Scaredy Kat (13 page)

“I’m only smart about other people,” Jac said. “As you know, where my own mother is concerned, I’m useless. Dumb as a post.
Oh man, he’s here.”

The last sentence stumped me.

“What? Who’s here?”

Jac furiously dabbed at her lips with a napkin, and pushed another square of chocolate loaf in my direction, while glancing
over my shoulder.

I turned around. Orin was walking toward our table.

“If he asks, we totally split the Rocket Loaf,” Jac muttered.

I suppressed a smile. Maybe Jac was doing a little crushing of her own.

“Hi,” Orin said.

“I thought you were going to call,” I replied, and instantly regretted sounding rude. “I mean, not that you shouldn’t be here—we’re
just dying of anticipation. Did you see Tank? Was there a difference?”

Orin pulled up a chair and sat down. He smoothed his hair back and away from his forehead.

“He’s awake.”

“What?” Jac and I cried simultaneously.

“Did you see him? What did he say? Did he know you? Does he remember being at the house?” I couldn’t get the questions out
fast enough.

“I didn’t see him, or get close to him,” Orin said.

“Then how —”

“I got to the hospital and went up to his floor. There was a huge commotion going on. People laughing, clapping each other
on the back. Nurses hugging. Doctors going in and out of Tank’s room. I’ve gotten to know some of the nurses, and one of them,
Rita, saw me standing there. She told me that about an hour earlier Tank had spontaneously awakened. His parents were both
there at the time. The doctors are running all kinds of tests on him, but at first blush he seems to have suffered no permanent
damage at all. He knows who he is. He remembers the accident. He had no idea how long he’d been out.”

“One hour ago . . .” I said. “Orin, that’s about when we were in Tank’s room.”

Orin nodded, smiling broadly.

“Nice coincidence, right?”

“No! Orin, my mother says there’s no such —”

“— thing as a coincidence,” he finished. “And she’s absolutely right.”

“So did you talk to his parents?” Jac asked.

Orin sighed.

“I did,” he said. “Tank’s father saw me in the hallway when he was getting coffee.”

“Man, he must have wanted to build you a monument!” I exclaimed. “He must have been so grateful.”

Orin smiled.

“Yeah. Actually, it was pretty much the opposite.”

“Why?” asked Jac.

“Tank’s father was never exactly thrilled to have me doing my work. It was Tank’s mom who brought me in, and he went along
with it because there just weren’t any other options. But he never really approved of it. So when he saw me, he got a little
angry. He told me that he’d been a fool to let me mess around in his kid’s room, that Tank had managed to wake up all by himself,
and that I should leave the hospital because I wasn’t welcome at this family reunion.”

“What?” I cried. “That’s outrageous! You told him that it
was
you, right? That we were doing that energy bridge at the very same moment Tank woke up! You told him that, right?”

Orin shook his head.

“But why? Why not?” I cried. It made me absolutely nuts when people got help from someone like my mom or Orin, then dumped
all over them afterward, or pretended they’d never believed and that the whole thing was a joke.

“Kat, this was a hugely emotional moment for these people. Tank woke up after two years in a coma. Why it happened, and who
was responsible for helping it happen, is completely irrelevant. I don’t need to get credit for it. I’m not collecting case
files with happy endings. Tank’s awake.”

“Because of you,” I insisted.

“Because of us,” Orin corrected.

“Right!” I retorted.

“Right,” Orin agreed. “But whether or not someone else acknowledges that doesn’t matter to me. I’m not a healer to pander
to my ego. Healing is what I do. It’s who I am. So believe me, I feel nothing but happy right now.”

I was insane. I should be throwing this man at my mother, not fussing about the possibility they might become more than friends.
Orin was amazing.

“So, I guess I still don’t understand, Orin,” I said. “If Tank was alive in the hospital, how could I see him in his house?”

“Well, I can’t exactly say for sure. Nobody could. But there are people who believe that a coma is just a different form of
consciousness. Similar to sleep in some ways, different in others. And I’m sure you know that many people, myself included,
believe that our astral selves leave our body in the sleep state and interact with other people, both living and dead. In
out-of-body experiences, the astral self leaves the body in the waking stage. It’s not much of a stretch at all to believe
that when someone is comatose, their astral self is roaming around outside the body.

“Tank was confused, the way many spirits are when they’ve died suddenly. The nature of their consciousness has changed, but
they don’t understand why, or how, or what the new rules of the game are. With Tank, I think his astral self began traveling
more and more often, and became more and more confused.

“Eventually he returned to a place where he was comfortable—his house. But even that was different. No one lived there anymore.
And nobody seemed to be able to see him. But you operate on a different frequency than most people, Kat. I think that’s why
Tank honed in on you. He didn’t really know how to communicate. He didn’t know who or what you were. But he was attracted
to you like a moth to a light.”

“Is he going to remember this now that he’s awake?” I asked.

Orin shrugged.

“I read a book once about a doctor who was in a coma for several years, and spontaneously awakened. He had many memories of
his experiences during the coma, and even recognized several of the nurses that had attended him. But his recollections sounded
very dreamlike. Maybe Tank will have some recollections that seem like dreams. Or maybe it will all be a blank.”

“I find it all hard to believe, and I’ve been wide awake the whole time,” Jac remarked. She glanced over at Orin.

“Not that I
don’t
believe, mind you,” she added hastily. “I’m just . . . wowed.”

“No, I understand,” Orin said. “You’ve helped, actually. You have a very bright energy.” Jac flushed at the compliment.

“So what now?” I asked.

Orin looked at me.

“Well, as far as Tank goes, nothing. Happy ending, and all that. As for the house, that’s entirely up to you. You know that
there’s someone else there who wants you to listen to him. But you’re not obligated to do anything, Kat. You have a say in
all this, and you know how to protect yourself now.”

The old man. It all came down to him, somehow. He represented the dark side of being a medium, as did that dark shadow in
the library. A spirit who was not young and sweet like Suzanne Bennis, not lost and vulnerable like Tank. An angry, ugly spirit.
Helping him would not be pleasant, I knew. But if I didn’t get past my fear of him, I would have to carry it inside me.

“Even if I decide to ignore that old man for now, he’s still going to be there,” I said. “They’re all still going to be there.
I’ve got a village following me around, and that’s never going to change.”

“Like the guy on the cell phone commercial, who has his network tagging along after him,” Jac added helpfully.

I thought about the old man, and the other spirits in the van Hecht house. And about all those orbs, circling me like flies.
I hadn’t chosen them. I hadn’t asked for them. But they had sought me out, and they wouldn’t leave until I gave them my ear.
And probably more were arriving every day.

Orin had said he could teach me to manage energetic blocks. That he could teach me other things like the energy bubble, so
that I would be in control of things. I would be able to close up shop when I chose. That would make a difference. A very
big difference. And that would only leave one thing for me to do—bring my fears of darker spirits under control. It wasn’t
a prospect I looked forward to at all. But there were people who had my back. My mom. Jac. Even Orin. It really wouldn’t be
such a bad thing at all to have him around more.

“Orin, do you like hummus and tahini?” I asked.

Orin nodded. Jac gave me a quizzical look.

“And pita bread? And carrot-banana smoothies?”

Orin nodded again.

“Would you like to come to my house for dinner? My mom is making all those things for tonight, and she’s a pretty good cook.”

Orin smiled at me in a way that made it feel like the sun had just come out.

“Kat,” he said, “I’d be delighted.”

“Me, too,” Jac added. “I just happen to be available.”

I laughed with happiness and contentment before popping the last square of chocolate loaf in my mouth.

It was a nice night, all in all. It was good to have some noisy laughter around the dinner table. Even Max seemed happier
than usual. And when I saw my mom enjoying herself, catching up on old times with Orin, looking so relaxed and happy and pretty,
it didn’t feel weird anymore to have him around. No matter what happened, or didn’t happen.

Jac had spontaneously outlined her entire drama for us at the table, ending with the detail that the war at her house was
continuing.

“But eventually she’s going to have to realize she can’t keep me under lock and key forever,” Jac said.

“Jac, please tell me your mother knows where you are right now,” my mom said, leaning forward with a crease of worry on her
forehead.

“She does. I called her from the Bean Factory. And I called her from here when I told you I was going to the bathroom.”

“So she knows you’re having dinner with us,” my mother pressed.

“She knows. I would not describe her as happy about it, but she agreed not to send the Marines to kick in your front door
and whisk me back home. I had to promise her that we’d talk about everything when I got home, though.”

“And what do you think you’re going to do?” I asked. “About all of it?”

Jac moved from her chair over to the little rug by the stove that Max was curled up on. She smoothed his ears and kissed him
on the nose before replying.

“It’s done,” Jac said. “I’ve quit. End of story.”

“But don’t you miss it at all?” I asked. “Just playing? The way it sounds, the way it feels?”

“I’ve quit,” Jac repeated. “And maybe it isn’t all good all the time. But I have my life back. Or the option of my life back.
And at the end of the day, that’s the most important thing. And I got that back by making the decision that I had to quit.”

Max rolled onto his back and stuck his paws in the air. Jac gave him a tender smile and obligingly began to scratch his tummy.

“Out of curiosity, and understanding it’s none of my business, why exactly did you quit?” asked Orin.

We all looked at him. My mother had a tiny smile playing about her lips.

“I understand that you’re giving up your mother’s vision of your future. You’re giving up the belief that the cello is the
be-all and end-all of your daily existence. I totally get that. But does it necessarily follow that you can’t ever touch the
instrument again? Because giving up playing the cello as a profession doesn’t mean you have to give up playing it for fun.”

Jac stared at Orin, her lips pressed tightly together.

“You already know the answer, Jac,” he continued. “And whatever answer you’re hearing is going to be the right one for you.
But just consider how you’re structuring the question. You’re quitting someone else’s view of your gift, not the gift itself.”

Jac took a sharp breath and frowned.

“Anybody else want to add their two cents?” she asked, sounding defensive.

Max extended his paws and stretched luxuriously. He made a happy little groan that ended up with something that sounded a
lot like a dog burp.

Jac waited about two seconds before bursting into hysterics.

“What’s so funny?” I asked. But I couldn’t help laughing, too. Jac’s laugh was infectious.

“All of it,” Jac said. “Max. My mother. My life. I mean, it’s nuts. But look at me. I’m here with my best friend, her gassy
dog, and a couple of wise psychic elders who have no problem reminding me that I’ve got
choices.
And more important than any of that, there’s
cake
for dessert!”

Orin started to laugh, too, and my mother joined in. And we laughed for a long time. We laughed until Jac interrupted us to
ask if, by chance, my mother would mind if she started slicing the cake.

For the remaining few days of spring break, Jac spent an enormous amount of time at our house. She somehow managed to convince
her mother that they both needed some time apart. My mother spoke to her mother just long enough to confirm that Jac had been
given permission, though begrudgingly, to visit me.

The previous night, we had extended the visit to a sleepover. We woke up much earlier than we meant to, and lay for a long
time mulling over the events of the week. Max snored happily at the foot of my bed, but his ears twitched as we talked, like
he was sleep-eavesdropping.

“It must be so nice to live here, having who you have for a mom,” Jac said. “I wouldn’t mind being you one bit.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, pulling my blanket up to my chin and curling up on my side, facing Jac in her sleeping bag. “It isn’t
all perfect, you know. Money is always tight. Our house is sort of falling down around our ears. My clothes were in style
in the late seventies. And for all practical purposes, I don’t have a dad. I worry sometimes, about how we’ll get by.”

“That must be scary,” Jac agreed. “But seriously, wouldn’t you rather have no money, and be really happy at home? I mean,
your mom is practically perfect.”

I laughed.

“Practically perfect according to whom? She’s a medium. She contacts the dead for a very minimal fee. She drives a fifteen-year-old
car. She walks the dog barefoot. I don’t think everyone would be in agreement that she’s ‘perfect.’”

“She’s perfect for you,” Jac said. “You’re perfect for each other.”