Connection, page 20
She unlocked the French doors and stepped through, drawing her winter jacket tighter around herself. Her legs immediately felt tight and stiff in her jeans as the frigid November air swirled around them. Thanksgiving was the following day and a part of her dreaded it. She wasn’t looking forward to being with a group of people. With Matt and Skylar her only family—and vice/versa for them—they always had Thanksgiving dinner with friends, one year at Matt’s house, the next at hers, and then the next at someone else’s. Matt had offered to have a small celebration with just the three of them, but she knew how much Matt and Skylar enjoyed the festivities, so she insisted they keep to tradition. That was important for her, as well. She couldn’t hide forever.
She walked over to her patio furniture, grateful that Matt had covered it in plastic in her absence. Brushing off the newly fallen snow, she felt a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. Next summer maybe she would be ready for another barbecue.
Back inside, Julie went through all the rooms, feeling her smile get bigger with every one. She wanted to try spending time there, just her and her dogs, and maybe Skylar sometimes, too.
The nightmarish images had continued, just as Dr. Corregan said they would. After the first night, Matt gave her the option of staying with him or Skylar. Julie had tried a second night on her own, but her nocturnal world had been rocked with garish images and fear. The next night she had curled up with Skylar, whose warmth and youthful innocence had provided her with quiet strength.
She had felt strange since her return, not only drained emotionally and physically, but also feeling something was...missing. She couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but felt it clearly. She hadn’t wanted to think much about it, as it forced herself to go back there, back to Hell. She wasn’t ready.
Sadness washed over her as she called her dogs to her, getting ready to drive back to Matt’s. She felt she had left a part of herself back at that house, that Sergio had taken something from her that she could never get back. The sadness turned into a burning anger, bright enough that her hands curled into fists at her sides.
“You won’t win, you son of a bitch,” she muttered, her anger, though hot and quick, leaving her just as fast as it had flared. She took a deep breath and left her house.
****
Remmy sipped her coffee; Monica made the best around. She stood at the sliding glass door in the kitchen, looking out at the white wonderland, ignoring the sounds of laughter and conversation behind her. She supposed she had a lot to be thankful for, but she just wasn’t in the mood to share. Instead, she stayed inside her own head, the taste of wonderful food still on her tongue. She’d been with Monica in her Omaha home for nearly a month, and was loving the familiarity that came with reuniting with her best friend. Monica was becoming her hero—the way she’d managed to pick herself up out of the gutter, literally—and had a productive life and a beautiful home.
If she had been asked five years ago where Monica would end up, or what her home would look like, it would not have been the small, homey, country-style house that came to mind. In some ways, it wasn’t Monica at all, but in others, it made Remmy feel more at home than she’d felt in a long, long time. Their closeness had picked up right where it left off, without the drugs, this time. Hell, in their own ways, they had both become respectable.
“Hey.”
Remmy turned to find Monica standing just behind her, a plate in each hand, both with a generous piece of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream. “Oh, for me?” Remmy grinned.
“Yes, it is. You always loved it.” Monica handed over one of the plates then snagged two plastic forks from her back pocket. “I remember you once told me that you could live off the stuff. That…and pizza.”
Remmy chuckled. “Good thing I don’t. I’d die of clogged arteries by age thirty.”
“That you would.” The cousins ate in silence, watching the snow fall. Monica studied her profile. “Something’s wrong,” she said after a while.
Remmy said nothing for long moments, then turned to Monica. She knew damn well that Monica could read her like a book; it was futile to lie. She thought it was ironic that it took Monica’s vocalized observation to make the problem click into place. “I feel lost, Monica,” she said, her voice quiet.
“What do you mean?” Monica set her plate down on a kitchen counter. One leaning against the sink and the other against the fridge, Monica waited for her to expound on her statement.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.” Remmy sighed, running her hands through her hair. “I don’t know. It’s like, for the past few weeks, since I got shot, I just feel like something is wrong. Something is...missing.”
“What is it?”
“Mon, if I knew that, I wouldn’t be confused.” They both chuckled at the absurdity of Monica’s question. “It’s just there. I want to cry. It’s almost like I’ve lost something I need, and I don’t know what it is. I feel like if I found that one thing,” she held up a single finger to emphasize her point, “life would be great.”
“What do you want to do? Maybe you should talk to someone, Rem. I know my minister would be more than willing to listen.”
Remmy smiled, reaching across the small space and squeezing her arm. “Thanks. I think I need to get through this on my own. I’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I’m just missing my spleen.”
****
Julie lay in her bed with Bonnie and Clyde snuggled up on either side of her. She stared up at the ceiling, studying the shadows the moon painted across it. The day had been a success, for the most part. The usual participants had arrived to celebrate Thanksgiving, many bringing food to add to the feast Matt and Julie had prepared. Julie had seen many of them since she’d returned, but others had kept their distance, giving her time and space to recover. Though grateful for their consideration, she had to admit she had been happy to see so many familiar faces.
No one commented on the fact that, most of the time, Julie either kept to herself or stayed with the children. Their youth and laughter were a balm to her badly damaged soul. Throughout the day she kept turning around, expecting to see someone she felt should have been with her, someone she couldn’t put a face to or a finger on, but who should have been there. It was a strange feeling.
It felt good to be warm, fully clothed, and stuffed. She was a fortunate woman. She’d been thinking a lot about Pamela Beecham. Part of her wanted to speak with her, as Pam was the only person who could truly understand what she was feeling. She wondered how she was doing, how she was handling her return to her family. Cameron had only been in the pit for a very short time, lucky for her. She was young, and Julie had no doubt she would bounce back. She just hoped that she, herself, would. She was tired of not feeling like herself, and wondered if she ever would again. She knew she was forever changed, but she was waiting for the core of who she was to begin to seep back into her daily life.
There were things about the new Julie that she didn’t like. Her patience, for instance, was at an all time low. She had snapped at Skylar a few times over things that she never would have in the past. She had apologized later, once finding him with tears in his eyes, which broke her heart. Maybe she needed to move back into her own place. By herself, she couldn’t hurt anyone else.
Julie’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on her closed bedroom door. “Come in,” she called, not wanting to disturb the dogs by getting up to open it. The door squeaked open—she refused to allow Matt to oil it, so she could always hear if someone entered—and Matt popped his head in.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Were you sleeping?”
Julie shook her head. “No. Come on in.”
Matt softly closed the door behind him so their voices wouldn’t wake Skylar. He nodded toward the end of the bed, wanting to know that he could sit without making Julie jumpy. At her nod, he made himself comfortable. “It was fun today,” he said, a lopsided grin on his face. “Even when my boss accidentally dropped his teeth into the mashed potatoes.”
They both had a good laugh at that, and Bonnie glared up at her mommy for interrupting her sleep. “Yes, that was one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a very long time.”
Matt sobered. “How did you feel today? Other than being quiet, you seemed like you were okay.”
“It was alright. It was good to see some of those people again. I’m really glad Grace stopped by, too. She seems like a nice woman.”
“Damn good detective, too,” Matt said. “She was so dogged, Jules, she just wouldn’t quit. Great gal.” Matt was silent for a moment, then, “Julie, will you ever tell me what happened to you? I mean, I’m not pushing you…I want you to feel comfortable…but, will you?”
Julie nearly melted, her brother seeming like a little boy again. She smiled, slipping an arm out of her cocoon and reaching for his hand. He grasped it tightly. “I will. Someday. To be honest with you, Matty, I don’t want to upset you. Trust me. It will.”
Matt nodded. “I’m sure. But I want to be able to understand. Like the thing with the eggs… You love eggs.”
“Not anymore.” Julie studied the top of Clyde’s head for a moment, loving the way the thin hairs stood up like he was a little Rocker dog. When she spoke again, her voice was very quiet. “When he brought me upstairs, he always fed me omelets.” She stared past Matt, back into a memory that was burned into her brain. “Cheese and ham.”
Matt swallowed down his emotions at the dead look in Julie’s normally vibrant green eyes. “How often?”
Fear and anger swelling inside her, she shook her head. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk.”
Matt hid his disappointment. He wanted to understand, but knew better than to push. He squeezed her hand. “Okay. Get some rest.”
Julie watched as he stood up and went to the door. When his hand reached for the doorknob, she called, “Matt?” He turned to look at her. “Happy Thanksgiving. I have a lot to be thankful for.”
Matt smiled. “Me, too. Goodnight, Jules.”
“Night, Matty.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Walking along Maple Street, Remmy admired the storefronts. It was her day off from the laundromat on Sixth, where she was working as general help. If someone needed quarters and the machine was broken, she was your girl; if the dryer stopped working or overheated due to lint buildup, she was your girl; if someone was dropping off laundry to be washed by the employees at Gil’s Fluff & Fold, she was your girl. She enjoyed the work, nice and laid back, and she was able to wear jeans. She enjoyed tinkering, so fixing the machines was satisfying too.
It was a gorgeous day for January—blue skies and no snow in the forecast, a mild forty-six degrees. Bundled up, she walked along, absently sidestepping a kid on a bike as her eyes fixed on the simple white letters on a store window: BRENDEN—SPIRITUAL HEALER AND GUIDE
Underneath the large letters was a list of the services that Brenden could provide for the customer, including palm reading, magic stones, and mapping of past lives.
Curious, Remmy pushed through into the shop, the tinkling of gentle chimes announcing her presence. The store was long and narrow. Shoulder high shelving units offered a variety of books on spirituality, past lives, astro-projection, dream interpretation, and astrology, among others. Candles of every shape, size, and color were gathered in an open glass case; handwritten signs beneath each explained what it was used for. The store was filled with the scent of an earthy incense, which Remmy thought was wonderful, if a little too intense for the space. She stopped and stared at a large cloth poster—the face of a man, a round glow seeming to emanate from dead center in his forehead.
THE LIFE’S THIRD EYE, it read in black lettering across the top.
“Wonderful work, isn’t it?”
Remmy jumped. She hadn’t heard him come up beside her. A man, short in stature and frail of frame, stood beside her, a smirk on his boyish face. His short, light brown hair fell into one brown eye. “A friend of mine made that for me.”
Remmy nodded in acknowledgement, realizing that the man pictured on the cloth was the man standing beside her.
“I’m Brenden.” He held out his hand and shook hers briefly.
His gaze was intense as he studied her, and it made Remmy extremely uncomfortable. She flinched when he reached up and gently tapped the center of her forehead. A strange sensation flowed through her body at the contact, almost as though she had received an electrical shock. She backed away one step. “You have the sight, don’t you?” he said softly, his words a statement.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, unable to shake his dark gaze.
Brenden smiled. “How can I help you today? Are you in need of a Tarot reading? Or perhaps a deck of Angel cards instead? Maybe a charm or magic stones.”
“Oh, uh, no. I was just looking around.” She’d been in spiritual shops many times before, always drawn by that which many people did not understand. “This is nice,” she said lamely. In truth, the shop felt very different. It felt as though she was being watched. She knew it had nothing to do with security cameras. There was a buzz in the air, a feeling as if the shop itself was a sentient being.
“You look lost,” Brenden said, once again appearing stealthily at her side.
Remmy wondered if his observation was as simple as it sounded. “Do you have any pendulums?” She didn’t really want one, but she had no response to his observation. It was likely that her own misgivings and uncertainties were hearing things in Brenden’s voice that weren’t actually there. Looking at him, she had the strangest sensation that he had all the answers. If only she knew the questions.
“Of course.” He led her through the maze of aisles and displays to the cash register, which sat on a glass case filled with a variety of pendulums. There were large ones, small ones, some made of stone, and others made of semi-precious jewels. “Do you have much experience with pendulums?” he asked, all business.
“I used to have one.”
“What happened to it?” Brenden asked, unlocking the cabinet door on his side of the case and reaching inside. He brought out the large display case and rested it on top of the glass countertop. The pendulums were laid out, chains pinned to the felt.
“I don’t know,” Remmy said with a sheepish grin. “One move too many, is my guess.”
He nodded. “You’re a restless soul. A wanderer.” Remmy said nothing, only barely holding his gaze. Brenden smiled again, indicating the pendulums at his fingertips. “Well, since you’ve had one before, you know that not all pendulums speak to you. The spirit inside it must feel you, and you it, or it won’t work.”
Remmy had heard that before. She glanced at him with questioning eyes. At his nod, she gently unpinned a teardrop pendulum made of onyx. It was heavy in her hand, the chain made of thin silver. She studied the pendulum, seeing if she could feel the heat from the stone as she had with her old one.
“I don’t think that’s the right one for you,” Brenden said, plucking the onyx from her hand. She would have been irritated if she hadn’t agreed with his assessment. “Try this one.”
The pendulum was a single heavy piece of jade shaped into a smooth cone nearly three inches long. A small jade button fastened at the top of the chain served as the grip. She held it in her palm, closing her eyes as she tried to feel the pendulum, allowing it to speak to her. She could feel the subtle heat pouring into her palm, almost as though the jade were aflame from the inside. Taking the grip between thumb and index finger, she let the pendulum slip from her hand, its weight pulling the chain taut as she held it aloft, her palm no more than an inch below the point of the cone.
Brenden watched waiting for the pendulum to stop spinning.
Remmy wanted to see how the pendulum reacted, so asked it to show her “yes”. After a moment, the pendulum shook slightly, as though unsure which way to move. The heat began to swell once more in Remmy’s palm, the jade slowly circling clockwise.
“Stop,” Remmy murmured. The pendulum came to an almost instant stop. “Show me ‘no’.” Again the stone seemed somewhat unsure, then began to circle counter clockwise.
“It seems like a good match,” Brenden said. “The stone responds to you well.”
Remmy nodded, watching the hypnotic movement as the pendulum circled in a swift, strong movement. “Stop,” she said, the stone immediately complying. “How much?” she asked, glancing up at the small man.
“Pendulums are seventy-five.”
“Oh.” Bummed, as she would have liked to have had a pendulum again, Remmy handed the jade back. “That’s a little steep for me. I’m sorry. But thanks for your help.” She turned.
“Remmy?” he said, stopping her dead in her tracks. “For you, twenty. This would be good for you.” He held the pendulum out to her in invitation.
Shaken, Remmy scrutinized him. “Do I know you?”
Brenden met her gaze, cupping the stone in his hand, the chain dangling from between his fingers. “We all know each other. The Sight doesn’t lie.”
Truly disturbed, Remmy backed away from Brenden, her back stopping abruptly against the front door, which sent the chimes tinkling again. “I gotta go,” she muttered, pushing out into the sunny day.
****
“Skylar, I need you to bring in the rest of the dogs’ stuff,” Julie called out from her kitchen, where she was unpacking groceries. She had been thoroughly shocked when the community had given her a check for twenty thousand dollars for Christmas, monies collected through donations from Woodland’s citizens and local businesses. Moved to tears, she had accepted the money. She was going to have to use a portion of it to catch up on her house payments. While she’d been captive, the bank had been working with Matt, as there was no way he could afford two mortgages. Now that she had returned, their generosity had come to an end.
Tonight would be the first night she was going to stay at her own house, and Skylar had happily volunteered to stay with her. They had a video game marathon planned for later—nearly six months in the making—with giant bowls of popcorn to munch. Julie smiled, listening to her dogs tear around the house as they chased each other, their quiet growls audible every once in a while.
