Liars and Fools (10 page)

“It's a Friday,” I countered.

“And we have company. Do you really need to get started on this assignment tonight?”

“Absolutely.” I held my breath.

“Caitlin can watch a movie with us,” Kathy said quickly.

Dad took his glasses off and rubbed his hands over his face. “Abby's mom says she can sleep over?”

I nodded.

“All right. All right.” He replaced his glasses on his nose and looked at me sternly through them. “But I expect you two to be working. And going to bed at a reasonable hour. Got it?”

“Got it!”

I dashed back to the phone and told Abby that she'd better bring a good-sized stack of books.

Caitlin, Kathy and Dad were watching some sappy movie when Abby arrived. Caitlin's choice, I'd bet. She looked like the sappy-movie type. I pushed Abby into the den ahead of me and introduced her.

Kathy lifted the remote control from the arm of the couch and paused the movie. On-screen, a group of girls froze in mid-giggle.

“It is very nice to meet you,” Abby said. She was using the voice she uses when she talks to adults, which is different than her regular voice. She enunciates all her words carefully so that she sounds almost British.

Kathy smiled at her. “You too, Abby.” You'd never have guessed they'd met before.

Caitlin turned her head slightly and nodded, but her eyes kept flicking back to the screen.

Abby looked at me. “I guess we'd better get to work,” she said. She lifted an enormous bag of books to make her point. “We have a lot to do.”

Up in my room, I made a face at her. “Well. That was brief. I thought you were going to help me prove she's fake.”

Abby dumped the books on my bed with unnecessary force. “What did you expect me to say? ‘Hi, nice to see you again, you big liar'?”

“No.” I sighed. “I don't know how we're going to be able to prove anything.”

“Don't despair,” Abby said. “While you've been eating Chinese food and freaking out, I've been doing some research.” She gestured at the books spilling across my bed. “At the library.”

I picked up the book on the top of the pile and read out loud: “
Pyschic Phenomena: A Beginner's Guide
to the Paranormal.
”

Abby nodded. “I figured we'd need to understand the basics. Learn the language, you know? So that liars and fools we know what it is she does and what to look for.”

“
Mediums and Messages
,” I read. I put it aside and picked up another one. “
Psychics: Scams and Schemes
. That sounds good.” I looked at the next book in the stack and laughed out loud. “
Be Your Own Psychic
. Ha. Maybe I could read my own mind.”

Abby tossed a book at me. A heavy one. “Ouch.” I glanced at the cover. “
The Idiot's Guide to Extrasensory
Perception
? Are you trying to tell me something?”

There was a knock on the door.

I covered the book with my sweatshirt sleeve. “Yes?”

Dad poked his head in. “Just checking that all's well.”

“Everything's fine,” I said shortly.

I waited until the door had closed again before turning to Abby. “Phew. Just checking that we're doing our homework, more likely.”

“Well, we are.”

I'd been so focused on proving that Kathy was a fake, I'd forgotten that this was also supposed to be our science project.

By ten thirty, we were sitting amid a pile of books, paper, Coke cans and pretzel crumbs. I was exhausted, but we had an outline for our science project. I read it out loud:

Problem: How do psychics know things that logically
they couldn't know?

Hypothesis: We believe that various forms of trickery
are being used by these so-called mediums and
psychics who claim to be communicating with the
dead. We believe that psychic phenomena such as
precognition (seeing the future) do not exist, and we
intend to demonstrate this.

Method:

1. We will observe a psychic at work. We will be
alert for evidence of trickery, and we will record our
observations.

2. We will use a deck of cards and see if our test
subjects can predict—more often than would be explained
by chance—which card will be turned over next. This
will test for precognition or knowing the future.

3. We will use the same deck of cards to test for telepathy,
or mind-reading. One person will look at a card
and attempt to “send” the image to the test subject. We
will see if the subject's guesses reveal a higher level of
success than expected by chance.

I made a face. “It's going to be a lot of work. And Kathy might not even agree to be a test subject.”

“Yeah.” She studied our notes. “Kathy's a medium, right? As well as a psychic.”

“She's a liar.”

“You know what I mean.” Abby touched her lower lip thoughtfully. “Do you think we should try to, you know, communicate with someone dead as well? Like, be open to it and maybe see if anything happens?”

I stared at her.

Abby's cheeks turned pink. “I didn't mean…”

“If it was possible…” My voice shook. I took a deep breath and started over. “If it was possible, don't you think my mom would have done it by now? Don't you think if it was as easy as that, she'd send me messages too?”

Abby hesitated.

“What?” I could feel that tight shaky feeling starting up in my chest again, the roaring noise in my ears like the sound of waves in a shell. I forced myself to take another long breath. I hadn't ever lost it in front of Abby, and I didn't want to start now.

“Look, don't get mad,” she said.

“Don't say anything stupid and I won't get mad.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “It's just a thought. Actually, forget it.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “No big deal.”

I wanted to shake her. “Okay,
okay
. I promise I won't get mad.”

“Well, I wondered if maybe you haven't been open to it because, you know, you don't think it's possible. And maybe—probably not, but we can't rule it out— people who really believe in it and are open to it can see or hear things that the rest of us can't.”

“I don't believe it,” I said. “I think once you're dead, you're dead. And that's that.” I couldn't help wondering though.
I feel as if there is someone who has
a message for you,
Kathy had said the first time she met me. What if my mother really was out there somewhere? What if she was trying to tell me something and I just wasn't listening?

There was a knock at the door. Dad's face poked through the crack. “Girls? Don't tell me you're still up.”

“Just getting in bed now,” I told him. We turned off the lights and snuggled down, Abby on an air mattress on the floor and me in my bed. Within minutes, I heard Abby's breathing shift to the soft, even rhythm of sleep, while I lay awake staring into the darkness and trying to remember the sound of my mother's steps on the stairs.

twelve

We were woken by a loud knocking at my bedroom door.

I opened my eyes. “Mmph?” It felt awfully early, but bright sunlight was streaming in through a crack between the curtains.

The door opened, and Dad's head poked in. “Fiona? Kathy just called to see if you wanted to go shopping with them after all.”

I groaned. “No. I told her already.”

“Fine.” Dad cleared his throat. “Come on downstairs. I'm making waffles, and Abby's mom is picking her up in half an hour.”

Abby pulled the covers off her head. “We'll be right down.”

He gave her a grateful smile before retreating.

As soon as the door closed, I scowled at her. “Traitor. All you care about is the waffles.”

“How come you never told me she invited you to go shopping with them? You totally have to go.” Abby clambered awkwardly off the air mattress and grabbed her clothes from the pile on the floor. “It's a great opportunity to ask her some questions without your dad around.”

I flopped back down on my bed. “Ugh. You make it sound so easy.”

“Tell her about our science project,” Abby suggested. She balled up my blue jeans and tossed them at me. “Or ask her about her work.”

I caught the jeans without sitting up. “I'm not going, Abby.”

“Fiona, come on. How are you going to prove she's fake if you don't take these opportunities to investigate?”

“Easy for you to say. Besides, it's too late. I already said no.”

“So tell your dad you changed your mind. He'll probably be happy.”

I pulled my jeans on. “Don't you think it's weird, the way Dad wants me to get to know her? I mean, so he's dating or whatever. But why involve me? Why do I have to get to know her? Unless…” I broke off, not wanting to finish the thought out loud.

Abby shook her head. “It's too soon. They've only been seeing each other for a few months.”

“He gave her a key to our house,” I whispered.

“Don't go there. Seriously, Fi.”

I stared at her mutely. I didn't want to go there. But I was getting this awful feeling that Dad might.

“In any case, if you're right—if they are getting serious—that's all the more reason to go shopping with her. To get some information. Knowledge is power, right?” Abby tilted her head to one side, eyebrows raised. “You might not have much time to waste.”

Down in the kitchen, Dad was whistling. I have to admit he makes the best waffles. He makes them from scratch, different every time. This morning's were made with buttermilk and blueberries, and doused with maple syrup. He piled them on our plates and waited. He's like a little kid when he does this: hanging around to see what we think, wanting to hear how good they are. Abby had been eating his waffles for years, and he knew he could always count on her for a favorable review.

She took a big bite, closed her eyes and moaned. “Mmmm,” she said, “these are out of this world.”

Dad grinned. “You like?”

“I
love
.”

I grudgingly ate a few bites, trying to ignore Dad, who was lingering in the doorway.

They really were good.

“Okay,” I finally said, exasperated. “This combo's a keeper.”

Dad winked at me. “That's my girl.” He wandered off to the living room, whistling to himself.

Abby put down her fork. “Fi?”

“Yeah.”

“Don't get mad, but your dad seems so happy.”

“I know.” The waffle turned to soggy cardboard in my mouth. I willed Abby not to say aloud what I knew we were both thinking.

“Maybe we shouldn't interfere,” she said, staring at her plate. Clearly, she wasn't telepathic. “You know?” She glanced up at me. “If they're happy…if your dad's happy…”

“It's not just about them, Abby. This is my life too, and I'm not going to let Dad wreck it because he's having some midlife crisis.” I pushed my plate away. “Kathy's either a loony who thinks she's talking to dead people, or she's a fraud who's deliberately ripping people off. Either way, believe me, Dad's better off without her.” Under the table, my hands curled into tight fists. Abby was right. Knowledge was power, and I might not have any time to waste.

“Dad!” I called. “Can I change my mind about going shopping? I just remembered that I really need new jeans.”

Outside, the air was cool and fresh, the sky a soft damp gray. I looked longingly at my bicycle, chained to the front porch railing, and wished I was going down to the marina or over to Joni's place or still sitting in the kitchen eating waffles and waiting for Abby's mom to pick her up. Anything but this.

Kathy jumped out of her car and opened the back door for me. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I was so glad when your dad said you'd changed your mind.”

She wouldn't be so glad if she knew why. I slipped into the car behind Caitlin, who was wearing a short white skirt and a fluffy pink sweater. The car was spotless and smelled new, like leather and shampoo. I thought of our old Toyota and the way it always had empty pop cans and potato-chip bags scrunched under the seats.

I buckled my seat belt, avoiding her eyes, and we drove in silence for a while. I was trying to think of ways to ask Kathy about her work without being too obvious. She drove fast, moving into the passing lane and skimming along Douglas Street toward the mall. The engine purred quietly, and some classical music played softly on the stereo. Dad never speeds, but that may be because our car starts to rattle before we even get close to the speed limit.

I hate you, Kathy, I thought. I watched her face in the rearview mirror. If she could read my mind, she wasn't showing any signs of it. I tried thinking loudly, projecting my thoughts toward her like arrows. Stones. Missiles.
I hate you, and I'm not going to let you be with
my dad
. The car purred along, smooth and quiet, and Kathy didn't say a word.

“So,” I said, “I was wondering how you became a medium.”

There was a pause. Caitlin glanced over her shoulder at me.

Kathy's hands tapped the steering wheel. Nervously, I thought. Didn't that suggest she was hiding something?

“It's a long story,” she said. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I'm really interested,” I told her, trying to inject some sincerity into my voice.

Caitlin turned and glanced at me again, but said nothing. When she turned away, she thumped back against her seat, stiff-shouldered. I wondered what that was about, but kept my eyes on the half of Kathy's face that I could see in the rearview mirror.

“I had another child, before Caitlin,” Kathy said.