Medium in Paradise: A Humorous Paradise Romance (9 page)

“That’s because we’ve talked about this again and again, Dina. I love you, you know that, haven’t I showed you that a million times in a million different ways? I don’t know what you want me to say.” He’d turned to look at her, the light from the roadside sodium lamps flashing by at even intervals and alternately bathing his face in flashes of light and shadow.

“We need some time apart, Anthony,” she said, her quiet voice loud in the confines of the car.

“What?” he asked, turning to her incredulously.

“I said, we need a break.”

“Why? What’s that gonna solve?” he demanded.

“I just need some space. Time to think. I need to figure out what I want, ‘cause right now, I’m just not sure.” She turned off the exit leading towards Anthony’s lush waterfront townhouse, her hands trembling slightly on the steering wheel. Despite all the arguments and the back and forth of their relationship, they had never once broken up.

“So we’re breaking up?”

“I didn’t say that.” They’d reached his house. She pulled into a parking space, leaving the car idling. A sliver of a moon hung in the silent night sky, glistening in the expanse of water lapping softly at the shoreline a few dozen feet away.

“You don’t have to. You know how I feel about so-called breaks. They’re just break-ups for people too wimpy to pull out permanently.”

“Call it whatever you want, Anthony.” Now that she’d laid it all out, she felt shaky and unsure, tired. Fear of being alone flooded her with doubt and she nearly gave in and took her words back. But something made her still her tongue.

“Fine. I guess this is goodbye then.” His words were clipped, his body stiff as he swung himself out of the car, slamming the door. Plucking his suitcase out of the trunk, with a terse wave, he stalked off, opening and closing his door with a finality that made her weak resolve crumble and sent her spiraling into ragged sobs.

**

“It was for the best, Dina. He wasn’t right for you.” Sam the Ghost was at the door as soon as she walked inside. She lotus-posed beside Dina, a sympathetic look on her face.

“I don’t need this right now,” she sniffled, swiping a hand across her eyes and going straight for the box of premium chocolates, a gift from Lila. A ‘Break in Case of Emergency’ Post-it note was promptly stripped away from the box, balled up and tossed on the counter.

“I know a thing or two about heartbreak.” She floated down, perching on the edge of the counter.

“Just…go…the…hell…away!” Dina yelled, furiously. “I don’t want your company right now. I just want to be alone.” With one last sad look, Sam the Ghost faded out, her reproachful eyes the last thing Dina saw.

After a night spent alternately crying and stuffing herself with chocolate and a good bottle of cabernet sauvignon, Dina woke up the next morning with indigestion, a slight hangover and deep regret for having yelled at Sam the Ghost. It wasn’t her fault her love life had gone to hell.

On second thought, maybe it was.

Hurriedly getting dressed, she scarfed down a protein bar, a Goody’s headache powder and a cup of black coffee before rushing out the door. The last thing she needed was to be running late to her first official cleansing. Speedily driving, she took the 303 to Interstate 95, exiting on Horsestamp Church Road. The closer she got to her destination, the more nervous she became. By the time she arrived, she was rubbing the moonstone butterfly necklace with the reverence of a devout Catholic rubbing rosary beads.

Several cars, including her mothers, were parked in front of a turn of the century southern plantation home that was all sprawling porch, giant faux roman columns and creaky rocking chairs. The requisite live oaks dripping Spanish moss completed the picture of southern charm.

As she got out of her car, the oaks, moss drifting languidly in the early morning breeze, towered overhead, their leafy branches greedily soaking up all the light, leaving only mottled patches of sun to filter down below. She walked down a weedy, sparsely graveled driveway toward the house. Overgrown milkweed and dandelion shoots filled the grass, the heavy dewdrops clustered along their stalks, weighing down their petals. Spindly branches of azalea bushes long overdue a good trim, reached out, brushing her shoulders as she squeezed between the rusted out hulk of an old Ford truck and the equally rusted out remains of a red, seventies era Cadillac convertible. A barely discernable flagstone path led her to a creaky, wrap around porch. Thistles grabbed at the hem of her tight jeans as she walked up splintery steps missing several planks. She plucked the ornery things off and tossed them in the grass, then rung a rusting cowbell functioning as a doorbell.

A hound dog, its large, milk-laden breasts dragging in the grass, came bounding through the grass, lazily barking and growling. Several fat puppies followed in its wake, imitating their mother’s half-hearted woofs, their ears flapping adorably. Pretty soon the whole gang had her surrounded, whining and barking for attention, their chunky bodies tumbling one over the other as they raced to get closer. Unable to ignore so much cuteness, her tension evaporated as she knelt down, petting mama dog and as many of the puppies as she could get her hands on. They were clearly of a mixed breed and cuter because of it. One with a solid black body and a brown head and paws stole her heart. She plucked him out of the bunch, holding its wriggling body in her lap and laughing when its questing tongue lapped at her nose.

Scratching beneath the neck of one of the pups, the hair on the back of her neck suddenly rose, her body growing chilled. It was the feeling she got when her senses were alerting her to the presence of a malevolent spirit. The puppy, sensing her unease, scrambled to get down, burrowing itself beneath her kneeling body until only its nose was visible. Gaze sharpening, she looked around and her eyes fell on the burning scrutiny of a man filled with hatred. He was standing at the window closest to her, rage emanating from him in such strong waves she recoiled in shock. His mouth moved and she made out the words ‘You’ll never get me out of this house. I’ll kill you first.’

“You can take ‘em with you if you get my damned husband to leave,” said a voice with a deep, southern twang, startling her away from the sight of the man in the window.

Dina turned and was looking at a small wiry woman with dark-blue eyes that looked nearly black in the dim light filtering through the trees overhead. She stood at the screened-in door, her pale face grim in the shadows. Her long, iron grey hair was twisted into a knot at the base of her neck. A hard face lined with age and bad experiences looked out at the world with few expectations. Her small mouth was thin and pursed as though she were waiting for bad news to drop at any moment.

“I—,” she hesitated, disentangling herself from the puppies and standing up. She looked back at the window for the spirit. But he was gone. “I’m pretty sure I just met him.”

“Mean lookin’ bastard wit a bad attitude?”

“Uh—yeah. Yes…that sounds about right.”

“Was he standin’ at that winder right there sayin’ he won’t never gonna leave?” she asked, pointing a bony finger at the window where she’d just seen the mean bastard with the bad attitude.

“Yes.”

“That’s the sumabitch,” she said with disgust. “Died a few months back. Then a couple of weeks ago he decided to pop right up again. Been rattlin’ pans, knockin’ my house plants over and scarin’ the hell outta my dog. I barely liked him alive. I hate him even more now. I just want him gone so I can get some peace and quiet.” With her final words the woman suddenly looked exhausted, the lines in her face deepening with worry and Dina’s heart went out to her.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“Let me show you inside. Your mama told me she was waitin’ for you.”

Leading her down a long hallway with floors covered in a tattered oriental runner, Dina peered at the dusty, fading paintings of stern looking men sporting rifles and heavily corseted women riding sidesaddle. The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Samantha Lassiter. She proudly announced that her family used to own a three thousand acre plantation and the house and the twenty acre tract it was sitting on, was all that was left of a once vast family fortune rich in slaves (this said in a low, ashamed whisper) tobacco and cotton. She was one of those old, gnarled southerners who lived for glory days past. She brushed off the woman’s insensitive litany, putting it down to a lack of home training and good breeding.

Voices filtered down the hallway, bouncing hollowly from the high plaster ceilings. As they got closer, her mother said, ‘We don’t want to antagonize him, Maria! We want to get him to leave. For good.’

Mrs. Lassiter ended their short journey in the doorway to a sitting room outfitted with old-fashioned Queen Anne styled furniture, their once fine upholstery as worn and faded looking as the rest of the house. A garish plaid patterned La-Z-Boy, out of place amongst the threadbare elegance of the furnishings, sat by the window overlooking the front garden. A frisson of alarm made its way up and down her arms in the form of tiny, prickling goosebumps. She began sweating, trickles of perspiration trickling from beneath her arms and dampening her thin cotton button-down. What the hell was she doing? She couldn’t do this! Her mother couldn’t make her! On the verge of an all out panic attack, Dina desperately did an about face. She’d run down the hall if she had to, but she wouldn’t be doing any cleansing today.

“Dina--,” her mother said calmly from the doorway of the sitting room. Gliding over, she clamped a firm hand on her arm. Her cheerful yellow sundress and silver hoop earrings gave her the look of a seventies era funk queen. “Good to see you made it on time.”

“Mom, I can’t--, she began, trying to tug her arm from her mother’s grip.

“Of course you can, dear.” Her voice was low so that only she could hear what her mother was saying. “And you know how this thing works: you’re our conduit to the spirit. Our spiritual translator. Without you or Taavi here getting this done would be nearly impossible. You know Maria and I can only hear spirits once in a while. Most of the time they just don’t want us around. That’s why I need you.
She
needs you.” She inclined her head in Mrs. Lassiter direction, her hand still clamped to her arm, her eyes calm and reassuring. “So just take a deep breath--,”

“But, I don’t think--,”

“Just take a deep breath and let all the tension flow out. Then you’ll be ready.”

“But I don’t know what to do! How am I supposed to do this?” she hissed. The panic was still there, but it was subsiding.

“It’s not difficult, Dina. It never has been.” She slowly let her arm go, grasping Dina’s hand in her own. “The most important thing to remember is not to let the spirit intimidate you. And if you can draw from your memories, most of what we’re about to do will come back to you. You’ll see.”

“Is everything alright?” Mrs. Lassiter asked with a worried frown.

“Everything’s fine,” her mother soothed, walking over and patting her arm reassuringly.

They all walked into the sitting room where Maria, a stout, brown-skinned Cuban woman with a thick glossy braid snaking its way past her waist, stood looking out the window, absently fingering her
elekes
necklace. Maria, a Cuban
Santera
, was a high priestess of the Santeria religion, a belief system that united aspects of Roman Catholicism with Yoruba Mythology. The resulting belief system allowed African slaves the ability to secretly worship their religious belief systems while pretending they were worshiping Catholic saints.

“We’re all here and ready to begin. First we’ll begin by all joining hands. Then Maria will say a prayer of protection to keep us all safe.” Her mother’s tones remained cool and dulcet as they all held hands. She gently squeezed Dina’s moist palm as Maria began chanting in Spanish, her words flowing in a musical lilt. When it ended her mother said, “Dina, please call the spirit forth. Wait a minute…I feel him. Where is he?”

“Hanging out by that ugly recliner,” she said.

“Dina,” her mother admonished, frowning.

“Sorry,” she muttered to Mrs. Lassiter.

“Don’t apologize,” Mrs. Lassiter said, glancing at the recliner with dislike. “I always hated the damned thing.”

The man glowered from the corner of the room nearest the same window Dina had seen him standing at earlier, his hatred filling the room with negative energy. He was standing behind the recliner, a hand laying possessively along the headrest.

“He’s so angry,” her mother said, still frowning. “Ask him what he wants.”

“What do you want?” The man glared at her without saying a word, his gaze unwavering. “He’s not answering.”

“Ask him again.”

“What do you want?” The man continued to glare at her and Dina grew impatient. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re dead.”

“Dina--,” her mother began in a warning tone.

The man’s face contorted in fury and he yelled, running toward her at full speed. Despite her mother’s words to remain fearless, Dina flinched, rearing back and covering her face with her arm.

“Oh no you don’t, Mr. Easy Boy!” Sam the Ghost appeared, stopping the enraged spirit dead in his tracks. He looked shocked, his jaw opening and closing soundlessly. “What the hell’s wrong with you? They’re just trying to help.”

“How are you here?” the spirit asked in wonder, staring at Sam. “Who are you?”

“It’s a long story,” Sam said, waving her hand around. “Right now, all you need to be doing is getting on the first train to the afterlife.”

“Why should I go? You’re still here,” he answered, defiantly going to sit in his recliner. He crossed his arms, his gaze baleful once again.

“I’m here because I don’t have a choice. I’ve got some loose ends I’ve got to tie up before I’m allowed to leave. But you don’t,” she said, floating over and hovering above him. “You’re just a mean son-of-a-bitch that wants to make everybody’s life miserable.”

“But—but I don’t want to leave,” the man said, his voice gone all whiney.

“You don’t have a choice. You can’t stay here.” Sam the Ghost floated in the lotus pose around the old man, then gave him a resounding whack across the back of his balding pate. Dina chuckled.

“Hey!” He rubbed the back of his head, scowling.

“That’s for trying to scare my friend.”

“Aww, I wasn’t gonna hurt her,” he said, glancing at Dina.

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Lassiter asked, confused.

“It appears that we’re having a little intervention, paranormal style,” her mother said, dryly. “Sam, I’m assuming you’re here?”

“Hi Edith!” Sam said, cheerfully manifesting to the rest of the group. Mrs. Lassiter screamed shrilly, then swooned, southern style. Maria, though startled, merely clucked her tongue in disapproval and used her strong, sturdy body to help the moaning Mrs. Lassiter to the hard little sofa in the middle of the room. “

“Now look what you’ve gone and done!” the spirit exclaimed. He rushed to his wife’s side, gazing at her with concern. When she came to and saw him standing beside her, Mrs. Lassiter gave another shrill scream and fainted again. Maria tsked, shaking her head.

“How she travel here?” Maria asked, grimacing up at Sam.

“That’s a good question,” Dina said. “I’ve been wondering the same thing myself. Sam, how is it that you’re able to travel wherever I am at will?”

“Ancient Chinese secret,” she said, winking impishly.

“I no believe it’s ancient Chinese secret,” Maria said. She eyed her shrewdly. “You got somethin’ that belong to her, Dina?”

“Not that I know of.” Dina lifted a hand to touch the moonstone butterfly necklace she now wore daily.

“What’s that?” her mother asked, coming over to look at the necklace.

“Something I found at the house when I moved in.” Dina held it up so her mother could see it. Sam the Ghost suddenly looked shifty and the light went off in Dina’s head. “This was yours?”