As the Crow Flies, page 33
The more Sam spoke, the more incredulous Gwen became. “This is all very upsetting, Sam. I don’t know what to make of it. I pleaded with you not to touch her. I told you that I acknowledge her, but I’ve never reached out to touch her because…” She gave a sigh of reproach and frustration. “She’s pure energy, Sam. We don’t know what it is, where it comes from, or what it can do. I’m afraid it might have hurt you somehow.”
“Hey.” Sam took both her hands. “No one’s hurting anyone,” she said, her soft smile reassuring. “I’m sorry I went against your wishes. I was wrong. But that ghost has done nothing but project her memories somehow. That first day, when I watched her in that storm, I could feel her absolute despair. It was horrible to watch. And then when I went out to her that night we danced, she seemed less depressed, perkier.”
“Perkier?”
“Yeah. I think she likes me.”
Gwen made a fist and pressed it against her lips as Rosa’s words filled her head. That espíritu cares nothing for that woman…she’s using her to get to you. “Sam, I’m asking you right now to stay away from her! Next time you see that ghost, don’t even look at her. Do you hear me?”
“Okay, sweetheart. I promise. It’ll be hard to ignore her though, especially since she came to me in a dream. We’re sort of bonded now.”
“Bonded?”
“Yeah, you know, emotionally attuned to each other.”
“That’s what Rosa thinks. And she’s convinced Alley’s ghost has bonded to you in more ways than one. The way she’s talking makes me think Alley’s attached herself to you like something out of your stories—like that Mr. Minerva’s ghost attaching itself to his wife’s mistress.”
“What…?” It was dark out, but the moonlight was enough to see Sam’s face pale.
“You mean like…an auric attachment?” She gave a nervous laugh that seemed to catch in her throat. “Is that why Rosa wants nothing to do with me? She thinks the ghost is, what, feeding off my energy? Is Rosa crazy?”
“Let’s hope so, Sam. Because if that ghost is feeding off you, it’s only going to make her stronger.”
* * *
Gwen hadn’t been asleep long when a strange noise stirred her, and she opened her eyes to see a light shining through the louvered doors of her walk-in closet. She reached over and patted the bed. It was empty. She’d been so worried she didn’t think she could sleep, but the three martinis had won out in the end. She listened for a minute, then very quietly threw back the covers and got up, nervously pulling her nightshirt down over her hips as she slowly tiptoed across the carpet. The doors were open a few inches, and she stopped just before she reached them, listening to the sounds—papers being shuffled, boxes tumbling. Another few steps and she cautiously peeked between the doors. There was Sam, busily rummaging through her belongings on the shelves that lined the back wall.
“Sam…?” Slowly she took hold of the handles, pulled the doors open, and stared in disbelief. Several shoeboxes were strewn about Sam’s bare feet, the lids off, shoes toppling out, as though they’d been carelessly knocked off the top shelf.
“Sam?” she said again, louder this time, but Sam was unresponsive. She kept digging around in the closet, and it struck Gwen then that she might be sleepwalking. She watched, paralyzed for the moment and suddenly afraid of Sam. She’d never witnessed a somnambulist, but she’d read somewhere that startling a sleepwalker was never a good idea, so she just stood there, frozen with fear, as Sam finally seemed to find what she was looking for—a bigger box, a keepsake box, filled with old family pictures, letters, sentimental trinkets. It was taped shut, but Sam peeled away the packing tape and opened the flaps as though she were wide awake. She began stirring her hand around inside the box, and when Gwen heard the jingling, she held a hand to her mouth to silence her gasp. She knew what it was before she even saw it—Alley’s old orange collar and tags.
Gwen’s hands trembled as she put them together and pressed her fingers against her lips.
Sam turned around then and stared right at her but showed no recognition. Her expression was dim, her eyes glazed over. She pushed right past Gwen then, bumping her shoulder as she went by, and made a straight line back to her side of the bed.
Speechless, Gwen waited, giving her plenty of space, and when Sam sat, she quietly made her way over to her. Sam remained in an altered state of consciousness for another minute, but slowly she seemed to become vaguely aware of Gwen, enough that she gave a confused but happy smile.
They’d all had a little too much to drink tonight, but Sam certainly wasn’t anywhere near sloppy drunk. Not drunk enough to be in this kind of stupor. “Sam, darling? What…what’s happened to you?”
Sam opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. Dazedly, she handed Gwen the collar. “Let’s walk,” she said, and then, as if she were awake, she slipped under the covers, closed her eyes, and was sound asleep again.
Gwen got back into bed, curled up facing her, and laid a hand across Sam’s stomach, so that if she sleepwalked again Gwen would be sure to wake up. But she couldn’t fall back to sleep. For an hour or more she lay there, angry and afraid, furious with fear. Sam had touched that ghost and in doing so had set some force in motion. Sure, that had been Sam’s body in her closet, but something was in there with her, instructing her, using her like a puppet.
Maybe it was her imagination, but suddenly she felt as though they weren’t in bed alone, and she thought about the spirit Sam had felt at the Waldorf. “Alley? Are you here with me?” she whispered into the darkness. And then she choked on her emotions and the tears came. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you, my sweet baby,” she whispered into the night. “I’m so very sorry that had to happen to you…but it did. It’s done. I can’t bring you back.” Crying, she reached and felt for the tissue box on the night table. “And I can’t be with you now, Alley…it’s not my time yet, baby. But if you go find heaven and wait there for me…I promise I’ll find you one day. I promise,” she said and began to sob.
She could have sworn she heard the collar she’d left beside the tissue box jingle ever so slightly, unless her mind was playing tricks. She’d never been this scared—scared that Sam had set in motion a force that might bring harm to both of them, all because she’d done the one thing Gwen had asked her never to do—touch a ghost. And as she lay there, fear begot fear, and her thoughts began racing.
She’d learned a lot about Sam these past two days. For one, Sam had broken her trust. Granted, reaching and possibly touching Alley that first time might have been accidental. After all, Sam had thought she was alive. But then after a strict warning she’d deliberately sneaked outside, put her arms around the ghost, and taken selfies, for God’s sake! Even worse, she’d lied about it. Over the past day or two Sam had demonstrated that she was quite adept at lying. And why shouldn’t she be? She made up stories, created literary illusions, basically lied for a living, didn’t she? Look how easy it had been for her to help pull off the surprise party.
Gwen reached for another tissue. Her head was starting to swim with questions, and she began to doubt Sam. Sam with the big brown eyes: curious, sexy, honest…beguiling, too. Sam, who could keep a perfect poker face. The more she thought about it, the more she decided that Sam’s conversation with Jen wasn’t sitting well with her either. Gwen didn’t know why it bothered her, but it did. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the two had been standing right next to her chair. And it bothered her that when Jen asked if Sam lived here with Gwen, Sam answered that she lived alone in Westchester. Why couldn’t she have just said that she lived in Westchester? Why did she make a point of saying she lived alone? Jen and everyone else at the party knew she and Sam were a couple, but Sam saying she lived alone seemed to suggest that she and Gwen were merely dating and not exclusive. Not that she expected a commitment just because they’d made love, but…
Gwen sat up and blew her nose. Sam and Jen would probably reconnect, and that was fine—she would never oppose Sam enjoying individual friendships—but she didn’t entirely trust Jen. And now she didn’t know if she could trust Sam. The two were close in age and would probably have fun together in the city, having dinner, maybe going to a gay bar. Or maybe Sam would invite her over. And that bothered her, too. Sam’s bedroom didn’t sit well with her.
Seeing where Sam lived had afforded Gwen a glimpse into the private life of the mysterious mystery writer she’d fallen for, but that bedroom seemed decorated with seduction in mind. All that red gave the room a warm and romantic aspect, but, seriously, what single middle-aged woman who denied all interest in casual sex had wireless speakers and way too many candles in her bedroom? Who had body butter at the ready? And why did she have such practiced skill in giving sensual massages?
Maybe that was Sam’s mode of operation. Maybe that was how she charmed and put women under her spell—by pretending to be the lonely writer, the perfect catch, single for so long in her search for true love. And Gwen did truly love her. She’d told Sam today that she was falling in love, but really, she had loved her at first sight. And she’d made a tough decision to trust her instincts. Now she wasn’t sure it had been the right one.
It was time to apologize to Rosa and heed her warning. Gwen would need to distance herself, keep Sam away, if only to keep her safe. The espíritu, she finally understood, had immediately sensed the intense emotional connection between her and Sam. And then that spirit had summoned Sam to do its bidding. Maybe if Gwen pretended to lose interest in Sam, Alley would lose interest in her as well.
Laden with conflicting emotions, she curled next to Sam again and watched her sleep. More devastating than the thought of Sam not really loving her was the thought of Sam coming to harm. She’d waited a lifetime for someone like this, and ever so gently she touched the sleeping face of this woman who had come into her life so unexpectedly and turned her world upside down.
* * *
It was a warm and beautiful day in the dream, an early summer morning. After breakfast she jumped up against the wall and knocked her orange leash and collar from the hook on which it always hung. And then she dragged it into the kitchen and dropped it at Gwen’s feet.
“All right…all right,” Gwen said from behind her newspaper. And soon they were off. She picked up a Frisbee at the end of the driveway and carried it in her mouth, all the way up the country road that few cars traveled, until they veered off on a path that led up a hill to a sunlit meadow, still damp with morning dew.
Gwen turned her loose, snatched the Frisbee from her, and flung it. It sailed through the air and she sped after it, jumping as high as Gwen was tall, to claim it in midair—a magnificent catch that received claps of applause. They did this over and over, until she decided not to give it back to Gwen. “Ooh, you better give me that Frisbee!” They both crouched, faced off, and then their usual chase ensued.
She took off then, Gwen running behind her until she could run no more and collapsed in the grass, laughing and catching her breath. Dropping the Frisbee, she flopped down beside her and rolled on her back, content to listen to Gwen’s breathing, her own panting. What a perfect day! Birds chattered and sang in the background, and when she looked up at the blue sky, the bright sun made her shut her eyes, but still she saw its orange brightness through her lids.
And when she opened her eyes again, Gwen and Liz were sitting beside her on the bed.
Gwen smiled tenderly. “Good morning, darling.” She sat holding something in her hand that jingled—a familiar jingle.
“Hey, how’s my out-law?” Liz asked. “You feeling okay?”
Samantha looked around. A steaming cup of coffee sat on the table beside her. “I’m fine…I think. Why do I feel like Dorothy waking up back in Kansas? What’s the matter?”
Gwen and Liz exchanged glances, and Sam had a feeling they’d just had a private discussion.
“How’d you sleep?” Gwen asked.
“I slept well. Why?” Samantha sat up and looked between them. “Did something happen?”
Gwen handed her coffee. “Have you ever sleepwalked, Sam?”
“What? No. Never.” She scooted up into a sitting position, sipped the proffered coffee, and looked at them both. “Why are you asking me this?”
Gwen let the collar dangle from her finger and held it up for Sam to see. “Do you remember taking this out of a box in the closet during the night?”
“No,” she said, but she recognized the collar now. “I, uh…I think I might have seen it in my dream.” She took another sip of coffee, put the cup down, and rubbed her face.
Liz looked at Gwen, and Gwen looked at Samantha. “What did you dream about?”
“I dreamed that you and I…I mean, that you and Alley took a walk to go play Frisbee. It was in a meadow…on top of a hill…right down the road from here.”
Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose as though she’d developed a sudden headache. She quickly stood up, turning away from Samantha, and when she turned back, she did so with what seemed a forced smile. “I’m going to leave you two alone. Irene’s back to help Rosa with a buffet breakfast, and everyone’s starting to wake up, so let me check on things,” she said.
When she left the room, Liz looked at her strangely. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, Liz, really.”
Liz let out a deep breath, sat beside her, and patted her thigh. “Listen. I’m not going to hang around today. I think I’ll get dressed, have something to eat, and hit the road. Are you staying?”
“No. I thought I’d give Gwen time alone to visit with her relatives before they fly out tomorrow. Besides, I’m driving to DC on Wednesday for a three-day book tour. I need to pack and prepare.”
“Do you want to leave together? I’d feel better if I followed you…just in case you don’t feel well.”
“I feel fine, but sure. We can do that if you want.”
“Good.” Liz kissed her cheek and got up. “I’ll meet you downstairs in about fifteen minutes.”
“How’s Isabel?” Samantha asked as Liz headed out.
She stopped in the doorway and turned back with a shrug of resignation. “Isabel is Isabel. What more can I say?” she said and closed the door on her way out.
Samantha got out of bed and stretched. She felt more than okay, actually. She felt like she’d just had a good workout, but the vibes she’d gotten from Gwen made her uneasy. Something wasn’t right between them. As she headed for the master bathroom, she saw the orange collar and picked it up. Yep, that was the collar from her dream, all right, but it felt strange in her hands now, and she couldn’t remember having touched it last night.
She laid it on the bed. “What do you want me to do for you, Alley?” she said into thin air. The dog-dreams she didn’t mind, but the thought of sleepwalking sent a wave of nausea through her. Samantha was glad she didn’t recall it; not remembering allowed her to pretend that it hadn’t happened, that maybe the whole sleepwalking incident had all been part of Gwen’s own dreams last night.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Between recent nights in Maine and at the Laraway estate, Liz didn’t know where she was when she first opened her eyes Monday morning. It took her a minute to realize she was staring at her own ceiling. And when she did, she cringed. She didn’t need to look at the arm resting across her stomach or the face on the pillow beside her to know whose it was.
Skyler. Cute little Skyler with the sky-blue stripe in her wild blond hair; Skyler, the struggling artist who taught art classes and moonlighted as a barista at the coffeehouse next door to her shop. They weren’t exactly friends with benefits, more like acquaintances with benefits. Sometimes they’d meet up at the Cubbyhole, and they’d slept together twice, maybe three times. Liz couldn’t remember which.
She wasn’t prone to regret when it came to women, but her heart was filled with it right now. Never mix tequila and self-pity, she told herself. It was a poor combination that led to poorer behavior. Bringing Skyler home had seemed a good idea last night, a way of getting Isabel off her mind, but it hadn’t worked. Liz found herself going through the motions, wanting it to be over. Come to think of it, she might have fallen asleep before it was. The only good thing about it had been closing her eyes and pretending Isabel was touching her. That part had been sort of exciting. She raked her fingers through her hair and sighed heavily.
“Good morning, gorgeous…” Skyler stirred beside her, but Liz kept staring at the ceiling. “Where are you?”
Liz turned her head on her pillow and smiled halfheartedly. “I’m right here.”
“You weren’t even here last night—not the Liz I know.”
“Sorry, Sky…I’ll make it up to you with breakfast.”
Skyler reached for her phone. “Holy crap, how’d it get to be nine o’clock? I gotta get home for a quick shower and clean clothes. I teach class at eleven. Coffee would be great, though.”
Liz was relieved she couldn’t stay. She wanted time alone to wallow before meeting a client at noon. “Coffee coming up.” She gave her a peck on the lips, slipped into an oversized denim shirt that she didn’t bother to button, and pulled a pair of panties from a drawer. In the kitchen she left a pot of coffee to brew, went to brush her teeth, and when she came back Skyler was pouring coffee. Liz fixed herself a cup and joined her in the living room, but no sooner did she curl up in a chair opposite Skyler than the doorbell rang.
“Uh-oh. You’re about to meet the illustrious Ms. Peterson,” Liz said. If it were an outside visitor Ben would have buzzed her from downstairs, unless he’d left the door unattended to run across the street for coffee, as he sometimes did.
Ms. Peterson was her elderly neighbor who had enjoyed a long career in theater. At eighty-five, she still dressed stylishly, maintained her dancer’s figure, and had perfect posture. Ms. Peterson adored Liz and sometimes stopped in for coffee or tea, enchanting her with stories of Broadway. And although she wasn’t a lesbian, she always made a prideful point of recounting her one “brief experience” with a woman and making sure Liz knew about her many other “opportunities” along the way.
