool.

She took his hands into hers and turned them palm up. Even the gentle touch prickled his skin.

“Sad events in your past. And you need some of this.” She tossed a tube of hand lotion onto the table and got up to attend to the whistling kettle.

He picked it up like it had teeth.

Sandra laughed. “Shea butter. And plain black tea.” She dropped the tea ball into the pot and carried it over on a tray with two cups and a jar of honey. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He rubbed the greasy lotion in and dared look her in the eye. “Where do I begin?  She poured, adding two teaspoons of honey before handing him a floral cup balanced on

a pink saucer. “At the beginning, of course. Though I suspect it has to do with the ghosts.”

He almost dropped the tea in his lap
. I could use that shot of whiskey right about now. Davey just says he understands and serves it up. No questions. No mind reading.

She didn’t wait for a response. “No one has ever stayed in that house for more than one year. I did a paranormal investigation for a couple that once owned it. They noted an odd smell and a cold draft in the master bedroom. They never saw anything, and neither did I. But I sensed a presence. It’s Elisabeth Barrett, I’m sure.” Sandra’s voice went from authoritative to mournful.

Shock faded to relief. “How do you know that?”

She studied him for a moment before responding. “Elisabeth Barrett died long before her time, long before she resolved many issues in her life.”

Jared leaped inside Mike. The voice that spoke was gruff, strained, not his. Mike’s stomach growled, a wave of nausea swept over him. Sandra’s image faded in and out.

“Don’t fight it.” She guided the cup to his lips.

Relief flooded through him, like the tea contained some magic elixir. Maybe it did. His vision cleared. “Why is Elisabeth haunting us?”

Sandra grasped both his hands. “She’s trapped in a sliver of time and wants to break free, to clear up the mystery surrounding Edward’s and her deaths.”

Mike’s skin prickled, and he dropped her hands. Sandra might know how to rout the specters, but how could he his share wife’s innermost secrets without her permission? “I think you could ask Liz to come investigate the house again. But not now. There’s too much other family stuff going on. In fact, please don’t even tell her I came.”

“I don’t impose myself on others. Clients must seek me out.” Sandra smiled and stroked his arm.

The fingernails ran down Mike’s back again. What if Sandra couldn’t be trusted? What would she do with the information? What would knowledge of a haunted house do to its appeal for guests, or its market value

She pushed her chair back and stood. “You came for healing not interrogation. Don’t worry. Paranormal investigators pledge confidentiality.”

Yep, she was a mind reader. What if she read his mind about Jared Sanders agitating? Time to get out of here. “Anytime I talk about ghosts I get edgy.” He took his coat off the back of the chair.

“Let me make you an elixir.” She handed him the same brochure Liz had brought home.

He wanted to walk out, but something kept him there. “Sandra . . .”

“Please, it will only take a few minutes. Mark each one that applies.” She gave him a pen and went to a display case.

He checked off five essences: anxious, tired, sad, angry, worn down, and brought it to her.

She filled a brown bottle with a fruity brandy and took the essences off the rack,

putting in a few drops of each. “Here. Five drops on the tongue once a day. Give it two weeks and you’ll feel better.” She capped it and put it on the counter.

“How much do I owe you?” He took his wallet out of a back pocket.

“Nothing. I owe you for sharing what you know. And I want you to have this key chain.” She polished two smooth round stones, one green, one gold, with a black silken cloth. “Give me your hand.”

He extended it. She traced it across his palm and dropped a key fob into it, then closed his fingers around the crystals.

“
Moldavite
for mental clarity.
Chrysocolla
for peace and forgiveness. Keep this in your pocket. Massage them, look at them when you feel the need. And give this pendant to Liz. It will allow her to release emotion.” Sandra’s eyes narrowed and she looked at the floor. “You both should wear wedding bands with opal inlays. That chases away nightmares and nocturnal delirium. But those stones must be selected by the two of you–together.”

Gooseflesh erupted. Was she putting some sort of a spell or a curse on them? Was he being paranoid? “I want to pay you.”

“No, really . . . Come back and let me know if it helped.”

“Thanks, Sandra.” He extended his hand. In the past he would have hugged her, or kissed her cheek, but not today.

She hesitated, then took it and grasped tightly. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Mike put his cap back on and tipped his hand. Enough of this. “See ya.”

Cold air banished the cloying aromas, the magic, the revelations. But he still felt like shit.