Give Up the Ghost Page 10

  “Of course, they have one,” Sebastian says, when I hold it up for his inspection. “Aunt Mimi sent it.”

  I want to laugh but there’s a seriousness about his comment. I wonder if she’s been giving him lessons in the Craft too, will pick his brain on the ride home.

  I adore rocks, always have, could always feel their vibrations. The store hums with their magic and I’m as happy in this rock heaven as a possum eating a sweet tater. I think back on Mimi insisting on the power of three so I peruse the store to round out my collection.

  “Looking for something in particular,” the store owner asks.

  “Protection?” I ask shyly.

  She doesn’t inquire further, leads me to a table containing the rainbow-esque labradorite, glassy obsidian, and other black stones such as onyx and the popular black tourmaline, plus a lovely collection of moonstones, one of my favorites.

  She picks up a smoky white stone. “I use selenite for removing negative energy.”

  “Get that one,” Sebastian calls out from behind the bookcase. “I don’t want your bad juju in my car.”

  “Kyanite holds up against bullying,” she explains, showing me a collection of the stones. “It lets you keep a clear head when you’re being assaulted.”

  I hold a lovely piece of raw kyanite, its blues rich as the lake outside my window back in Emma’s Cove. “This will be a nice change from all that black.”

  Sebastian peers from behind the bookcase. “Maybe you aren’t a witch, after all, if you’re only concerned with color.”

  I’m embarrassed that the shop owner heard that remark, but she doesn’t change expression. Guess there are more like me than I realize, even if I’m a witch-in-training with color on the brain.

  “I’ll take these two and that hematite necklace,” I tell her and she gathers up my purchases and heads to the register.

  “Does a necklace count when you’re doing the odd number thing?” I ask Sebastian.

  “Not if you add some earrings,” the lady behind the counter inserts with a grin, as she pushes a pair my way.

  We leave the store loaded down with items. I have six stones in my purse for protection, I’m wearing a hematite necklace with matching earrings, and Sebastian nabs a Saint Michael candle, medal, and statue for his dashboard. He peels off the adhesive on the bottom of the archangel statue and attaches Michael above the radio. Michael now guards over us with a sword in one hand and his foot on the devil. I look at this mighty angel and it’s hard to imagine my husband one of his heirs but then I witnessed TB saving my life from Dwayne’s knife in a flood of intense white light. And there was the time he stopped a convenience store robbery with a tub of Blue Bell ice cream.

  I laugh at the memory, relate to Sebastian what happened in Texas last fall. He shakes his head.

  “Superman TB. Never saw that coming.”

  Before we head out, Sebastian smudges the car with burning sage and I place my stones in my palm for their cleansing as well. I always found “cleaning” stones silly, felt they came to me for a reason in all their natural beauty and I didn’t need to erase the former owner’s energy, if there was a former owner. But I bought a haunted photo once and became one with its story and Gorton followed me home, so keeping my aura clear of these spirits might be in order after all.

  We head toward my new home and call everyone along the way. Clayton insists on me relating every detail and I oblige. He will be checking in with “his guys,” which makes me wonder how I’m being watched by the Feds and if them hanging around will cause Maribelle more grief. Aunt Mimi demands an update and I explain the stones I purchased and she congratulates me on my choices, tells me to put my crystals out when I get home. When I talk to TB and explain how I met Dwayne on the train, I hear him gasping and wonder if he’s hyperventilating again. I tell him to sit down and place his head between his knees and Sebastian looks at me and shakes his head. When I finish the call, he says, “Michael descendant, huh?”

  “You’d be surprised.” But deep down I’m still wondering why TB didn’t know Dwayne was at the station.

  We arrive at the houseboat as the sun’s setting over the lake, casting rays of auburn, amber, and bronze. The night brings a deep chill so I’m thinking a fire in the Franklin stove might create a nice cozy atmosphere. Sebastian grabs his suitcase while I gather my backpack and as I’m throwing it over my shoulder I spot Maribelle through her kitchen window. If I’m not mistaken she’s watching me. I think to wave but what good will it do? Even if she waves back, what will her feelings toward me be tomorrow; the woman’s personality changes as fast as the weather.

  Sebastian follows my line of sight but when he sees Maribelle at the window, pauses and stares.

  “She’s my neighbor, owns the motel.”

  He doesn’t say a word, so I tug at his sleeve. “Come on, TB’s got something hot on the stove.” Sebastian groans so I swat his arm. “No complaining about what we feed you. Or you cook everything from here on out.”

  “I can do that.”

  I smile because that’s exactly what I was hoping he’d say.

  TB opens the door before our feet hit the deck. I know what’s coming so I hand Sebastian my backpack and seconds later TB envelopes me in a massive hug.

  “I’m fine,” I mutter into his flannel shirt.

  He pulls me back, examining me from head to toe.

  “She’s fine,” Sebastian reiterates, “and she’s well-armed with magical stones.”

  TB doesn’t get my rock fascination but that’s okay. If he mans the skies, I’ll take the earthly plane and we should have most of life covered.

  “It’s cold,” I tell my husband who’s still giving me the once-over.

  “Right.” TB pulls back and opens the door wide. Stinky’s waiting for me and if I’m not mistaken, he’s checking me out too.

  “This is home,” I tell Sebastian. “And that’s our cat, Stinky.”

  I show Sebastian my office, which doubles as a guest room, while Stinky follows behind, sniffing everything Sebastian lays on the floor. Without even looking his way, Sebastian leans down and scratches Stinky behind an ear. Stinky immediately starts purring and eventually rolls on his back so Sebastian will have access to his belly. I know where my cat will be sleeping tonight.

  We settle in and grab a bowl of TB’s jambalaya, forgo the small four-top we bought at a garage sale and sit cross-legged on the couch and accompanying chair, bowls in our laps. The Franklin stove hums away, producing a cozy warmth that makes me forget all about evil men on trains.

  Sebastian breaks the silence. “We have to figure out what to do about Dwayne.”

  So much for me forgetting my troubles.

  “That reminds me,” I say, placing my bowl on the coffee table and rising. I head to the bedroom where I keep my precious stones and return with my bag of quartz crystals I’ve had for years.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell the men and head outside before either can object.

  I place a crystal every few feet on the deck surrounding our houseboat, so that when I return to the front door I’ve created a rectangular circle — and yes, I know that’s a contradiction. I chant the words Mimi taught me, asking the Goddess and Mother Earth to protect this home, what’s inside this circle, these lives. I also repeat a few prayers I learned in Sunday School, asking God and the angels for the same.

  As I say the final words, I spot him, Gorton watching from the woods, the trees closing in around him as if to protect my Wisconsin ghost. I want with all my heart and soul to head there and find out what he wants, who MB is, why that person matters. But it’s cold, the woods are dark without the aid of a moon, and for all I know Dwayne waits for me there, hoping I’ll transition Gorton and he can steal his soul.

  Gorton and I gaze at each other for a few seconds, then I head back inside and resume my seat.

  “Finished with your woo-woo?” Sebastian asks.

  I say nothing, try to eat, but my appetite’s long gone.


  * * *

  The following morning I’m not feeling so hot, thinking that maybe coffee wasn’t such a good idea the day before. TB and Sebastian had stayed up talking until the early morning hours but I hit the hay before midnight and now, since the men are still sleeping, the houseboat’s nice and quiet. I decide it’s time to finish that Wisconsin story so I reluctantly drink Maribelle’s tea and feel much better after twenty minutes. I grab a blueberry muffin, enjoy it while I’m typing away, and shake out crumbs from the keyboard.

  It reminds me of when I worked at home and Lillye would climb into my lap, food falling everywhere, her grimy hands all over the desk. But even with the mess, I used to love typing my stories with that little head of soft brown curls beneath my chin.

  I miss her so much my heart literally aches and I have trouble breathing. I know this pain will never disappear but that shrink my mom insisted I see after Lillye died swore that time would make my grief bearable. And, it has. Sort of.

  I think about the twins and wonder if Lillye approves. Having two babies feels like I’m betraying her, moving on, finding new children to love. Of course, that’s ridiculous but what I would give for a sign from my firstborn, something to tell me it’s going to be all right. But that’s the big hope, isn’t it? We all want to know that everything’s going to be okay.

  Wisconsin story finished, I pour myself another cup of tea — it’s growing on me — and gaze out the window toward the woods. No Gorton. But a face suddenly appears and I shriek.

  Maribelle holds up her hands, looking equally frightened. “It’s just me.”

  I open the door and Stinky goes flying out, heading toward the woods.

  “What do you want?”

  I don’t mean to sound snippy but Maribelle’s been a roller coaster from day one.

  She glances around the room. “Are you alone?”

  “The men are sleeping.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I nod toward the living room and she enters cautiously. I offer her some of her magical tea and she accepts so I head to the kitchen to pour a cup.

  “I saw you putting crystals out last night,” Maribelle offers, still gazing around my living room. I can’t believe we’ve been here two months and this is the first time she’s been inside.

  I hand her the cup. “Like I said, I have a man stalking me so it’s a protection thing.”

  She nods, glancing toward the back bedrooms where both doors are closed. She leans forward and whispers, “If you’re worried about protection, you might want to place the stones inside your house.”

  I look around and wonder if I’m missing something.

  “Has someone been here when we’ve been out?”

  “What? Not that I’ve seen.”

  I exhale. I should have borrowed Sebastian’s sage and smudged the house.

  Maribelle takes my hand and I nearly drop my cup. “I’m talking about you being protected. Here.” She nods towards the back bedroom. “From anything he’s capable of.”

  I immediately think she knows of TB’s divine lineage, but that’s highly unlikely since I didn’t know for most of our marriage. And if she did, she’d realize he’s the best protection I have.

  “I’m confused. What are we talking about?”

  Maribelle pulls me over to the couch where we both sit down. “I know about the brochure. The nurse at Dr. Mahoney’s told me about it.”

  “What brochure?” She gives me a look, so I think back to Thursday and my visit to the kind doctor. I shake my head. “What brochure?”

  She leans in closer and whispers, “The one about calling for help, should you need it.”

  Again, I immediately think she knows about Dwayne but how could that be? But then, she smelled the Feds when Clayton arrived.

  “How did you know?”

  She takes my hand. “The bigger question is why didn’t you tell me?”

  I pull my hand away. Now, I’m the one being cautious and suspicious. “Tell you what?”

  She nods toward our bedroom again.

  “TB?” I ask.

  “He seemed so sweet. I have to say I was totally thrown off by him.”

  My jaw drops open when the pieces finally fall into place. The brochure Camille gave me in the library. The nurse seeing it when I pulled the mess out of my backpack. The Cove being a haven for abused women.

  “It’s okay, you can talk about it with me,” Maribelle says.

  Just then Sebastian emerges from his bedroom, heading to the hall bath. He’s busy yawning and scratching his mess of hair but stops abruptly when he spots Maribelle on the couch.

  “Oh, hello.”

  Maribelle blushes at the sight of my half naked brother and Sebastian, in turn, grins seductively. There’s chemistry happening here, can feel the air change like we’ve been invaded by a thousand lightning bugs.

  “Sebastian, this is Maribelle Greene, our neighbor. She owns the motel.” To Maribelle, I introduce Sebastian.

  “Nice to meet you,” she says.

  Do I detect some nervousness? So unlike the tough businesswoman.

  Sebastian’s still smiling, holds up one hand. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says, and disappears into the hall bathroom.

  I look back at Maribelle and she’s smoothing down her thick gray hair that I’ve admired ever since arriving in Emma’s Cove. It’s completely gray, hangs short about her neck, which makes her look older than I suspect she is. If she colored her hair, I’d swear she was my age. But it’s gorgeous and I hope she never does.

  “I should go,” she says, and I wonder if I’m right in sensing she’s attracted to my brother and feeling self-conscious about her looks. She’s dressed in jeans and an old flannel shirt, a wool vest on top that’s worse for wear.

  We both rise from the couch and I walk her to the door. This time, I take her hand.

  “I’m not in an abusive relationship, Maribelle. TB is the sweetest man and would never harm anyone or anything. In fact, just the opposite.”

  She’s not buying it, or at least still suspicious. “I’m here if you need me.”

  I have to laugh. “Since when?”

  My last comment stings and she straightens her back. “We have reasons why we’re this way.”

  I wonder how many women in Emma’s Cove are victims of domestic abuse, think of how Maribelle lost her career because her obsessive husband wouldn’t let go and died tragically. I think of Dwayne and how I jumped when Maribelle walked by my kitchen window.

  “I understand.”

  “Maybe we can do breakfast sometime or talk about it?” she asks.

  “Absolutely.” Then a brilliant idea comes to mind. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight. Sebastian’s a chef and I’ll get him to make something special.”

  Finally, a smile, accompanied by a soft glow on her cheeks. “That would be lovely.”

  “We can talk about that man I told you about. You should know the details, in case he shows up here.” I swallow hard because the likelihood Dwayne might visit, despite Clayton’s guys watching the house, are pretty damn good.

  She nods, brushing a loose hair behind an ear. I really hope she doesn’t go home and color it.

  “I’ll bring wine.”

  “And more of that tea?” I ask sheepishly.

  We smile and for the first time I feel like we’re friends.

  I head back inside as Sebastian’s entering the living room, pulling on a shirt. “Where did she go?”

  I laugh because my twin’s cheeks are blushing pink.

  “Home. But she’ll be back for dinner. And you’re cooking.”

  As he buttons up his shirt and stares out our big picture window, I can almost see the wheels spinning inside Sebastian’s head. “Is there trout in that lake?”

  “Absolutely. And it’s delicious.”

  “Meunière sauce. My special asparagus. Crab and corn bisque if I can find some fresh crabmeat in this wilderness. Bananas Foster for dessert.”

&n
bsp; “Okay, stop. I’m getting hungry.”

  Sebastian finally looks my way. “I’ll do breakfast.”

  “Music to my ears.”

  After eggs Benedict, toast and Cajun hash browns cooked with red peppers, onions and Tony Chachere spice from home — my mom sent it along with Sebastian in addition to several other Louisiana food products — the three of us head into the tiny downtown of Emma’s Cove. I show Sebastian the diner and mention its fantastic biscuits and gravy, the library and post office combination, and the lovely old buildings lying vacant. Sebastian pauses in front of the historic two-story building with its elegant cast iron metal façade, studying it carefully. As if on cue, we both peer into the front window and the inside appears as healthy as the exterior. The ground floor consists of a large room with fireplace in the center of one wall and a counter at the back. Shelves cover the opposite wall, many of which look to be in good shape. I’m thinking this was Emma Cove’s general store.

  I place a hand on his shoulder and lean in close, whisper in his ear, “Would make an awesome restaurant. Especially one without a set menu, where the chef would create masterpieces for his visitors.”

  A smile begins at the corners of Sebastian’s lips and I detect he’s thinking the same thing.

  “Bet the second floor would make a nice living area too,” I add.

  “Would need some money and a lot of help.”

  I squeeze his shoulder. “I know a carpenter.”

  We look at the building next door but it’s much smaller and in need of structural support, lacks the other’s charm. One exterior brick wall slants slightly and there’s a major hole in the second-floor roof.

  “We tackle that one once we’ve made the big bucks,” I say with a grin.

  We walk down to the edge of the lake, stand on that brown patch of earth. We’re all admiring the beauty of our cove, especially now that the rain has passed and the sun’s warming us all. The men pull off their jackets and spread them on the ground, then sit down and let the sun warm their faces. I stand, watching the sun play tag with the lake waters, still thinking about that vision I had in Chattanooga.