A Ghost of a Chance by Cherie Claire (book series to read .txt) 📖

I’m submerged in a retro blue tub of steaming water with a variety of herbs floating on top, waiting for Aunt Mimi to return with a cup of herbal tea. I smell eucalyptus and lavender and other heavenly scents, and the soft glow of candles illuminates the pink walls straight out of nineteen sixty-nine. I’m finally able to relax and sink deeper in the water while wondering when my rural Alabama aunt got so New Age.

I can’t believe I cried continuously from the tourism center’s parking lot all the way to Aunt Mimi’s assisted living complex. I was bawling when we came in the door, frightening the nice security guard out front.

“It’s okay Frank,” Aunt Mimi told him, holding me in her arms and leading me to her apartment. “She’s my niece and she’s going through some really hard times.”

It was like that when Lillye died, people excusing me when I headed off to Neverland and retreated into my dark abyss. Even when TB implored me to talk and share our grief together, I ventured inward and heard others telling him to give me time. Somewhere along the way, however, those excuses stopped and everyone expected me to be normal again, TB asking for more. All of which was an impossibility.

The truth is, I’ll never be normal and it will never stop hurting. As Aunt Mimi places the cup of tea in my hands, I know she understands this.

“I’m so sorry.”

Aunt Mimi makes herself comfortable on the toilet, cradling her own cup of tea, elbows on her knees. “Sorry for what?”

“I heard you were at the funeral; Mom told me afterwards. I wanted to write you and thank you for coming but then months went by and I was embarrassed it had taken me so long so I never wrote.”

Aunt Mimi leans forward and those dark brown eyes stare deeply into mine. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Sweet Pea. You buried your child.” At this, her eyes fill up with tears and she looks away. “I can’t imagine.”

There’s that uncomfortable silence that follows people offering sympathy; I never know what to say so I usually blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “You lost Uncle Jake.”

Aunt Mimi shakes her head. “Not the same thing. He lived a good life. Besides, your mom has kept me up to date on what you’re doing.”

I start playing with the herbs floating around my knees. I should have been at his funeral. I feel ashamed on many levels. “Did she tell you I was in Eureka Springs and that it never occurred to me to call you?”

Aunt Mimi takes a sip of her tea, then places the cup on a doily on her knee. “Don’t worry about it, Vi. I know you’ve thought of me all these years.” And she means it, I know.

I look up. “I have.” I mean that too, from the bottom of my heart.

She smiles and nods. “I know.”

And that’s that. Everything’s cool between us and it suddenly feels like old times. I lean back and let out a giant sigh that causes bathtub waves and the herbs float around the tub like flotsam after a flood. “I was in Eureka Springs on a press trip trying to start my travel writing career. But I blew it bigtime.”

There’s a hand on my forearm, a simple comfort from one person to another I’m beginning to understand guides one back into the light. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

So I spill my guts to Aunt Mimi, starting with the storm and the loss of Lillye’s photos to the moment I recovered them and decided to leave TB. From acquiring the potting shed in Lafayette and reconnecting with Henry to turning into a SCANC and stabbing Richard’s scone and waking up Sleeping Beauty. After my lengthy news update, ending with my last conversation with Lori and how I failed her, Aunt Mimi leans back against the toilet and studies me.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “You never met my mother, did you?”

“Grandma Willow? She died when I was young. I remember her a little, had a thick Southern accent.”

“Well, we are from Alabama, Pudding, no matter what your highfalutin mother says.”

“Why do you ask?”

Aunt Mimi decides to get closer, slips on to the tile floor next to the tub so we’re eye to eye. “She had a gift.”

A snort emerges and shoots out my nose. I’ve heard this my whole life, how smart my family is: Portia and her legal expertise — she once represented a yoga instructor who sued his establishment over intellectual rights of the Sun Salutation and took home two million — and Sebastian who created a masterpiece from SPAM, three eggs, toast and an onion, which won him a place on “America’s Best Redneck Chefs” (which royally pissed my mother off, although she still brags that he’s a TV celebrity). There’s my mom, of course, who would argue with Shakespeare over what his plays really mean.

Mimi senses where my mind’s going for she pokes me in the side. “Gifted as in psychic.”

This gets me to focus. “Grandma Willow was a psychic?”

Aunt Mimi grins broadly. “Not just any psychic, but the best in Alabama. People came from everywhere. She made a small fortune doing it, although that’s mainly because Dad insisted they pay. She would have done it for nothing if she had had her druthers.”

I sit up and the water starts rocking again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

We’re so close to each other I notice the thin strands of gray in Aunt Mimi’s hair, shining like silver in the soft bathroom light. I’ve missed her. Why haven’t I contacted her before now?

“Darlin’,” Mimi says, taking my hand in hers. “You come from a long line of gifted people.”

It doesn’t take me long being around people with Southern accents before I step into line. “Well, shut my mouth.”

We laugh, until I remember the stone and the cave and those crazy people praying over me. Mimi senses that too and sobers. “I’m sorry about what happened that summer. Your Uncle Jake was so understanding about my particular talents but we wanted to work the family farm he inherited, start an organic food company, and it was out in the middle of nowhere and that church was the only community we had.”

“Wait, did you say particular talents?”

“It was a lovely church, actually. The preacher was pretty open-minded and his sermons uplifting, even if he did get a bit preachy at times. When you heard those voices in the cave, you see I had heard them too. But I sensed something more sinister deep in the back of that cave and I was afraid a dark spirit might have attached itself to you, being an adolescent; spirits tend to like teenagers going through emotional change. I asked the church members to pray for you just in case. I had no idea they were going to equate ghosts with the devil.”

“Mimi,” I interrupt. “Your talents?”

She cocks her head to one side. “Well, I’m pretty good myself.”

“You’re a psychic too?”

“Actually, I’m a medium. There’s a difference. Psychics can tell things about people, read their past, tell the future. Mediums talk to the dead.”

“And you do this for people, help them connect with their loved ones?”

At this Mimi smiles proudly. “How do you think I could afford to buy this place? Well, that and selling the farm.” She leans in close as if the walls have ears. “I actually make a nice living here. Branson may look religious on the outside but there is an endless line beating to my door for readings, I can assure you.”

“I’m so confused. When Mom said assisted living….”

“That I live here? Jesus, Vi, I’m only fifty-seven. I’m younger than your mom!”

Honestly, I never could gauge age and I don’t know what to say. I feel the soap slipping around my ankles and I play with it with my big toe while I think of some way to change the subject. “Is this ‘talent’ hereditary?”