Bad Connection (20 page)

“Hey, Mom,” I say somewhat cautiously.

“Hi, Sam.” She kicks off her shoes and flops down on the couch. “What a day.”

“Want a soda?” I ask as I head for the fridge.

“No. I'm too cold already. It's nearly freezing outside. I've heard we might even get a little snow again.”

“How about some tea?” I offer.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

“Constant Comment?” I call out, knowing that's her favorite.

“Lovely.”

Now, as I make us a pot of this sweet, spicy tea, I'm wondering if her relatively calm demeanor means that she's okay about my going to Phoenix, or does it mean that she said “Absolutely not” and is trying to be nice because she thinks I'll be disappointed. I decide not to say anything, just to play it out.

Mom's flipped on the news as I join her with our tea. “Thanks,” she says as I hand her a mug. She takes a sniff. “Mmm, perfect.”

I sit beside her, absently watching the news show on CNN.

“You still going to the movie with your friends?”

“Yeah. They'll be here in about an hour.”

She smiles. “That's nice.”

Okay, the curiosity is killing me, but I'm determined to wait for her to say something. Then I see a photo on TV that makes me nearly'drop my mug of tea.

“Turn that up, will you?” I lean forward to peer at the same photo I picked out at the police station just a few days ago.

“The victim has been Identified as nineteen-year-old Elena Maiesa,”
the woman reporter is saying,
“a second-year student at Arizona State. Maiesa was reported missing by friends shortly after classes began in September Although no foul play was suspected at the time, according to our sources, Maiesa died of strangulation and may have been deceased for more than two weeks. No suspects have been disclosed as of this date, but police ask that anyone having any knowledge of this case contact them. “
And just like that, they move on to the next story.

But I just sit there in shock. Somehow seeing it all in front of you, pictures of Elena and footage of the place where her body was found—well, it's totally unnerving.

A
re you okay?” my mom asks with a worried expression.

I just stare blankly at her, but my hands are shaking so much that I have to set my mug of tea on the coffee table before I spill it.

“You look like you just saw a ghost, Samantha.”

I nod. “Yeah. I kind of feel like I did.”

“What are you talking about?” She frowns at me. “Are you having some kind of a vision or something?”

“Did Ebony call you today?”

“Ebony?”
She looks confused now.

“You know, the detective at the—”

“I know
who
she is. But why would she call
me?
Is something wrong with Zach? He didn't run away from the rehab place, did he? Or did the police find out something new? Was he more involved in the drug deal than we—?”

“No, it's not about Zach.”

“What then? Why should Ebony call me?”

I take in a deep breath, silently asking God to lead me. I really didn't want to be the one to break this to Mom. “That girl on the news just now,' Elena Maiesa.

The college girl who was murdered?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know her?”

“Sort of.”

“Was she from Oregon? Did she live in town?”

“No, I never actually met her, but I had a dream, a week or so ago…she was in it.”

“But you never met her?”

“No.”

“Then how did you know it was her?” Mom is clearly confused now. And I can tell she's getting irritated too.

“It's a long story,” I say quickly. “But I'll try to condense it. You already know that I was helping Ebony with Kayla's case. But then I had this dream about Elena, only I thought it was Kayla. But then I saw her face, and she obviously doesn't look anything like Kayla.”

“Obviously.” Mom scowls as she studies me.

“And then I had a vision, just a few days ago, only in this vision the girl was dead.”

“Oh, Samantha.” Mom closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, and I can sense that she's disgusted with this—with me.

“I can't help it, Mom. It's not like I ask for these dreams and visions. They just come to me and I have to—”

“I think you should go see Paula again.”

Paula is Mom's shrink-friend, the woman I went to see last year when Mom thought I was losing it. “I'm not crazy, Mom.”

“But this is not normal, Samantha. Having visions about dead girls is not normal.”

“What
is
normal?” oo

She sadly shakes her head as she wraps her hands around her mug of tea. “Sometimes I'm not too sure.”

Maybe this is normal for me,” I say in what I hope is a calming tone. “Dad understood it. And Grandma McGregor would've understood it. Ebony even seems to o understand it.”

Mom narrows her eyes at me. “I suppose you wish Ebony was your mother.”

“No, of course not. I just wish you could understand this. I wish you could accept—”

Just then the doorbell rings. “Is that your friends?”

“No, it's too early. But I'll get it.” Eager to get out of this conversation, which seems to be going nowhere but down, and quickly, I go to see who's at the door. To my surprise, and huge relief, it's Ebony.

“Sorry to just show up like this,” she says as I let her in, “but I tried and tried to reach your mom, and when I finally got through, they told me she'd gone home. Since I was already in my car, I thought I'd just pop in. Is that okay?”

“Of course. Come on in. Mom's in the family room.” I call out to Mom, announcing that Ebony is here.

“Well, that's ironic.” Mom waves to Ebony without getting up. “We were just talking about you. Well, sort of. Have a seat.”

“Can I take your coat?” I offer, and Ebony hands me her pretty suede jacket, which I carefully hang over a chair.

“Sorry to just burst in here.” Ebony sits next to my mom, “but I really need to talk to you, Beth.” I'm surprised
that Ebony is calling Mom by her first name now, but maybe this is something that transpired when she helped her with Zach last week. “

Is this about the girl who was murdered in Arizona?”my mom demands.

Ebony glances at me. “Samantha told you about that?”

“We just watched it on the news.”

Ebony nods. “Yes. That's part of it.”

“Well, I was just telling Samantha that I'm getting very concerned. Thi$ is not normal behavior for a sixteen-year-old—”

“Almost seventeen,” I remind her. “Less than a month.”

“Fine, seventeen-year-old girl. It's still not normal.”

“I'm sure it must be confusing,” says Ebony. “Gifts like this are hard for people to understand, but you have to respect that your daughter is special.”

“Oh, I know she's special…” Mom sort of smiles. “And believe me, I'm grateful for her—especially in times like this, with Zach off in rehab and Cliff off in, well…” She sadly shakes her head. “Anyway, don't think I'm not thankful for my daughter. I most certainly am.”

“Yes, I'm sure you are,” Ebony assures her. “But it must be hard to accept that she has this very unusual gift for—”

“For having visions and dreams about
dead
or missing girls?” my mom interrupts, peering closely at Ebony's face as if she thinks there might be a clue there. “Don't you think that's just a little abnormal, not to mention downright weird? Don't you think that girls Samantha's
age should be out having fun and doing normal teenage things? Instead of obsessing
over
missing girls and dead people? I was just telling Samantha that I think it's time she went back to talk to our psychologist friend, Dr. Paula Stone. Maybe she needs medication or some special kind of therapy.”

“Oh, I don't think she's—”

“Who made you such an expert on my daughter?” Mom says in an overly loud voice. “Okay, fine, I know that you stepped in and helped us when it came to Zach. And it's not as if I don't appreciate that, Ebony. I do. But what makes you think you know so much about Samantha? Why are you dragging her into all this?”

Okay, I'm getting worried now. Mom is losing her cool again—something she doesn't normally do in front of others, although I'm remembering that she's done this before with Ebony. And suddenly I'm wondering if this has something to do with Ebony personally. She used to be Dad's partner, and she was there with him on that day, his backup when he got shot. Is this why Mom is being so hard on her? Or is it just about me?

Ebony's brows pull together slightly, and I can tell she's hurt, but she doesn't say anything.

“Mom,” I begin in a pleading tone. “Ebony hasn't
dragged
me into anything. I'm the one who came to her in the first place. I'm the one who told her about my dreams and visions about Kayla. She's simply trying to do her job—trying to locate a missing girl who happens to be my friend. And I'm just trying to help her.”

“Help her?” Mom echoes. “By having dreams about dead girls? How is that helping anyone? It seems like your involvement with the police is only taking you in deeper and deeper, Samantha. And trust me, if you go nuts on me and end up being locked up in some psych unit somewhere, the police won't be there for you. I'll be the one left to pick up the pieces—the police will just use you and lose you. Just like they did to your dad.” And then she covers her face with her hands and bends over and just starts sobbing.

I look helplessly at Ebony. Like what do we do now? But Ebony just puts her hand on Mom's back and says soothingly, “It's okay, Beth. I understand. I know this is hard. But I do understand.”

Well, I'm glad someone understands because, to be honest, I'm finding this whole thing totally overwhelming and confusing. Not to mention stressful. It's like Mom is this big mess of mixed-up emotions, like a tangled kite string that is so knotted and twisted that I don't see how she'll ever figure it out. Seriously, if someone in this family needs counseling, well, besides Zach, I think it's Mom.

Still, I know that I should have compassion. “I'm sorry, Mom,” I tell her as she continues to cry. “I wish you could understand that I'm okay. I know that God has given me this gift. I know that He won't hurt me with it. And He won't let the police hurt me either. I'm not worried, and I wish that you weren't.”

She sits up now and just looks at me.

“You're carrying a heavy load, Beth. You shouldn't be carrying it alone.”

“But I am alone/' she says in a hardened tone. “You should know that better than anyone.” She glares at Ebony now. “You were there when it happened.”

Ebony glances uncomfortably at me, and I strongly suspect this is a conversation that should happen between the two of them. This is not something I really want to participate in.

“I'm going to a movie with friends tonight.” I glance ' at my watch. “And they'll be here in about fifteen minutes. I really need to get ready if you don't—”

“Go,” Mom says, waving her hand. “At least that's a fairly normal thing for a teenager to do.”

Ebony nods. “Yes. And have fun, Samantha.”

So I make my escape, praying for both of them as I hurry up the stairs to my room. I know this won't be easy, but I suspect it's something that needs to happen for my mom's sake. I feel resolved as far as Ebony goes—as far as her involvement in the last day of my dad's life. I trust her completely. Hopefully Mom can reach that same place. Maybe she can even begin to untangle all the messy strings that seem wrapped around her heart.

I'm barely ready to go when I hear a car pull up in the driveway. Although I'd like for Mom to meet Conrad, I don't think this is the time for it. So I just tell her good-bye and when I'll be home; then I dash out the door just as Conrad comes up the walk.

“Hey, I was coming up to get you. I thought I should meet your mom, you know?”

That's okay,” I tell him, noticing that Alex is getting into the backseat now. “She's kind of tied up with some-co o one else at the moment. Maybe I can introduce you to her later.”

“Everything okay?”

“Sort of.” Then I see the concern in his eyes. “Actually, my mom is having kind of a rough time of it tonight. It has to do with losing my dad and stuff.”

“I'm sorry,” he says as he opens the passenger door to his funny little Gremlin carto let me in. Alex is grinning at me from the backseat.

“Hey,” I say as I get in. “How's it going, Alex?”

“I'm cool. But it's a little cozy back here.”

“You want to sit in the front?” I offer.

“Nah, I'm fine.”

Soon we have Olivia, but before we leave her house, Conrad turns to me. “I can tell you're worried about your mom, Samantha. Do you think we should pray for her?”

I'm really surprised but touched by his offer. That'd be so great.” Then without going into too many details, I quickly explain what's going on to Alex. “I don't think she ever really got over losing my dad. And his old partner from the force, well, she's a Christian and a pretty cool lady. I just hope she can help my mom to move on, you know?”

“I still remember hearing about it,” says Alex. “I didn't really know you back then, well, other than that you went to our church. But I remember feeling really bad for you guys.”

“Yeah, we all did,” says Conrad. And then he leads us in a very perceptive prayer for my mom, and I can't bqlieve how blessed I am to be with such cool friends tonight.

“Thanks,” I tell them. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

And then we're talking about the movie we're about o to see, remembering some things from the last movie and discussing how it differed slightly from the books and what we did or didn't like about it. And I'm thinking, this is what dating (if that's what you call this) should be like—just friends hanging together and having a good time. And I'd think that my mom would be happy for me and that she'd consider this to be fairly “normal” behavior for an almost seventeen-year-old girl. At least I hope so.

The movie turns out to be pretty good, but I have to admit that I was distracted—too much going on—and I promise myself to rent it on DVD when it comes out. Afterward, we go out for pizza, and I do my best to act like a “normal” girl, but more and more I'm wondering if perhaps Mom is right. Maybe I am abnormal, a misfit, a girl on the verge of losing it. Still, I keep these thoughts to myself. No need to spoil everyone's, evening.