The Presence (6 page)

"You know the person who gave me the flowers," I whispered. "I think he's on his way to talk to us."

"Where?" Collin peered over the heads of the jostling people. He waved to some, and called out hello and Merry Christmas. "Where is this guy?" he asked. "Would you like me to inquire if his intentions are honorable?"

"No," I said, because by then he was standing next to us, saying to me, "Catherine. I'm Noah."

"Yes," I whispered.

"What?" Collin asked. "You
do
want me to ask?"

Neither Noah nor I answered. "It's nice to meet you at last." Noah smiled that dazzling smile.

Collin turned his back on him and said to me, "I bet your grandma's checking her e-mail. That grandma of yours gets more e-mail than anybody else I know, even my dad—and he gets plenty." He turned up the collar of his jacket. "Did it suddenly get cold in here?" Why was he being so rude to Noah, ignoring him like this?

"By the way, Catherine," Noah said. "My last name is Vanderhorst. Noah Vanderhorst." He gave me an old-fashioned kind of a bow, and for a minute I thought maybe he was going to kiss my hand.

"I need to know what you know," I said. "Are you a psychic or something?"

"Of course." Collin grinned. Did he think I was talking to him? "I see things," he went on. He closed his eyes. "Now I see us, you and me, at
The Nutcracker.
Tonight. In the Civic. And I see us having burgers first in Hamburger Heaven."

"I'm not a psychic," Noah said to me as if Collin hadn't even spoken. Almost as if he was used to being ignored. "I'll explain. Not now. Later. But I can arrange for you to talk to Kirsty yourself."

What was going on here? Collin and Noah didn't speak to one another—didn't even seem to see one another.

I was shivering all over. I bit at my knuckles. If I could really talk to Kirsty. If I could ask her forgiveness. If she could take this awful guilt away from me.

I had a flicker of fright. Could I really be taking this all seriously, as if it was really going to happen? But there
were
people, weren't there, who could talk to those on the other side? That's what they called it, "the other side," as if it wasn't so far away and unreachable. As if they were just on the other side of a door or a wall, or just in the next room. For a second I seemed to see Kirsty, laughing that belly laugh of hers, saying, "Come on, wee girl. You mean to say you've been all worried?
Dinna fash yersel'!
"

"Oh, please," I breathed.

"Catherine. Catherine. What's wrong?" Collin asked. "You're thinking sad thoughts, aren't you? You're freaking yourself out." He took my hand, but I pulled it away.

"Let's go find your grandma," he urged.

Noah leaned closer. "Come back this afternoon. Meet me here in the lobby. Come when your grandmother is having her nap. She has one every day, right?" He flashed another smile. "I've heard her mention it to Rita and Maureen. Her reading nap."

I nodded.

"I'm going to get your grandma," Collin said.

"All right." I didn't care. I was only interested in the most important question I still had to ask Noah. I waited till Collin had gone, pushing himself quickly through the laughing, talking people. The noise was beginning to hurt my head. I took a shaky breath. "Noah? Does Kirsty forgive me?"

"You can ask her yourself," he said.

Then Grandma was beside me, her face pale and worried. "Catherine? Collin says you're not..." She paused. "He says he thinks you're not feeling well."

"I'm fine," I said and turned toward Noah.

But Noah was gone.

The service was probably beautiful. Old hymns, old carols. I didn't hear much of it. The Reverend Dr. John Miller looked so much like Collin. His words were soft and warm, and they soothed even though I wasn't listening to the sense of them. I thought that if someone was ever in trouble, he or she could go to Dr. Miller. He would try his best to help.

The Christmas tree stood serenely in front of the largest of the stained-glass windows. It was decorated with paper and straw ornaments that looked as if they'd been made by children. We used to do that, I remembered, when I was little. I always made the straw donkey. No lights on the tree.

I tried to concentrate. Had Collin Miller asked me to go out with him? To something?
The Nutcracker,
that was it.

There was a Nativity scene in front, Mary's robe, as blue as the Pasadena sky, and behind it, the row of poinsettias glowing scarlet in the candlelight. Which poinsettia was mine? From Noah?

Where was Noah? I turned my head cautiously, but I couldn't see him in the overflowing church.

Next to me, Grandma sang in a low, tuneless voice. Every now and then she'd touch my hand or my arm and smile encouragingly. She'd be hoping and praying that I wasn't starting to go crazy again. I'd sensed her thoughts and Collin's, too, but they didn't make much sense to me. Maybe asking Noah if he was psychic had upset them. I guess getting involved with a psychic alarmed people. I'd never thought about it before. But I wasn't alarmed now. Just filled with hope.

When Dr. Miller had given the pastoral prayer, I'd kept my head bent and prayed for myself. That I would be ak lowed to talk to Kirsty. That she would be forgiving. And then, from somewhere, a prayer of my childhood slid into my mind:

Keep me safe, O Lord, I pray,
Stay beside me through the day.

I clasped my hands along the back of the pew in front. "Stay beside me," I whispered. "Keep me safe."

The Presence listened to the service, hummed along with the music, watched the congregation, watched Catherine. He loved the way her hair streamed down her back. He'd brush it the way he'd brushed Lydia's. Alice's, too. But he didn't want to think about Alice. Catherine's lips matched the sweater she wore. He loved the sweet, pure curve of her cheek.

She wasn't joining in the hymns. She kept her head bent even after the prayers were over. She was thinking about him and about this afternoon. Of course she was. He felt wonderful. He'd seen her talking to Donna's mother, and for a few minutes he'd been nervous. But what was there to be nervous about? Nobody knew.

The fourth Advent candle had been lighted, and it glowed with the other three, its flame bright and steady in front of the altar. The Presence didn't like candles. He didn't like fire of any kind. Sometimes when it was cold, Manuel lit the big old-fashioned boiler in the basement, and it roared and flamed before it caught and settled into its low rumble. Whenever the Presence saw Manuel coming with the long taper, he crouched low in a corner and put his hands over his face.

Often he pondered fire. Why did it scare him? He thought it was because he knew about the flames of Hell. He'd never be going there or anywhere. So why did the descriptions terrify him? He'd decided that the people he'd lived with when he was little, the couple who had taken him from the orphanage, had preached so much about eternal damnation and the bottomless fiery pit that it was burned into his brain. Well, they were probably there now themselves.

Strange how those early days came back to him so clearly. His "parents." Mrs. Evangeline Tibbs, with her hair screwed into its tight scraggle of bun. Mr. Hubert Tibbs, in his dark suit with the stained three-button waistcoat. Oh, yes, when the Presence had strangled Lydia, they'd wept and wailed, saying how they'd tried so hard with Noah, but how they had suspected, been afraid deep down, that the woman who'd given birth to him, who'd given him up, had left her stain upon him. They hadn't cried at his graveside, not even when the minister had said that God forgave Noah his terrible sin and they must, too. They hadn't. And, as it turned out, neither had god.

The Presence felt anger rise hot inside him when he thought of the Tibbses. Well, they were gone and he wasn't. Someday he'd tell Catherine all about them. She'd listen and sympathize. She'd take his head in her lap, and he'd tell her about Lydia. But not right away. "Lydia didn't love me enough," he'd say. "What else could I do?
"

Catherine would understand.

All through lunch, I could tell that Grandma was anxious. Collin had told her that I was upset, that he didn't think I was feeling well. So now she was wondering if I was going to go off into one of my episodes, like the ones Mom had worried her about.

For lunch we'd fixed a salad with pears and walnuts and blue cheese that was probably delicious. Grandma piled a lot on her plate. I had no interest.

"Collin tells me you and he are going to
The Nutcracker
tonight." She passed me the basket of crackers, and I took one and pretended to nibble at it. "That'll be fun," she said. "One of my earliest and nicest dates was with a boy called Norman Ferraro. We went to
The Nutcracker
at the Civic. At intermission, he bought me a glass of punch, out on the patio. We sat at one of the little folding tables, and it was so cold. I didn't have a wrap." She sighed. "But I would have sat out on top of the North Pole to be with Norman Ferraro."

I smiled. "I'm not sure if you can actually sit on the North Pole," I said, and Grandma waved an airy hand.

"Whatever."

I sensed she was talking to keep my mind occupied so there would be no space or time in it for "playbacks." Mine, she knew, would not be the nice kind, about Norman Ferraro and
The Nutcracker,
but about blood and moaning and death.

"You'll have a terrific time," she went on. "Collin is not Norman Ferraro, but I suspect he'll be exciting and maybe even a little bit daring. That's good in a beau."

I stared into space. By that time, I'd have talked to Kirsty. By that time, my whole life might have changed. For the worse or for the better? Oh, it had to be for the better.

Grandma's table was in front of the French windows that led to her little garden. Sun poured in and lay in squares of light and shade on the green placemats and red and green-checked napkins. Outside, a blue jay hopped from the patio to the chair and cocked its head at us. Everything so normal. Was Kirsty able to see me now?

Was she waiting, as I was, for the chance to make things right between us again?

I glanced surreptitiously at my watch and folded my napkin. "Why don't I clear up and you can start your reading nap?" I suggested.

Grandma gave me a serious, questioning look. "I'm not in the mood for reading today. This new book of Stella Carririgton's is not up to her usual standard. It's like she's run out of luscious ideas. Her heroes all look alike, tall, dark, and handsome. I'd like to read about a blond hunk for a change." She put the lid neatly on the butter dish. "I was thinking we could go down to the Huntington Gardens and have a walk this afternoon. It's beautiful at Christmastime," she added.

I paused on the way from the table with our used plates. She was going to keep a loving eye on me. My heart dropped. How was I to get away? "The only thing," I said hesitantly, "I thought I'd go for a run. You know, when I'm..."I paused. "When I'm confused or maybe down about something, a run really helps me. I can sort things out. Dr. West told me that that's a medically known fact, something about endorphins...." I let the words trail away. "I thought maybe, while you were reading..."

Grandma smiled happily. "A run is a great idea. I'd come with you, but I'm more of a walker than—"

I interrupted. "Alone is better."

"I imagine it is, honey," she said softly. "And you won't get lost? You'll remember how to get back here?"

"Absolutely. I might even stop at The Juice Place and buy myself a fruit drink."

"Perfect. And I'll try Stella Carrington again. Maybe she'll get better in the next chapter."

We smiled at each other. "All right, now." Grandma took the salad bowl to the sink. "You get started. I'll finish here."

"Thanks."

I ran upstairs, changed into sweats and running shoes, tied my hair back. In the mirror, I saw myself, pale, big-eyed. I smoothed on pink lipstick and rubbed blusher into my cheeks. Never in my life had I put on makeup to go running. But never in my life had I been going to meet a dead friend, and Noah.

"Be careful, lovey," Grandma called after me.

"I will."

I ran along her street, past the sleepy Sunday afternoon houses. A dog came with me for a half a block, then turned back. It was hot, but cool under the trees. In the distance, the tops of the San Gabriel Mountains were dusted with snow.

Now I could see St. Matthew's. Instinctively, my running steps slowed. Was I getting myself into something not only frightening but also dangerous? I was going into this church, which was presumably empty except for Noah and a dead spirit. Did I want to be like one of those mindless girls in old Hitchcock movies who went up and opened forbidden attic doors when they knew perfectly well that something obscenely awful was waiting for them in there? I'd always laughed, embarrassed for the girls, and said, "Oh, give me a break!" Was that the kind of stupid thing I was planning to do now?

I stopped and leaned against a tree trunk. What did I know about Noah anyway? I knew he'd had a grandfather, or maybe a great-grandfather, also called Noah, who had somehow terrified Miss Lottie Lovelace. She'd liked the grandfather once, enough to wear his ring. She'd looked like me. I suspected maybe this Noah—my Noah—had had a love affair with Donna Cuesta, who also looked like me. He'd given her the ring, which obviously had obviously been handed down. But something had happened, and Donna Cuesta had run away to become one of the Lost.

I began walking slowly toward St. Matthew's. For some reason, Collin didn't like Noah. He hadn't even acknowledged his presence this morning or spoken to him. Probably he didn't like psychics. Noah had said he wasn't exactly a psychic. Perhaps he considered himself a medium. A "channeler," channeling dead people's thoughts into those of the living. I'd heard one interviewed once on TV. Creepy!

I began to shiver, big rippling shivers that ran along my body like waves along the sand. Probably Collin didn't go for channelers, either. Come to think of it, Donna's mother had ignored him, too.