The Ghost of a Chance (10 page)

"Is that where you learned how
to act like a lesbian?"

I gape at her, laughing.
"You're a saucy one today."

"Must be the stockings."
She pushes away from the counter and steps lightly toward the doorway.
"I'll be out late. I have to meet the divorce attorney this evening. Wish
me luck!"

I do, and watch her go.

---

Genevieve McLeery doesn't want tea,
or coffee, or even water. In fact, she doesn't want to step one foot inside of
my house.

"Take me to the location of
the manifestation. There's no time to waste." This "clairvoyant"
isn't quite what I expected. She's old and arthritic; she winces with each step
we take over the wooded path.

Frail. She is the epitome of
frail
,
I think, as I take her elbow in my hand.

And she's wearing an ordinary beige
dress, with tiny yellow flowers embroidered at the collar and hem. Overall, the
effect is that of someone's grandmother. I feel assured. I can talk to this
woman. I can trust her. She won't take advantage of my vulnerability.

As we cross the covered footbridge,
Genevieve turns to me with an odd look in her glassy brown eyes. "The end
comes before the beginning." The accent is Scottish, I realize now, but
her words are clear. I turn them over again and again in my head but ask no
questions.

She seems to understand where we're
headed and takes the lead. I follow at her side, feeling both reluctant and
anxious to reach our destination.

"Ah, she waits,"
Genevieve sighs, clasping her hands in front of her mouth, when we arrive at
the cabin door. The door is shut today, though I can't remember closing it when
I left early this morning. Of course, I can't remember much about last night at
all.

We walk inside—Catherine's scent is
everywhere—and Genevieve breaks away from me, immediately stepping in front of
the typewriter. She waves a hand over the keys and then touches the manuscript
with her fingertips. Her eyes lift to meet my own. My heart skips.

But she moves on, into the bathroom.
Here she lingers for several minutes, pressing her palm flat on the mirror,
sitting on the edge of the bathtub, her gaze pointed downward, at the
unstoppered drain.

This time, when she looks at me, I
feel a rush of heat flush my face. Can she see what happened here? Does she
know how Catherine touched me, or how she made me feel?

"Relax," she smiles,
then, rising to her feet. "I am not here to judge or interfere, only to
state my observations."

I lean against the doorframe,
twirling a strand of hair around my finger.

"There is a presence here, a
warm, protective, loving presence, but of course you already knew that, didn’t
you?" She approaches me and lays her hand on my chest, over my heart.
"There are tracings of her within you still."

"She can...she—"

"It's called possession. She
has no corporeal form, but her spirit can inhabit and animate substances, such
as air, water…a human being."

I turn back into the living room,
uncomfortable with the pressure of her hand; my skin has grown hot, and my
chest feels hollow. "But why is she here? Is it..." I gesture at the
typewriter. "...unfinished business? Her unfinished play?"

"That," Genevieve
replies, "I cannot answer." Her eyes close. "She is quiet, or
unable to speak to me. She tries but…"
 
The woman shakes her head.
 
"Her spirit grieves. For you."

"For me? But I'm not dead.
She's the one who—"

"She lost you as you lost her.
You are each untouchable to the other. Planes of existence separate you now,
and there are few bridges between."

"Few?" I pounce on the
word. "But there are bridges? There are ways to—"

She holds up her hand, bidding me
to be silent. I cross my arms and briefly consider pouting, but a distinctive
sound snares my attention. Genevieve and I turn, in sync, to face the couch.

Portia has been lying on the
cushions since we entered, nestled deep within the folds of a green-and-blue
plaid blanket. I noticed her but paid no mind, too curious about Genevieve's
reactions. But now the cat has begun to purr, and there are movements in the
blanket all around her, as if something is crawling about underneath.

"What's happening?" I
lean forward but take no steps nearer.

Genevieve is less hesitant. With a
fearless sweep of her arm, she grasps the corner of the blanket and raises it
up, to the level of her eyes, and smiles at the sight that greets her.

I feel silly at first, and then
melt.

"Kittens…" I have never
seen creatures so small, so lovely. There are six of them, it seems, all white
save one, which is black with three white feet.

My companion is equally charmed.
She smiles at the animals and at me. "It appears that you are now a
grandmother, Darcy."

I laugh softly.
 
"I guess I am. Oh…seven cats. But
that's a lucky number, isn't it?"

Genevieve shrugs, wrinkling her
forehead. "All numbers are lucky, if used in the proper time and place.
But, dear, I must go." She takes my hands. "I apologize.
 
However, your lost one is elusive. She plays
hide-and-seek with me.
 
I think…"
 
She regards me for a long, weighted
moment.
 
"I think she may only be
able to communicate with
you.
"

"But—"

"But," Genevieve says,
with an arched brow and a curved mouth, "perhaps we could coax her out of
her silence together.
 
If you’re
willing."

I shake my head, confused, staring
down at the medium’s hands in mine.
 
"If I’m willing to do what?"

Genevieve laughs, patting my
wrist.
 
"Well, a séance, my
dear.
 
What else?"

Chapter Twelve

Portia lounges, at ease, on the couch, licking her
offspring and purring.

"What are you going to do with all of
them?" Alis coos. She leans down to kiss a squirming kitten's nose.

"I'll put an ad in the paper,
poster the town.
 
Try to find adoptive
parents to take them away once they're two months old or so. For now," I
say, squatting down to survey the babies, "they'll have to stay here, I
suppose. I wouldn't know how to safely move them, and Portia seems to like this
place better than the house."

"But is it warm enough?"

I frown. "I figured I'd sleep
here tonight, to make sure the generator is working properly. I brought all of
those blankets, just in case." I gesture at the pile of fleece on the
armchair.

Alis pets Portia and nods.
"That sounds like a good idea. Will you be afraid, though, to stay out
here alone? I could stay, too, if—"

"No, there's no need. Besides,
I'll hardly be alone."

"True. Seven cats to keep you
company."

I wasn't referring to the cats, but
I smile, anyway, and stand up with a stretch and a yawn. "What time is
it?"

Alis glances at the silver band on
her left wrist. "Nearly eleven o’clock. Wow! I didn't realize... But I
guess time flies when you're racking up exorbitant hourly fees in a meeting
with a long-winded divorce attorney." She shakes her head, sighing.

"I'm so sorry! In all of the
excitement over the kittens, I forgot to ask about your meeting. How was
it?"

"Awful. Just as I expected.
Apparently, Jason wants the house free and clear in exchange for letting me
keep my car." She scoffs. "Darcy, you've seen my car. It's
ancient!"

"You aren't going to let him
get away with it, are you? That house belongs to both of you."

"To be honest, I don't care
much about it. I don't know if I have the strength to fight him in court. I
just want to be done with it, with him, so that I can move on..." Her
lashes lift, revealing tears at the corners of her eyes. She wipes at them
hurriedly and sniffs, holding her head in a pose of defiance. "But I'm not
going to give in. I've spent the past ten years of my life giving in to his
demands, and that's over. I want what is rightfully mine. That's what I told
Kip—my lawyer—and he thinks we can win this thing."

"Wait.
 
Your lawyer's name is
Kip
?"

"Ridiculous, isn't it? But I
think he knows what he's doing..."

I rest a hand on her arm. "I'm
really proud of you for standing up for yourself. That's admirable and
brave."

"Thank you." She blushes,
breathes out a little breath, and shrugs her shoulders. "Hopefully I'll be
granted a settlement large enough to cover the legal fees, at least. Oh, thank
goodness we never had kids!"

"It is fortunate, given the
circumstances."

Alis kneels down to brush her cheek
against Portia's side. "I'll stick with kitties for now. Hey!" She
leans backward to look up at me. "Maybe I should keep one of these
babies... I always wanted a dog or a cat, but Jason was allergic. And he hated
animals."

"That would be wonderful. You
can take your pick of the litter when they're ready to go."

She smiles, all sadness vanished
from her too-blue eyes. "I'm excited now! I have to think of a name, and
buy a collar, and a scratching post, and lots of those fuzzy mice..." She
ticks each item off on her fingers.

Charmed by her enthusiasm, I laugh
and help her to her feet. "You're going to spoil it, Alis."

"Well, it'll be nice to have
someone to love."

I look at her—our faces are close,
half an arm's length apart—but she's avoiding my gaze. "Alis," I
begin, but she steps away, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her
head.

"Darcy, I'm sorry about
yesterday. I really— I don't know what came over me. I was completely out of
line. I guess I've just been lonely, and you've been so kind... I got
confused.
 
And kissed you." She
offers me a feeble smile. "I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive.
We've both been through hell..." I lift my arms and then drop them back at
my sides helplessly. "We both find ourselves suddenly alone, and that's...
It's scary." The words sound true, but there's a snag in my throat when I
speak, like a burr. "Please don't torment yourself over it."

"Oh, you have no idea how sick
I've been! I was so worried all day long. I wanted to apologize during breakfast,
but I just... You seemed so out of sorts; I thought my bringing it up would
only make matters worse. So I agonized during my entire shift, wondering if you
hated me, or thought I was a slut, or, worse, an insensitive slut, or maybe
just pathetic."

"None of the above," I
smile, reaching for her hand. She gives it to me and moves a few steps closer.
"On the contrary, I think you're...an angel."

Her features change, relax, from
agitated and nervous to softly glowing. "You only say that because I wear
so much white," she laughs quietly, indicating her hospital garb.

"Actually..." I shake my
head at her and place my hands on either side of her forehead, massaging her
temples gently, rhythmically. "It's the halo. Dead giveaway. You light up
any room you're in."

Her eyes widen, two round pools of blue, and I catch
my own gaze lingering over her lips.

Not again
, I think,
frustrated…but unable to look away.

"Ow!"

At Alis' cry, Portia hisses, and we
break apart.

"She scratched me!"

I observe Portia warily. She licks
a paw, eyes closed, by all appearances cucumber cool. "Let me see," I
say, taking Alis' arm in my hands. A small gash marks the back of her wrist.
There's no blood, but the wound has already turned pink and puffy.

I sigh. "She's never done that
before. It's so strange."

"Well, I should clean the
area; cat scratches are prone to infection."

"There's a first aid kit back
at the house, under the kitchen sink. I'll come with you—"

"No." She cradles her arm
and reaches for her coat. "I'm a nurse, remember? I can take care of it.
It's no problem." Alis eyes Portia. "Maybe she's unhappy with me
because I want to take her baby."

"Maybe," I agree,
doubtfully.

"Cats are observant. They
notice things."

"I'm really sorry, Alis."

"Oh, it's fine." She
smiles, wraps a red scarf around her neck and picks up a flashlight. "I
should get myself to bed, anyway, or I'll be the walking dead tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired,
too."

"So...have a good night,
Darcy. And stay warm!"
 
The door
closes with a dull thud behind her.

"Portia..."

The white cat meows prettily at the
sound of her name and begins to rub her soft body against my legs.

I never saw Portia display signs of
aggression before, but cats are unpredictable creatures, not held to ordinary
patterns of behavior. Maybe she saw a shadow, or smelled something she
disliked, or felt that her kittens were somehow in danger...

Or maybe Catherine made her do it.

I try to expel the thought but
can't help wondering: Can a ghost experience jealousy?

Guilt consumes me, and I sit down
next to the kittens, bringing my knees up to my chest. Portia hops up beside
me, and her purrs lull me to sleep.

---

It's still dark. I rub at my eyes
and stretch, moaning as pain shoots along my spine, over my back and neck. I
slept sitting on the couch and feel sore all over. I look about the room
dazedly, wondering what caused me to awaken.

Portia is napping along with her
kittens, her limbs and tail curled around them, keeping them warm.

With a shiver, I realize that I am
not only sore but cold, too. My teeth chatter as I leap from the couch to the
floor and grab some blankets from the armchair. I should have brought slippers,
I think, yawning, as I make my way toward the bedroom.