As the Crow Flies, page 25
“Oh boy…” Liz said. “I haven’t talked to Sam. She must be heartbroken.”
“I think she’s more upset than she lets on. And ‘oh boy’ is right,” Gwen said. “Rosa and I have determined that Bertha’s either a lesbian…or Bertha’s Bert.”
Liz’s jaw dropped, and she covered her mouth. “Oh no! Bertha’s a boy? How can you tell?”
“Well, for starters, we witnessed Bertha mounting the other bird,” Gwen said with a poker face. “And then we stuck around for the copulation, just to be sure.”
“Oh, no. How did Sam take it?”
“She doesn’t know. I’m waiting for her to adjust to the idea of Bertha wanting to live here before breaking the news.”
“Poor Sam,” Isabel said, before politely interrupting the conversation. “Listen, I think we should pull the van around to the barn and unload before it gets too dark.” The cottage wouldn’t be ready for furniture for a few more weeks, and the barn would provide dry storage and give them space to clean and work on the pieces they’d bought.
“Yeah. Let’s do that. And then I really need to hit the road.”
“You’re not hitting any road,” Gwen said. “Sam’s room is ready for you, and dinner’s on the stove.”
Isabel looked at Liz. “Please stay,” she said. “I know you’re tired, and I’d rather you didn’t drive home.”
Rosa got the dogs into the house so Liz could back the van around to the barn. Isabel directed her in, shooing away the outdoor cats that ran out of the open barn to greet her.
“My goodness!” Gwen said when Liz opened the back doors of the van. The space was packed, piled to the ceiling.
“Everything up front is for the cottage. The rest is going back with me to the city.”
They began by sliding out a huge stack of barn-wood panels that Liz would use as a wall covering in the bedroom. She’d find the perfect color paint for the other three walls, something cooler than taupe, warmer than gray, that would complement the weathered wood and pop the white of the rustic birch headboard they’d found. If any panels were left, they’d build a pot hanger for the kitchen wall.
Isabel pulled out a lobster trap and held it up for Rosa to see. “You think Eugene will help us turn this into an end table?”
“You know he’ll help you do anything, chica.”
Smiling, Isabel carried it into the barn, careful not to trip over the dozen cats inspecting the items, then took a moment to pet and talk to each one of them. “Did they eat yet?”
“Everyone’s been fed,” Gwen said as she lifted out the first of two heavy stoneware pieces and squealed with delight. “Burley Winter,” she said, immediately recognizing the pottery. “These must be a hundred years old.” Both were half brown and half white. One was a five-gallon whiskey jug that would look nice on the floor with dried flowers or pussy willows; the other was a two-gallon butter crock that would serve as a utensil holder in the kitchen.
Rosa picked up a large bulbous lamp with two hands, its round glass globe encased in a metal cage. “What’s this?”
“It’s an onion lamp,” Liz answered. “An old reproduction of the lanterns used for nighttime working on fishing schooners. We thought it would look great hanging over a small table in the dining area.”
“You know, Liz, I really like your sense of style,” Gwen said, and then she winked at Rosa. “When this cottage is done, I might want to move into it and let the girls have the house.”
Isabel shot a nervous look at her and then glanced away, as if embarrassed by the fact that Gwen always saw clear through to her emotions.
“You know I would never refuse that house, and I wouldn’t change a thing in it,” Liz joked as they lifted out the remaining items: the headboard and weathered barn window, the glass panes of which Liz would replace with mirrors; a narrow hall table Isabel would refinish; a hand-carved, life-size loon; two vintage fruit crates for magazines or books; a huge galvanized basket to hold fruit; and an old milk can that would make a perfect stand for a pot of flowers outside the cottage door.
The only thing left was the largest and heaviest of their finds—a vintage cupboard almost as wide as the van and six feet high. The original white paint was worn along the edges and crackled all over, so that the dark wood beneath showed through. Untouched, it would make a perfect pantry or maybe even a bookcase. The cupboard was lying on its back, and Liz and Isabel slid it out almost all the way, letting the far corners rest on the bumper until Gwen and Rosa came around.
“It’s very heavy, so let’s each take an end and carry it flat until we get it into the barn,” Isabel suggested.
“Okay,” said Liz, “on the count of three. One, two—”
The four of them lifted, but after a few steps Rosa started losing her grip. “Espera, espera!” she yelled, and they all stopped.
“All right, all right, we’re waiting.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “Hurry up, before I lose my end.”
Rosa struggled for a moment, then let her end slip to the ground. “Ay, Dios mío!” She leaned forward and held her abdomen.
“Are you okay?” Liz asked with sudden concern. “Did you hurt your stomach?”
“No, no, is not my stomach.” Rosa huffed and puffed, mumbling in broken English as her hand moved down to her groin. “Is my lady parts. I think they just fell out.”
Gwen made a face at Rosa, struggling to hold on to her end and trying not to laugh. “Did you drop your uterus?”
“Dios mío! I drop something for sure. Is in my underpants.”
Isabel’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I no wanna look because…whatever drop out, I can’t put it back.”
One glance between Gwen and Liz, and they both tightened their lips to keep from laughing. Still holding the heavy load, which was feeling heavier by the second, Liz raised one foot behind her and pretended to inspect the bottom of her shoe. “I think it was an ovary you lost, and it’s not in your underpants anymore. I just stepped on it.”
Gwen played along. “I hope you don’t need it anymore, Rosa, because it’s flat as a pancake.”
That was all the four of them needed to start heaving with laughter, and the harder they laughed the weaker their arms got, so that one by one they lost their grip and let the cupboard slide to the ground.
Gwen gestured at Liz and tried to speak, but she was laughing so hard the words came out in squeaks. “Don’t fret, Rosa. I’m sure Liz, our resident antiquarian and designer, will repurpose and turn it into something beautiful for the cottage.” And with that they broke into another fit of laughter and laughed until they couldn’t breathe, Isabel included.
“Oh my goodness…let’s give this another try,” Gwen said when they’d regained both their composure and the strength to lift the cupboard again. Liz and Gwen picked up one end, and Isabel moved Rosa out of the way and took the other end by herself.
“Dios mío!” Rosa complained as she watched them carry it. “Why you get something so heavy, chica?”
“Never mind that,” Isabel said, and when Rosa looked away Isabel mouthed the words drama queen. “Just keep the cats out of the way for us so we don’t trip. Por favor.”
It was almost dark by the time they were done, and Gwen walked back into the barn to shut off the lights and turn on a nightlight. “I’ll lock the cats up,” she said to Isabel. “You two go wash your hands and have dinner.”
While Liz and Isabel brought the van back around to the house, Gwen and Rosa shut the barn doors, keeping the cats safe from wandering coyotes and the early morning crows who mercilessly chased them for pure enjoyment.
On the way back to the house Gwen looked up at the rising moon and stars and thought of Sam. She always thought of Sam. No matter what she was doing, that woman had become permanent background music, and she regretted that their passion had cooled the other night. It was not just seeing Alley, but seeing her on the patio, that had filled her with terror. For as long as Alley’s ghost had appeared, it had always been by the pond, and she’d never been afraid; after all, who wouldn’t want to see the spirit of a beloved pet, a confirmation of their continued existence? Yet something about her unexpected appearance outside the windows of the ballroom struck fear in her, and for the first time ever she worried that the vision might be a bad omen.
“It’s a nice night,” she said to Rosa and looked around. “It’s supposed to be cool again.”
“Sí,” Rosa said. She began humming and spread her arms as she walked, as if feeling for something palpable in the air. When she reached the porch, she stopped and looked back at Gwen. “It’s gone,” she said.
“What is?”
“The fantasma. The espíritu.”
Gwen looked at her, perplexed. “Alley?”
“Sí.”
“Gone where?”
Rosa shrugged. “I dunno…maybe to the other side…but she’s not here.”
It was strange how Gwen could see the ghost of her dog clear as day but never actually felt her presence, and how Rosa always felt her presence but never saw more than a white mist. And then there was Sam, who could see and feel and communicate with the ghost, for God’s sake. There was something about Sam, but Gwen hadn’t quite figured it out yet.
Had Alley, after several years of being earthbound, of being unresolved, unfinished, finally found a way to cross the invisible chasm between life and death? Whatever had happened, Rosa would insist that Sam had played a part, and for this very reason she’d kept from telling her about the ghost coming up to the windows the other night.
Tears welled in her eyes as she started walking again. Was it possible that her dearly departed dog truly had departed? That she would not see her again until she herself crossed that chasm? She felt ashamed of herself just then, ashamed to think her beloved companion had come to the window, maybe only to say good-bye—so long, farewell until we meet again—and that she had recoiled from the sight of the dog she’d loved with all her heart.
Gwen climbed the porch steps and paused to wipe her tears. She ran a finger under each eye, careful not to smudge her eyeliner. Then she pulled herself together, put on a perfectly enthusiastic smile, and went inside to make drinks and hear all about the girls’ trip to Maine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In the dream it was winter, the morning cold and gray, a heavy snow falling quietly. It wasn’t too deep yet: just enough to cover the feet of the black crows noisily gathered in the middle of the frozen pond. Something was going on out there. The birds seemed to be circling an undulating mound of snow on the ice, but the mist and whirling flakes distorted her vision, making it hard to get a good view of what was attracting the crows’ attention.
Samantha couldn’t see herself, but she knew this was her home and that she had lived here for a long time. So long, that she had grown old here. Her hips ached on cold, wet days like this, and the discomfort would soon drive her inside, but for the moment she wanted to sit with her memories, very fond memories, of being young in this glorious place. She stared out, remembering a woman and a girl who ice-skated every winter on this pond, holding hands as they raced and glided, until one would slip and they both laughed. She remembered bounding toward them with the effortless vibrancy of youth, trying to stop before she reached them and plowing into them instead, slipping and sliding and sometimes flipping over. This made the woman and girl laugh more. Oh, how she loved their laughter…how she loved the woman and the girl. Oh, how she loved these memories of days that were no more.
Now in the winter of her own life, she was content to trade those wild romps for quiet comforts. And the best of comforts was lying beside the woman by the fire at night, just the two of them. The woman would hold a book in one hand, while the other hand came to rest on her, to gently massage her sore hips, rub her ears, softly scratch her head. This woman was her world. Being next to her was heaven. From time to time she would turn her head from the flames of the crackling and mesmerizing fire to gaze up at the woman and think how much she loved her.
Her nose twitched just then, catching the scent of burning wood wafting from the chimney, and she knew that both the woman and a warm fire were waiting for her inside. Breakfast would be waiting, too. She rose to head back, but just as she did the crows spotted her and stopped cawing. In the silence, she heard the snow falling and then the mewling of a cat. The girl’s cat. An alarm went off in her, adrenaline numbing the ache in her hips. She stepped out onto the ice. Moving cautiously, purposefully, Samantha looked back only once to see the trail of paw prints she left behind, and in the crazy way that dreamers dream, she knew instinctively that those paw prints belonged to her.
Farther out she went, hesitantly padding her way, until she could see the white cat clearly. Half of a cat, really. It was submerged to its waist in water, too weak to pull itself out of the hole, but its sharp claws clung to the ice. It struggled to keep them securely anchored, lest its upper body follow the bottom half into the smothering, icy darkness. When it saw and recognized the dog approaching, hopeless mews strengthened into desperate cries for help. She whined and whimpered at the cat and then crouched, lowering herself to her belly and crawling forward. Inch by inch she edged her way to the break in the ice. And when her paws reached the hole, she pushed her face forward. The cat looked at her as if staring into the face of a miracle and, in a flash, used the dog’s long snout as a ladder. Retracting the claws of one paw from the ice, it reached with an arm, anchoring those same claws into the dog’s paw. And then in a flash, the claws of its other paw let go of the ice and hooked onto the dog’s snout. In one more swift movement, it clawed and climbed its way over the dog’s back and was gone, saved.
She felt the piercing needle-like pain of cat claws, but it was nothing compared to her fear as she tried to push herself up and heard the ice groan. Her legs splayed, she tried to push up again, but her paws kept slipping, and when tried instead to turn herself around to crawl back, the ice cracked beneath her belly.
She opened her mouth to scream for Gwen but had no voice. Help me, help me, help me!
The vibrations of the cracking ice grew louder until they woke Samantha up, and she turned her head on the couch to see her cell phone bouncing around the coffee table. She grabbed it, looked at the screen in a daze, and answered when she saw Liz’s name.
“Hey there,” she said, her voice raspy, the words coming in heavy breaths.
“Did I interrupt? Are you having sex with someone?”
“No.”
“Are you having sex with yourself?”
Samantha laughed. “No.” Liz’s decadent humor was a welcome distraction from the awful dread of drowning that still filled her chest. She sat up and scratched her head.
“Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“Perfect timing, actually. I was having a horrible dream. You woke me up right before I died, so thanks for that.”
“You were dying?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t me…I mean, it was me, but in the dream I wasn’t a person. I had the body of Gwen’s—oh, never mind.” Samantha rubbed her face again and ran fingers through her hair. “Just a crazy dream. I think my brain was streaming psychic residue from thinking so much about that ghost-dog.”
“Alley was her name, right?”
“Yeah.” Samantha got up and took the phone into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.
“Why are you sleeping so late, anyway? It’s almost noon.”
“I’ve been up writing since six. I crashed on the couch an hour ago and must have passed out.”
“Starting a new book so soon?”
“Two books. I’m working on the next in the series and also trying something different…something for a woman’s audience. I got this idea for a story and want to see if I can work it out on paper.”
“Another paranormal mystery?”
“Sort of…”
“What’s it about?”
“Ah, it wouldn’t be a mystery if I told you. All I will say is that it involves a romance.”
“Ooh! Am I one of your characters?”
Samantha laughed. “Absolutely. You’d make a really good character in a novel.”
“Is Isabel in it, too?”
“If you want her to be.”
“Of course I do. Just do me a favor and make sure my character has sex with Isabel’s character, because it’s not going down in real life.”
“Uh-oh.” Samantha turned the faucet on and filled the coffeepot. “How’d you make out this weekend…or should I ask, did you make out this weekend?”
“No. We definitely did not make out. We had a great time, though. Isabel and my parents hit it off, and she was ecstatic over racing a car. She was so adorable and did so well. I’m sure she’ll make you watch the video.”
After a long pause, Samantha could hear Liz blowing out a breath of frustration.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, Sam…I’m falling big-time for this one, but…I’m beginning to think she’s not gay. Maybe she just isn’t terribly interested in the whole dating scene and chooses to be celibate.”
Samantha scooped coffee into the filter. “What makes you think that?”
“I can’t explain it. I mean, she’s smart, interesting, surprisingly funny, and—God, Sam, we’re so good together—but there’s something…something almost adolescent about being with her. I feel like she’s twelve and I’m thirteen, and we’re besties having sleepovers.”
“Liz, come on, just kiss her already and see what happens.” Samantha pulled out a kitchen chair and sat while the coffee came down. “If a kiss turned the frog into a prince, maybe your kiss will turn the girl into a woman.”
“Nice fairy tale, Sam, but I don’t think so.” She blew out another breath. “If she would only give me a signal, one sign, just a hint that she wanted to be kissed, believe me, I’d take over from there. But she hasn’t, and I’m scared of doing anything that will freak her out and send her into a panic. I’m telling you, she’s emotionally delicate, and I can’t bear the thought of losing her friendship if—hold on a second,” she said. Sam heard muffled shouts, horns blowing, and then Liz yelling, “Yeah, fuck you, too, dickwad!”
