Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Novel (A Chick-lit Paranormal book) (The Angela Panther Series) (3 page)

“Ma?”

I heard her laugh her loud,
that’s really funny
laugh.

“Ma?”

“Whoops.” She reappeared and shuddered. “I guess I can’t touch everything, and I gotta tell ya, that’s okay.” She shook her whole body and little flickers of light floated from her.

It was disturbing. My mother sparkled. Never would I have used the word “sparkled” when describing Ma. “Exploded like a bomb” would have been a better description, but at that moment, she actually sparkled.

“That whole passing through things feels creepy,” she continued. “When that man at the funeral home walked through me, I thought I might barf. It made me sick to my stomach. Huh. I wonder if I still have a stomach?” She tried to touch where her belly should be but couldn't grab anything of substance. "Humph."

In life, my mother was a beautiful, robust woman. She had curves that she hated, and always wanted to be thinner, smaller, and taller. I’m not sure if I got my body image issues from her or if that’s how all women feel, but I loved her curves. She wasn’t fat. To me, she embodied strength, both mentally and physically. I admired that and yearned for it for me. It was heartbreaking to watch cancer rob her body of its stature, in the end leaving her nothing but skin and bones. She often joked that she’d be skinny for eternity, but I never quite saw the humor in her dying. In that moment, as I watched her floating next to me, I saw the more voluptuous Ma, just a little transparent. The irony of how she was when she died and what I saw then was not lost on me, but I wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud. It wasn’t just her shape that changed. Her eyes regained their bright blue hue, and her nose was no longer red from years of uncontrolled allergies. Her lips were fuller, like the lips I remembered from my childhood, not lips that were permanently crinkled from inhaling the poison of a cigarette. She was beautiful, but something didn’t seem right. I stared at her until the little light bulb over my head turned on.

“Ma, where are your dentures?”

She touched her hand to her mouth. “Huh. Beats the hell out of me. Maybe ghosts don’t need dentures.” She smacked her lips together, making an odd sound.

I hugged myself to ward off another chill. “I have them. They’re in the medicine cabinet in the kitchen.” Tears welled up in my eyes and I wiped them away, not wanting to cry about something as simple as her dentures.

“Ah, Madone.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Throw those things away. They’re older than dirt. What did you think you’d do, use them for yourself some day? Goodness, child. You have beautiful teeth. I always loved them. They were like my real ones, so big and strong, until I was pregnant with your brother and he sucked the calcium right out of them, that is,” she touched her mouth again and sighed.

“And you wonder why I’ve never really liked him.”

Ma was serious. “Ang, you gotta let that go and be nicer to your brothers. Leave the past in the past because pretty soon it’ll be just you three.”

The hairs on my neck stood up. “What are you saying, Ma? Are you saying something’s going to happen to Dad?”

She shrugged and gazed up at the ceiling. “I’m not saying anything, Angela. It’s just the way it is. No one lives forever; so don’t waste your time on the past. What’s done is done. You gotta move on.”

“What’s this? You die and suddenly you’re all patient and forgiving? That’s a crock, Ma, and you know it. Patience was never your virtue and forgiveness wasn’t even in your vocabulary, so don’t go acting like you’ve seen the light or something and tell me how I should act now, because you know if you were still alive, you’d be singing a totally different tune.”

She widened her eyes and we both burst out laughing.

“So you believe me now? You believe I’m a ghost?”

“You’re not my imagination, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are you here? Didn’t you see the light? You’re supposed to go to the light, Ma. I mean, there is a light, right?”

My mother threw her arms up in the air, and floated around the room. “All my life I told you if I could, I’d come back, and you always said,
good Ma, come back
. But when I do, you tell me I should have gone to the light. For the love of God, Angela, make up your mind.”

She was right. I did always say that, I just never thought it would actually happen.

“Geez, Ma." Like mother, like daughter, I threw my hands up in the air, too. “Cut me some slack here, will you? I don’t know what to think. It’s not like I’ve been seeing ghosts my whole life. This is new to me, and honestly, you’re freaking me out a little. I can see through you, and you’ve got these little sparkly things flying off of you. This is messed up, Ma.”

She frowned and mumbled, “Caro Dio perdona la mia figlia per la sua crudeltà.”

Ma always spoke in Italian when angry or when she prayed for her kids. This time she was praying.

“I don’t mean to be cruel, Ma. God doesn’t need to forgive me. In fact, you need to understand how freaked out I am right now.” “I freak you out, do I? You want I should disappear and not come back? I can do that, Angela. Say the word and I’m gone. Poof. Out of your life and back into the light forever.”

I rubbed my temples, and felt a headache starting. “No, Ma. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying you need to give me a little leeway here, so I can wrap my head around this, is all. You think you can you do that for me Ma?”

She bent her head. “You should clean this carpet.”

“Ma.”

“Oh, fine. Fine.”

“Thank you. So about the light, there is a light, right?”

“Yes, Ang, there is a light, and I’ll go back to it. I just got some stuff to do down here first.”

I didn’t know how this afterlife stuff was supposed to work, but I thought that once a person died and went to the light, they were supposed to stay there, not go back and forth. Maybe Ma didn’t actually see the light and she was afraid to tell me.

I’m no ghost whisperer, but I was willing to try. I leaned forward, and put on my most sincere face. “Do you see the light? Go to the light, Ma. Your family is there, waiting for you.” I couldn’t help myself. I searched for the light.

“Ah, Madone, knock it off, will you? I’ll go back when I’m darned good and ready. Your grandmother, she knows I’m busy taking care of things down here. She was just dead once too, ya know.”

I instantly felt tears well up in my eyes. “You saw Grandma?”

“Of course I saw Grandma. What do you think happens when you go to the light? Didn’t you ever listen to that psychic on TV? The one from that show, what was his name again?” She paused, and then flicked her hand in the air. “Pfft. I can’t remember. But yes, I saw your grandmother and your grandfather and your auntie Rita, too, but I told them I’d be back. I said to them, I said, I’ve got
affare non terminato
down there, and here I am.”

“John Edward, Ma.” I told her. “John Edward is the psychic with the TV show. And what do you mean you’ve got
affare non terminato
, unfinished business? We took care of everything before you...you know.”

“I died Angela. Before I died. You can say it, you know. It’s not like it’s gonna change. I’m deader than a doornail, already a pile of gravel in a fancy little bottle, so you might as well get used to it.”

Get used to it? It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours.

“What unfinished business, Ma? Maybe I can help you with it, so you can, you know, get back to the light?”

“Stuff. I’ve got stuff to do, and...and it’s not your business anyway, so don’t you worry.” She turned and stared at the wall. “You really need to paint down here. A nice light gray would be pretty.”

I fell back onto the couch and covered my head with a throw pillow. Flip me over and put a bun on me because I was done. I was seeing the ghost of my mother and she was telling me to redecorate.

T
he sound of feet thumping on the ceiling woke me out of a sound sleep. Emily was getting ready for school, and at fifteen and one hundred and five pounds, she carried herself like a Clydesdale. It took me a minute, but I realized I’d fallen asleep on the couch in the basement. I wasn’t sure when or how, but when I tried to stretch, my body felt like it was in rigor, so I knew I slept hard. Yikes, the thought of a body in rigor sent a chill up my spine. I never realized how often I referred to death in some way until Ma died. It was sort of like buying a new car. You never notice the color of the car you want to buy until you buy it, and then suddenly everyone has your car in your color. I snuck a quick peek around the room but didn’t see Ma. I felt a little guilty as I breathed a sigh of relief, so I made the sign of the cross, even though I’m not Catholic. Better to be safe than sorry was my motto. I dragged myself upstairs and straight to the coffeepot to reheat what had been fermenting since the day before. Reheated coffee is better than no coffee, especially when you’re desperate.

“Hey,” Emily grunted as she fed the dog. “You’re gonna drive me to school, right? It’s raining.”

I’ve never been the
drive my kids to school
kind of mother. We pay taxes for the bus. The bus stops two houses down from ours. It wasn’t a mile, uphill, both ways, in a foot of snow and barefoot. As a freshman I rode the bus, unless I could bum rides from friends, so Emily was SOL. I shuffled over to the kitchen window and peeked through the blinds. “It’s barely raining Em, and the last time I checked, you had three umbrellas in your cubby. You can take the bus. It won’t kill you. Might even grow hair on your chest.”

Cue eye roll and lip curl. “Gross, Mom. I’m a woman, not a dude.”

Did fifteen-year-old girls even have a sense of humor?

“You’re not a woman, Em. You’re a teenage girl and you’re taking the bus.”

She rolled her eyes again and I secretly hoped they’d get stuck that way. Hey, I’m only human.

“I guess I can’t straighten my hair then.” She stomped up the stairs.

“You’ll survive,” I snipped back, and I didn’t feel bad about it, either.

I took a swig of the stale coffee, relished its thick, leaded goodness, and imagined the day when Emily would have a daughter of her own. Revenge is sweet.

I grabbed my phone and texted Mel. “My mother just died and Emily is being pissy at me. What’s up with that? I swear, if Adam had bit into that damn apple first, men would be mothers and women could scratch their privates in public.”

“And we wouldn’t have invented tampons, so they’d have to wear pads,” she responded.

“Oh, no. We’d still have them wearing those diaper thingies with the belts like our mothers wore. That would be awesome.”

“Exactly! How’re you holding up?”

For a minute I’d almost forgotten my mom had died, but it suddenly hit me in the face like a big, heavy cement block. I wiped a tear from my eye.

“I’m okay. Have to go through pictures so my brothers can make a video for the memorial. Not too excited about that.”

“Can’t blame you. Dropping the kids at school and coming to help.”

“K.”

Emily made it to the bus, in the rain, with only an exaggerated sigh and after she left; Josh, always the easy one, took an umbrella and told me not to worry about walking him in the rain because he didn’t even brush his hair this morning.

“Have a good day, Mama, and don’t be sad.” He left through the garage.

Mel showed up with twin grande caramel frappes from Starbucks and a big slice of red velvet cake from Target. “They didn’t have any cupcakes so I got the next best thing.”

My mouth watered at the sight of the cake and I felt a little guilty for focusing on something yummy instead of wallowing in my sorrow.

“I don’t think I should eat that. It’s red velvet. You know what that does to me.”

“Yes, I know, and stop feeling guilty. It’s totally appropriate to have a cake-gasm after you lose your mother. She’d want you to feel good.".

“I think she’d want me to wallow.”

“Seriously? Your mother was Italian, Ang. Italian. They live, no pun intended, to please the palate. They’re all about experiencing oral orgasms.”

“Oh my God, you did not just say that and reference my mother.”

“Yes, I did. Go ahead, laugh. You know you want to.”

So I did, and Mel did too, but I still didn’t touch the cake. Mel sensed my angst.

“Come on, eat it. Fran would want you to. She’s probably looking down at you right now and screaming for you to before she finds a way to have it herself, Ang, so eat the darn thing and don’t feel bad about it. Consider this an oral orgasm from me.”

“You’re not my type." I searched the room for Ma, but she was MIA. I wonder if that meant she didn’t see the cake?

“Seriously woman, it’s just a piece of cake, eat it.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.”

“Then go ahead
Marie
." She referenced my impression of Carrie Fisher’s character in
When Harry Met Sally
, our favorite chick flick. “Eat the cake.”

"Oh, you got an '80's movie reference. Finally."

"I'm learning from the master, now eat it."

So I did. And I liked it, but only a little.

We spent the rest of the day going through old photos, telling stories, and laughing at my bad fashion choices memorialized in print.

“I’m confident banana clips will be back in style again."

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

“But leggings came back, and all that Flashdance crap is back, so why not?”

“Because banana clips were never actually in fashion, Ang.”

“You don’t have to be rude.”

“It’s what best friends do to protect each other. Besides, you’d look like a puffball with one of those things. I’d be embarrassed to be seen with you.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’d be envious and jealous of the attention I received because of my well-styled mane.”

“Keep thinkin’ that. I never once wore one of those hideous things.”

“That’s because you have perfect Asian hair. You don’t have a lion’s mane on the top of your head like me.”

“I would kill for your hair.”

“You can have it, if you’ll bring back the banana clip.”

“There are some things I won’t do, even for you, Angela.”