Consider Me Gone, page 7
part #1 of Time Shadows Series
But Louisa was no hoarder. She shared, giving deeply and with generosity. Millions of her dollars went to help the people of New Orleans, first to recover from Katrina, and later to support her fellow citizens during the Corona virus. Helping New Orlean’s poorest citizens seemed to be at least part of the reason for her wealth.
Romy felt unaccountably young around Loo. Though the woman couldn’t be a day under fifty-five, she seemed much younger yet ageless at the same time. When you spent time with Aunt Loo, everything you believed about the universe shifted and brought you back to day one.
And what did Romy really know of the universe despite her six years of post graduate education and her life experience? Far less than she had originally thought.
On the other hand, here was a woman who had become successful financially as well as spiritually, by all accounts, and thus had achieved some kind of balanced life. Now all Romy could do was pray she had the answers.
She walked up the stairs just as some electronic timer turned on the outdoor lighting system. Her eyes remained fixed on the deep green door ahead, all the while wondering how she’d phrase her story this time. She hadn’t done the greatest job explaining herself to Adrian, though she knew words hadn’t been the biggest difficulty there.
Adrian. No. Don’t think about him.
Her hand hadn’t yet reached the buxom goddess knocker when a voice greeted her from behind the shrubbery. “No need to touch them knockers. If it’s you, Romy, just take yourself in.”
Romy peered over the railing and grinned at the sturdy woman wearing coveralls standing amid the bushes, Louisa’s gardener-cum-grounds-person. “Is that you, Ray Dawn?”
“It’s me burnin’ the midnight oil. She wants you to go right in through the kitchen and out into the patio. Been expecting you. I got the side gate blocked on account that I’m laying down new flags for her new Meditation Garden. Lots of statues, bamboo, and another pool, is all I know. Can’t go that way, is my point.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
Romy knew about the Katrina Garden, the place where Aunt Loo beseeched all visitors not to mourn but to send love and light to the victims. It was right next to her Corona garden, a space where visitors could send love and light to anyone afflicted with the virus. The patio, however, was neutral ground.
More statues and salvaged architectural bits greeted her eye. Every visit to this house was worth the price of admission, if Louisa ever chose to charge.
She was often designing some bold new scheme that would inevitably send a glossy magazine’s editor scurrying out with a camera team upon its completion. Despite her many talents, it was still Louisa’s reputation as a woman wise to the ways of the paranormal for which she was most famous in New Orleans.
Romy pushed open the door and paused, looking back at Ray Dawn. “By the way, have you seen Jo?” She couldn’t help but hope her friend had changed her mind.
“Nope, not today.”
Sighing, Romy shut the door behind her and stepped across the threshold of Louisa’s 1846 mansion. Inside the house seemed hushed and still. Tiffany lamps glowed from the corners of the rooms adding splashes of color that seemed to coordinate with the gardenia-scented air.
Along the marble hall heading towards the kitchen, tables were arranged in intriguing vignettes such as tiny water gardens filled with floating lilies and an inlaid buffet table staging vials stuffed with pitcher plants.
Pitcher plants? Romy paused. Yes, Louisa had filled vases with the rich maroon and lime green of carnivorous plants. The effect was weirdly beautiful though Romy couldn’t help but imagine Louisa running about feeding the plants gourmet stick bugs.
Passing through the spotless kitchen, Romy spied a tray of something draped with linen towels on the granite counter top, no doubt delicious tidbits made by either Louisa or her chef.
Anxiety hit anew. Supposing Louisa was expecting company? What if her meeting tonight had to be cut short when she so desperately needed counsel?
She wouldn’t be expected to discuss something personal and embarrassing in front of strangers, would she? Swallowing hard, she stepped through the French doors onto the patio and caught her breath.
The night had settled in around the dusky garden, clotting inky shadows beneath the trees and fern-lined paths. Ahead, in the main patio room, a fire burned in the towering Gothic fireplace while tea lights glowed in glass pots marching along its carved mantle.
“I like an outdoor fire in the evenings, no matter how warm the night. Takes away the edge of damp, to my way of thinking,” said a deep melodic female voice.
Romy blinked, realizing the voice came from behind a large wrought iron chair, one of a cluster gathered before the fire. Only then did it occur to her that he might actually be the worthy guest for whom the food awaited in the kitchen.
How nice. She had never felt special enough to warrant particular attention before. She smiled. “Yes, it does. It warms the heart.”
“Sometimes the soul needs warming first.” Louisa had her back to Romy with her legs stretched on a small stool. The long thick hair had been loosed from her work-day chignon and now hung in unruly waves to her shoulders.
“Well, come out, why don’t you? Take a seat and pour yourself a julep. I can feel the anxiety wafting off you in waves.”
“Is it that obvious?” Romy asked as her feet scuffed across the damp slate towards a small candelabra-lit table holding three tall glasses and a pitcher.
A shiver tingled down her spine as her fingers grasped the glass’s slicked surface. For a moment the scent of the flowers clinging to the humid air smelled as overpowering as spilled perfume.
What would happen here tonight?
“Despair’s coming off you pretty strong, Romy.” Louisa said, mildly, “and it’s not all yours.” She sat back in the chair, eyes closed, holding a drink in her ringed fingers. “You need unwinding.”
“But you’re not even looking at me,” Romy remarked as she glanced towards Louisa.
“A person doesn’t need to look to see,” her hostess responded. “If only the world could look beyond the eyes to really see.”
Romy studied the older woman. As magnificent as ever, Louisa was not so much large as bountiful, her substantial girth seeming to house a wealth of experience along with a spirit twice as broad.
Tonight in a flowing loose gown that could easily be silk chiffon, she looked every inch the queen, the queen of mystery, wisdom and something else Romy couldn’t define.
“No, perhaps not.”
“You drink and relax now. The Bourbon in the julep ought to help with the unwinding. We’re waiting for Joquita. After she arrives, we’ll talk about what brought you here.”
“Jo’s coming?” Romy asked as she poured herself a drink with fingers trembling. Low blood sugar, she thought. No food for hours and hours. “She said she wouldn’t come so I wasn’t expecting to see her.”
“Well expecting her and she knows it. She’ll show. She needs to hear this too. I told her I expected her here within the hour and by my reckoning she’s got fifteen minutes left.” With that, Loo pushed herself to an upright position and turned to gaze at Romy.
For a few moments, Romy could feel those inscrutable eyes probing her as if from some satellite overhead. Finally, she met the woman’s gaze, acknowledging the instant of connection.
“So,” Louisa said softly, her voice edged with wonder. “It’s true.”
“What’s true?” Past the alarm, past the little ping of strangeness, Romy felt something too, something deeper than her definition of ‘familiar’.
For a few seconds the world seemed to shift, like wind brushing the reflection in a pool, and she thought she stood someplace else, someplace unknown yet half-remembered, a room with a cross against a stark white wall. A pain stabbed her between the eyes and she gasped.
“It’s alright, child,” Louisa’s voice said, her tone soothing like a cool hand on a fevered brow. “Imagine my garden, the fire, the taste of mint in the drink you’re holding. Try to use your imagination as the rudder to anchor you back to now.”
Romy followed those instructions until she could drag herself back into the comfortable mystery of Louisa’s garden. “What’s happening to me?” she whispered.
“Life, death and the pursuit of absolution, that’s what,” Louisa said softly. “Your soul has work to do. Don’t worry. I’ll explain all in good time. I’ve been waiting for this encounter for a long while now. I just didn’t recognize you were the one until this moment. All the times we met before, the time wasn’t right.”
8
Joquita strode onto the patio carrying the food trays, her energy shattering the moment. “Is this all we’re having for supper, these fish thingies?” she called out.
Romy turned towards her, dazed.
“Those ‘fish thingies’ are crab sandwiches with homemade mayonnaise and my own baked bread,” Louisa told her, swinging around. “And if you think I’m going to let you gnaw on celery sticks while you’re here, think again. Look at you. I have a lamp pole out here with more width to it. Eat.”
Jo made a face. “Yes, ma’am.” She cast a glance towards Romy. “Aunt Loo, can you sort this one out? She’s in deep shit.”
Louisa shot her a stern look. “Don’t go using that language around here, Joquita Maria Bonita Dupré, especially not in the presence of food.”
Joquita, looking as if she was accustomed to this exchange, took a mock bow. “Sorry again. No swearing, references to sex, or any other appetite not associated with food.”
Loo rumbled a laugh. “Good, then. You understand. Now, offer the sandwiches to our guest and sit yourself down.”
Joquita obeyed, winking at Romy as she settled into one of the cushioned chairs. “There. Get comfortable and eat up, my friend. I have a feeling we’re in for a long night.”
“You came,” Romy said.
“My presence here is by command. Auntie,” she said over her shoulder, “I told her you were an expert on the paranormal but I had no idea what to tell her to expect. Certainly not a séance, I know that much.”
“Child, you don’t know how little you know. For once, try to listen and learn something that doesn’t come packaged in a book. And no scuttling out the back door when the discussion delves deeper.”
“But I’m fixin’ to go on a date later,” Jo remarked. “He’s a hottie and I don’t want to be late.”
Aunt Louisa laughed again. “So, what else is new? My guess is he means no more to you than the last twenty you’ve strung along. Call him up and send your apologies. Say you have pressing business concerning your education and you’re giving him a chance to escape with his heart intact.”
Jo shook her head. “You make me seem like some modern day Delilah.”
“Ahuh.” Louisa nodded.
But Jo didn’t argue further and trotted off across the garden, cell phone pressed against her ear.
Only later, after they had eaten most of the sandwiches, munched their way through a mixed green salad, and left a crater in a dish of pecan bread pudding, did Louisa ask Romy to give her version of the events she’d been experiencing.
By that time, the fire had burned low in the grate, the tea lights had winked out one by one along the mantelpiece, and a mellow mood washed over everyone.
Until Romy began summarizing recent events. “So, you see, in the past three weeks, I’ve been experiencing this strange phenomenon. Sometimes it’s as if I’m actually transported to the past and sometimes it’s more like the past is influencing me here in the present.”
“Go on,” Louisa nodded.
“After last night, I finally have names—Claire and Antonio. Is this possession? Nothing about this feels like what I think I know about possession but I don’t have any other ready explanation. What’s happening to me?”
It took a few moments for the woman to respond. Louisa sat with eyes closed and hands folded in her lap. “Not possession but more like progression. This is your soul’s attempt to move on its journey. What’s messing with you in the here and now is an earlier version of your soul’s unfinished business and a pile of anguish keeping her locked in a kind of spin.”
“What?” Romy and Joquita said in unison.
“Claire is you, Romy. She’s your soul’s memory of another lifetime.”
“You're saying my soul is somehow stuck in a life it's lived before?"
“I said Claire is your soul’s memory, not your soul. Brains have memories, hearts have memories, and souls have memories. Think of it as an imprint, an internal ghost, if you like. Your soul has unfinished business to attend and it’s haunting you.”
“My soul is stuck?”
“Something powerful is keeping it from going forward—keeping it from letting go—some traumatic event your soul can’t forgive herself for, or perhaps for which others can’t forgive. It keeps going over the memories like a video on constant replay. She can’t find peace. She can’t move on and, because she can’t move on, neither can you.”
Romy and Joquita looked at one another. Romy swallowed hard. “I’m being haunted from the inside. Is my soul in a kind of purgatory?”
“Think of purgatory as only one way of looking at things,” Louisa said, “but only one way. Call the light ‘heaven’, if you want; call pain and suffering ‘hell’; call all the in between part, ‘purgatory’—doesn’t matter. Different beliefs use different metaphors. Fact is, souls are on a journey and there’s a pile of work to do along the way. Most of us keep right on going unless we get stuck. That’s what’s happening to your soul, Romy. It’s stuck all right.”
Romy sat upright in her chair, struggling to comprehend. “I’m stuck,” she repeated. “Okay, I can believe that. I certainly feel like I’m spinning my wheels but what about Adrian? Where does he fit into this?”
“Right smack in the middle, to my way of thinking. His soul’s memories are tied in with yours. Your two souls are probably well acquainted, maybe across many lifetimes, which is why you’re susceptible to uncontrollable behaviors when you’re around him and why his reaction to you may seem so odd. Something happened between you two.”
Romy nodded. “He’s Antonio Ulloa, isn’t he?”
“Sounds that way to me,” the older woman said.
“Part of me believed that from the beginning,” Romy acknowledged.
Joquita whistled. “No way the good professor will ever believe that.”
Louisa let out a low, rumble of a laugh. “Not yet, perhaps, but he will. That man’s got a lifetime of preconceived notions to overcome first, same as you.”
“But he’s always kept me physically at a distance,” Romy said, “as if he’s not attracted to me.”
“Do you really believe he’s not attracted?” Louisa asked.
“No but he behaves as if he’s not, which is twice as bad. That means he’s lying to both of us.”
“And on more than one level,” Louisa said with a nod. “He senses some pull towards you beyond his conscious understanding and it doesn’t quite fit with who he thinks he is in this lifetime,” Louisa continued.
“How male of him,” Jo said with a sigh.
“So, not only am I burdened with another lifetime’s baggage but so is he?” Romy asked.
Louisa agreed. “And others, too, but the two of you are at the center of it all. Your spirit is more guilt-ridden and thus more toxic. You have a powerful spirit, Romy, one that has bound others to you throughout the centuries. You’ve got to resolve whatever it is that keeps Claire from letting go and by doing that you’ll unlock all kinds of things about yourself and maybe others, too. Plenty of people have a stake in this, child, but only you can figure out how the pieces fit.”
“That’s a huge responsibility,” Romy protested. “How can I do that?”
“I’ll help but I want you to tell me something first. Tell me about your parents first.” Louisa leaned forward, fixing Romy with her inscrutable gaze.
“They both died when I was a child and my memories of them are pretty sketchy. There was a lot of pain, I recall that. My mother died of cancer and my father if a broken heart, as best I can tell. I went to live with my mother’s brother after that, Uncle Gerard—a sweet, wonderful man. He died two years ago but I still miss him.” She raised her empty glass as if toasting the air, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “You see, a simple tale, after all.”
“Now listen, Romy,” Louisa said, taking her hand. “You’ve had a ton of grieving to do and so has Claire. She is part of you, too, though on a much deeper level. We’ll begin with her. Know Claire and you’ll understand yourself.
Romy stared at the embers n the fireplace. “You’ve probably also picked up on how, on some subconscious level, I don’t think I deserve happiness because, if I did, my parents would never have abandoned me in first place. Despite my stellar academic success, I suffer from massive low esteem. In other words and using modern psych babble, my inner child is a mess. That pretty well sum it up?”
Louisa sighed. “Sounds like you’ve had counseling, though maybe not the kind you need.”
“I have.”
“And has it helped?”
“Not one bit. It’s just given me a few reasons for what ails me, and a couple of tidy words to apply to my syndromes but no cures.”
“All right then, now we’re going to try healing your soul. All the previous assistance dealt with the mind, which is only organic circuitry, when all’s said and done. Your soul is the heart,” Louisa told her. “Once Claire’s free, the rest will follow.”
Romy gazed at her. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Believe me, honey, it will be the hardest thing you’ll ever do.”
9
“So, what do I have to do?” Romy asked. “I must continue on my quest to go back into time, don’t I? I have to find that woman who was me and the man she loved.”
“Yes, and it may just be the hardest thing you’ll ever do in this lifetime or any other but it’s got to be done. You ready?”
