Merry, Merry Ghost

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tucker poked at the fire. Flames danced and crackled, flickering blue and red. The living room drapes were drawn against the winter night. The room was cozy and warm, yet there was no aura of holiday cheer.

Susan sat in a wingback chair near the fire. She looked frail and worn, her face paper white. She nodded toward Jake. “If you’ll pour the coffee…”

Jake bustled to the sideboard. “Of course, Susan. Will you have coffee or sherry tonight?”

“Sherry, please.” Susan smiled.

Gina rose to help her aunt. Spoons tinkled against cups. Plates with slices of peach pie were offered. It might have been any family gathering after dinner for coffee and dessert in a room bright with Christmas decorations, a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the chandelier, silver bells strung along the windowsills, a lovely tree with taffeta bows and Wedgwood blue ornaments, but there was a definite sense of strain.

Tucker lifted a bronze statue of a mare running with her foal from the mantel and turned it over to look at the sculptor. “Looks like Tramp Lady, my chestnut mare.” As he returned the piece, his elbow caught a green velvet stocking hanging from the mantel. As the stocking fell, he lunged to save it from the fire. “Hey, a near thing.” He held the stocking up.

Keith’s name straggled in uneven green sparkles on the white cuff above an embroidery of Santa studying a Christmas letter. “Nifty.” He looked around with a quizzical expression. “Quick work to already have his own stocking here.”

Gina shrugged. “Peg helped Keith with the stocking this afternoon. Peg’s having a lot of fun with him.” There might have been a faint note of envy in her voice.

Tucker carefully rehung the stocking. “Keith’s too little to write a letter to Santa, but I guess he’ll get whatever he wants.”

Harrison put his cup and saucer on a marble table. “It’s always a pleasure to be part of the holiday celebration here. The tree party this afternoon was a great success.” He nodded toward Susan. “Thank you for including us, Susan. I expect it’s time Charlotte and I were on our way.” He stood and tried for a cheerful smile.

Susan held up a hand. “Please stay for a few more minutes, Harrison. I have something I wish to discuss with everyone. We’ll wait for Peg. She and Dave are putting Keith to bed.”

She’d no more than spoken when the door opened and Dave walked in. His light blue sweater accented the sheen of his carefully cut hair. He spoke to Susan. “Peg almost has him asleep.” He sounded impatient. “She’ll be here soon.”

Harrison sat down and folded his arms across his chest. He darted an occasional uneasy glance at Susan.

Charlotte poked her glasses higher on her thin nose and smiled at Susan. “This afternoon’s tree party was perfect. The songs added such a happy note.”

I immediately felt much warmer toward Charlotte.

Susan was animated. “I saw the woman who started the singing. A lovely redhead. She was standing in a pool of light from the lamppost. I’m sure I know her. Her face was very familiar.”

That gave me pause. Susan was a young woman when Bobby Mac and I took our last fishing trip into the Gulf. In fact, she was a new addition to the Altar Guild and I was then in my third term as directress. Moreover, Susan would have passed my portrait in the parish hall many times.

Susan’s face crinkled as she tried to recall me.

The hall door opened and Peg slipped in, her face flushed. “I hope I haven’t been too long. Keith was too excited to relax so we sang songs. Someone had taught him ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,’ and he insisted on singing it twice.”

I took a bow though no one saw me.

Peg dropped onto a sofa next to her young man. “He’s fast asleep now.”

“Thank you, Peg.” Susan flashed her a grateful look. “Did he have a good time this afternoon?”

Peg’s smile was quick. “He talked and talked about the ’tar. He can’t manage the s. He said he put the ’tar on the tree and his eyes were as big as saucers. Oh, Susan, he is such a love.”

I glanced around the room. Tucker jabbed the poker into the log and sparks whirled up in a fiery rush. Gina turned a silver bracelet on her wrist around and around. Jake placed her fork on the dessert plate with a ping. Harrison’s face had an empty look. Charlotte’s glance at her husband was anxious. Dave folded his arms, his mouth in a tight, straight line.

With a deep breath as if drawing on inner reserve, Susan slowly stood, using her cane for support. She placed the cane in front of her, leaned upon the curved handle with both hands. “I received confirmation this morning from Wade Farrell that Keith is Mitch’s son. Today has been one of the happiest days of my life.” She stood straighter, a faint flush turning her cheeks pink, bringing back a bloom that had long been gone. “For Mitch’s son to be here is joy beyond belief. I pray that all of you will share in my happiness.”

Peg jumped up and hurried across the room to slip an arm around Susan’s thin shoulders. “Dearest Susan. No one deserves happiness more than you.”

Peg’s quick and sweet response almost bridged the awkward silence before the others spoke. Almost.

Tucker gave a thumbs-up. “He’s a chip off the old block. He laughed when I swung him over the railing. That would have been Mitch all the way.”

Gina brushed back a dark curl. “Of course we want you to be happy, Susan.”

Jake came to her feet, began to collect plates. Her smile was starched. “He’s a very nice little boy.” Her hands were unsteady and the plates wobbled as she stacked them.

Harrison cleared his throat. “In a world where there is so much dishonesty, I wonder if Farrell has been quite careful. As a man of the world, I’d recommend that you make a thorough check of all claims.”

Susan’s quick glance at Harrison was cool, her voice crisp. “The matter is settled.” Her look of command faded, replaced by uncertainty. She looked appealing, her classic features drawn in concern, her frail health evident. “Until Keith came, I had no direct family. I have, through the years, felt close to each of you. I appreciated your support for me. I made no secret that I had divided my estate among you. Now everything has changed. I realize”—she did not look toward Jake—“that quite reasonably each of you wonders how this will affect you.”

Tucker flashed a boyish smile. “Hey, Susan, we understand. Keith’s the man. None of us has a claim on you. You don’t owe anybody any explanations.”

Susan’s smile was grateful. “In my mind and heart each of you does have a claim and I want to be clear. No one will be forgotten. Tucker, you have been the best manager the ranch has ever had. I hope you’ll want to stay on. I’ll make certain that you receive an excellent salary. In fact, each of you will receive a substantial bequest.” She looked at Jake, a hopeful tentative look. “I’ll arrange that you have a life interest in the house. I won’t forget anyone.”

Harrison cleared his throat. “Susan, as always, you are a gracious and generous woman. Certainly all of us are proud to be a part of your unofficial family and join in wishing you happiness. I propose a toast.” He nodded at Jake. “See that everyone has a glass of wine.”

Jake frowned at his commanding tone, but moved to the sideboard. She lifted a decanter and filled eight glasses.

When everyone was served, Harrison lifted his glass. “To Susan, wishing you sunny days—and years—with your grandson.” His smile was wide, but his eyes were frightened.

In the entryway as coats were brought out of the closet, Dave reached out and pulled loose a short charcoal gray wool jacket. He handed it to Peg. “Let’s drive around and see the lights.” He was smiling but his gaze was steely.

Peg took a quick breath and swung toward Gina. “Won’t you come with us?”

Gina carefully did not look toward Dave. She smothered an unconvincing yawn. “I’m early to bed tonight. Have fun.” She glanced at Jake, bidding Tucker and Harrison and Charlotte good night. “Hey, Jake, after you make the cocoa, do you want me to take Susan’s tray up?”

Dave took Peg’s elbow, urged her toward the door. “I can show you the property while we’re out.”

Jake massaged one temple. “Thank you, Gina. I’m awfully tired. Everything’s ready. I’ll take care of making it right now. She likes her cocoa very hot to start with, though sometimes she lets it sit forever and drinks it stone cold…”

Jake’s querulous voice was cut off as the door closed.

Neither Dave nor Peg spoke until they were in his car, a two-seater sports car. He turned on the motor. “Did you talk to Susan this afternoon?”

“There wasn’t time.” Peg stared straight ahead.

“Look, Peg. You have to make an effort.” His tone was curt. “I’m making an effort. It’s critical that I get this loan. I’ve got everything lined up.”

Peg lifted a shaky hand, clung to the lapel of her coat. “Let’s not talk about it now.”

The car picked up speed. His profile in the wash of a streetlamp was set and cold. “Now is when you have to do something. She’s about ready to give all the money to that brat.”

“He isn’t a brat. He’s a sweet, dear little boy.”

Dave’s voice was measured. “Okay, he’s the world’s greatest kid. Tell her you think he’s wonderful. Lay it on thick. Then explain to her that I was going to give you an engagement ring for your birthday, but everything may have to go on hold. I can’t get engaged and think about a wedding when I’m trying to start up a new practice unless I’ve got some backing. For God’s sake, she’s taking away everything you’ve counted on. The least she can do is come through on the loan.”

The car pulled up at a stop sign perhaps three blocks from Pritchard House.

“Do you know, I think I’m too tired to take a drive.” Her voice was thin. She unclicked her seat belt, opened the door. “I’ll walk back. I have a headache and maybe the night air will make me feel better.”

“Peg…”

The door slammed shut.

In an instant, the car jolted forward, tires squealing.

The occupants of the house settled for the night. Peg had turned toward the wall as if shutting out the world. A night-light glowed not far from Keith’s bed. Keith was curled against an oversize teddy bear almost as big as he. Charlotte Hammond had presented the jumbo brown plush bear to him after the tree-trimming party. The bear, promptly named Big Bob by Tucker, sported a Santa hat and a red muffler decorated with candy canes.

I glided past the sleeping child and patted Big Bob’s soft plush fur as I set out to make my rounds.

Gina held a book. Her irregular features were drawn in a worried frown. She stared without seeing at the printed lines.

Jake’s plump face was puckered with unhappiness. She tossed and turned, misery evident even in her sleep.

Everyone was in their place. I smothered a yawn. As soon as I checked on Susan, I would settle on the chaise longue, ready to drift into sleep, remembering the friendly welcome from a stranger at the Christmas party and Keith’s excitement as he and Leon placed the star on the tip-top of the tree. I suspected memories of the afternoon would weave happy dreams as well for Susan Flynn tonight. However, I feared that the dreams of those to whom she had spoken after dinner would not be so sweet. I would be glad when Susan had signed the new will. Until then, I could not assume Keith was safe.

I entered Susan’s bedroom. A soft golden light spread near one corner of the ceiling. I was puzzled. The chandelier was dark. The only other light came from the Tiffany lamp on the nightstand. That was a small pool of white light…

A cold hand seemed to squeeze my heart.

The light from the Tiffany lamp illuminated the still figure lying on her left side in the bed.

Forever still.

“Oh.” I spoke aloud, a soft cry filled with sadness.

Suddenly, the limp right arm jerked upward and flopped.

Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Susan lived. I zoomed to the bed. I bumped into someone and stepped on something. “Oh!”

“Ouch.” Susan Flynn’s voice was sharp and vigorous. “You’re standing on my foot.”

I jumped to one side.

“You kicked me.” The cultivated voice was aggrieved. “I don’t see anyone. Where are you? What’s happening? Why am I standing here and yet there I am on the bed? What’s wrong with me?” The arm was yanked this way and that. “Wake up.” Again the arm rose and fell.

“Susan, I’m here, but you can’t see me. If I can’t see you…” My words trailed away.

Susan was struggling against death, but there was nothing she could do.

I took a shaky breath. I’d signed up at the Department of Good Intentions to return to earth to help the living. I was, in fact, prohibited from contact with departed spirits (Precept Two). I’d dismissed that instruction from my mind. The idea that I would consort with a departed spirit was laughable.

I wasn’t laughing.

The golden glow near the ceiling shone with a compelling radiance.

“That light up there, it’s warm and beckoning.” Susan sounded farther away. The golden glow was pulling at her, urging her to come. “I must wake up. I have to take care of Keith.”

I should keep quiet, yet I felt compelled to console Susan. “Susan, I’m terribly sorry.” Was Wiggins frowning mightily in Tumbulgum? But I had to speak out. She was struggling to stay in the world, a struggle doomed to failure. I could help her realize that her time on earth was done.

Everything seemed out of order. Why did Susan have to die this night of all nights? “Susan, you’re dead.”

“Dead?” Her clear, resonant voice was stricken.

The side of the bed dipped and I knew she sat beside that still figure. A hand was lifted and held.

I reached out, found her arm. “I wish it weren’t so, I truly do. I hate for you to be dead.” That didn’t sound right. I didn’t want to discourage Susan. As soon as she let go of the world, she would find herself in a much better place, as Sydney Carton remarked so long ago.

She pulled away and scrambled to her feet. “I am not dead. I can see everything. I can talk and move about and I feel wonderful. Except I’m standing here”—she stamped a foot not far from the bed—“and I can’t make myself get out of bed. Besides”—her tone was reasonable as if making a rational point to herself—“I can’t be talking to someone who isn’t here.”

“I’m here.” At least I was present until orders were issued in Tumbulgum.

“Where are you? Who are you?” Her voice was thin and frightened.

For once I wished that Wiggins would arrive, gruff and irritable, fuming at my mistakes. He could tell me what to do. If I followed the rules (Precept Two), I would maintain silence, leave Susan to face eternity on her own.

I would not!

I cut my eyes around the room, quailing at my audacity. However, that bodacious thought should assure Wiggins’s arrival.

Not a sound. Not a sign.

Wiggins had always been quick to arrive when I departed from an emissary’s approved role. Of course, Tumbulgum was far distant and I supposed he couldn’t be in two places at once. Time zones and all that. He might find them confusing since there was no time in Heaven.

Whatever the reason, I faced up to a daunting truth: Wiggins wasn’t coming.

I was on my own.

I’d never felt so alone.

“I don’t understand.” Susan was frantic. The limp arm was shaken harder. “Wake up, wake up!”

I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. For good or ill, I refused to abandon Susan now. I swirled into being.

A gasp sounded.

I saw my reflection in the mirror of Susan’s dresser: flame-bright curls, hopeful freckled face, anxious green eyes. I hoped I appeared suitably subdued, a black cashmere sweater, single-strand pearl necklace, gray slacks, and black boots. Nothing flashy. Of course, redheads always look good in black, but that is simply a fact, nothing I’d taken into consideration.

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Susan’s voice was frantic.

If I revealed the truth, she would be startled, but we had to deal with the facts. “I’m a ghost.” To heck with Wiggins’s preference for emissary. Facts are facts. “I was dispatched to keep watch over Keith. I arrived on the front porch just as Peg opened the door…” I talked fast, concluding with a description of the after-dinner gathering this evening in the living room.

There was no response.

I took a deep breath, brushed back a vagrant curl. The easy part was over, if announcing one’s arrival in a ghostly state can be considered easy. Now for the hard part. “You see”—and my voice was gentle—“you died tonight. Now it’s time for you to leave.”

“I can’t.” Yet her voice was fainter. Was she slipping away?

“You must.” I wanted to reassure her. “I’ll be here to guard Keith.”

“I don’t believe this. You aren’t here. I’m not sitting here on the bed beside me. None of this is happening. It’s a dream.”

“You aren’t dreaming.” I spoke with finality, then rushed ahead. “Don’t be frightened. Heaven is waiting for you. You’ll be with Mitch and Ellen and Tom.”

“Oh.” Her voice was soft. “That will be wonderful.” There was longing and hope in her voice. Then, sharp and decisive, she announced, “Not yet. Not until I take care of Keith.”

A sharp pinch stung my arm. “Ouch.” I stepped farther from the bed.

“You weren’t here. Now you are.” Her voice wobbled. “I’m here, but I can’t see me, and I’m floating and on the bed—” She broke off.

“Susan, don’t be upset.” How useless bromides are when someone is caught up in intense emotion. Of course she was upset, and an unknown redhead appearing next to the bed where her body lay was surely not calming. How could I reassure her? I tried again. “Look at it this way. Dying changes everything.” In fact, I was puzzled. Clearly Susan was dead. She shouldn’t be tethered to earth. “I don’t know why you’re still here. It’s time for you to leave.” I gestured toward the golden glow above us.

“No.” The word was abrupt and determined.

“No?” Oh dear. If ever I needed a helping hand, it was now. Where was Wiggins? Oh, of course. Tumbulgum.

“I haven’t made provision for Keith. If I die now, he will receive nothing. There will be no one to care for him. I must take care of Keith.” She stifled a sob.

Abruptly I understood what was happening. Sometimes a spirit in great travail is bound to earth in mourning until past wrongs are righted, grievances settled. “I see.” I began to pace.

A dead hand was lifted, shaken. “Wake up!”

“Susan, there’s no going back.” I was firm.

The bed creaked as she rose. “Then how can you be here?”

We were getting into dangerous territory. “I’m here on temporary duty.” After all, I was an official emissary.

Strong fingers gripped my arm. “I’m not asking to stay long. Just long enough to take care of Keith. If you can be here, why can’t I?”

Oh. And oh. And oh. “I suppose…” I broke off. Wiggins would forever bar me from future missions. I would be regarded as the Benedict Arnold of the Department of Good Intentions.

“Is there a way?” Her grip tightened. “If there is, I beg you to tell me.” The pressure of her fingers made clear her urgency and despair and determination.

Down the hallway, a dear little boy slept cuddled next to his bear. Peg would take care of him, but he should receive his heritage and his grandmother should have peace.

I pushed away all thoughts of Precept Two and Wiggins. If this were to be my last adven-mission, I would do what I felt should be done, no matter what. “We can try.” I was in uncharted territory. “I’m not sure if it will work.” I pointed at myself. “Watch. If I decide to disappear…” My reflection in the mirror vanished. “Now, I’m going to become visible.” Once again, I swirled into being. “Think yourself visible.”

The pressure on my arm ceased.

“Picture yourself in an emerald green turtleneck and cream slacks and green boots.” I held my breath.

Suddenly Susan was there, staring at the mirror in astonishment. She touched her cheek. “I look young. I feel wonderful. I could dance or run. My chest doesn’t ache. Oh my.” A lovely smile curved her lips. The skin of her oval face was unwrinkled, her complexion soft as magnolia petals, her hair glossy as ebony. Decisive dark brows arched over intelligent dark eyes. Her lips were a bright coral. She was beautiful, the beauty of classic features joined with good character.

I’d not been certain Susan would be able to appear. I was certain that I was in big trouble. I was not only consorting with a departed spirit, I was, in effect, encouraging mutiny. I looked Heavenward and murmured, “Only a slight detour.”

She turned and gazed at me in awe. “Who are you?”

I explained the Department of Good Intentions as well as I could. I didn’t get into the Precepts. “…and I used to live in Adelaide. I’m Bailey Ruth Raeburn.”

She laughed, a quick, gay, lilting laugh. “Oh, of course. I thought you looked familiar. I saw you this afternoon at our tree party and that’s why I thought I knew you. You were directress of the Altar Guild the year I joined. Your portrait is in the hall outside the parish hall. You were famous.”

“Famous?” Was that in my dossier at the department?

Her appealing laugh sounded again. “Definitely. Every time a new directress of the Altar Guild was installed, this mantra was passed along: Remember Bailey Ruth and Proverbs. Whenever you encountered resistance, whether over linens or candles or service assignments, you smiled and exclaimed, ‘Sweetie, you are an angel to think of that, but we all must remember Proverbs 15:18.’ Since no one wanted to admit they had no idea what Proverbs 15:18 was, you swept right on with whatever you wished to do. Oh yes, Proverbs 15:18 rules the Altar Guild to this day: The hotheaded provoke disputes, the equable allay dissension.”

“And”—I tried not to sound smug—“if anyone looked it up, she certainly wanted to be considered equable, not hotheaded.”

We looked at each other and laughed, laughter based on mutual experience and understanding.

Susan’s laughter stopped. She was abruptly somber. She glanced at the still form on the bed and flung out a hand. “All right, I’m dead. And I’m here. What do I do now?”

“You want to make provision for Keith. Well, that’s easy. Write out a will.” I glanced toward a rolltop desk in one corner. “You’ll need paper and a pen and an envelope.”

Susan’s eyes gleamed. “Of course. That’s all I need to do. A holographic will. Keith will be taken care of.” Susan whirled and walked briskly to the worn oak desk. She pushed up the lid and settled in the wooden chair. She found notepaper embossed with her initials and began to write, her face furrowed in thought. Occasionally she paused, scratched out a sentence, began again. Finally, she nodded in satisfaction. She handed me the sheet. “What do you think?”

I scanned the document, one page front and back. “Clear as can be.” Susan’s first concern had been a guardian for Keith. She instructed the court to ask Peg Flynn to serve. If Peg could not do so, Jane Ramsey was named. “I’m sure Peg will want to take care of him, but it’s good to have an alternative.” The major portion of the estate was left to Keith. Susan also made specific lump-sum bequests of two hundred thousand dollars to each of the previous heirs—Jake Flynn, Peg Flynn, Gina Satterlee, Tucker Satterlee, and Harrison Hammond—and ten thousand each to the cook and yardman.

I looked at Susan with approval. “Those are generous bequests for the previous heirs.”

Susan’s expression was rueful. “I hope they agree. They thought they would share in a much greater inheritance.” Susan glanced toward the door.

I wondered if she was remembering Jake’s awkward appearance in the doorway that morning.

Susan addressed an envelope to Wade Farrell.

As she added a stamp, I held out my hand. “I’ll mail it for you.” Late at night, I should have no difficulty carrying a truly airborne letter. Or I might remain visible and enjoy a crisp winter night walk. “Is the post office still at Cherokee and Chouteau?”

“Yes. But I haven’t signed the will yet. I want my signature witnessed.” Her glance at me was cool and intelligent. “A holographic will doesn’t need a witness, but I want one.” She carefully folded the sheet, slipped it into the envelope.

I looked at her in surprise.

Her smile was quick. “Tom was a lawyer. Wills and trusts and probate.” She gestured toward the bed. “I’ll be found in the morning. I want someone to be able to say they saw the will—and me—tonight and watched me sign it. I need someone I trust, someone who knows me well.” She ran an impatient hand through her hair. “Jane Ramsey is spending Christmas in London with her daughter’s family. Let me think…Missy Burnett has been sick and she would be too shocked to see me. I haven’t left the house much this past year. There has to be someone.” She stood and paced back and forth, murmuring names, each followed by a shake of her head.

“Someone who works for you?”

Susan’s eyes widened. She swung toward me. “Of course. Leon! He doesn’t work for us any longer, but he was foreman of the ranch for many years. He was one of the few people Mitch tried to please.” Her smile was a mixture of pride and regret. “Mitch was a handful, but he loved the ranch. Leon never had children and he treated Mitch like his son. After Mitch left, Leon kept everything going but I felt the joy had gone out of Burnt Creek for him. When Tucker finished school and took over at the ranch, Leon quit. But he’s been good to come every year to get the Christmas tree in place and put up the scaffolding. I talked to him this afternoon. I told him I hoped Keith would love Burnt Creek the way Mitch did. Leon will help me.” She started toward the hall door.

Under no circumstances did we want anyone in the household to awaken until we returned. I held out a restraining hand. “Let’s disappear.” I did.

Susan looked a trifle panicked. “Where’d you go?”

I gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “I’m here.”

She jumped. “How do you do that?”

I tried to remember exactly what I did to disappear. “Think: Gone.”

“Gone,” she muttered. She faded away. “Oh, what fun.”

“Think: Here.”

“Here.” She swirled into being. “Gone.” She went.

I pushed away all thought of Precept Two. “Very good. Now, think where we want to go and we’ll be there. I need to know more than Leon’s house. What’s his last name?” I could immediately go from here to anywhere but I needed a specific location. Main and Cherokee. Perkins Drugstore downtown.

“Butler.”

“Good. Think Leon Butler’s house and there we’ll be. Since you are carrying the letter, we’ll zoom rather than pop from here to there.” Material objects had to travel through space in real time.

She shook her head. “Leon lives out in the country. He never misses anything. He’d know he hadn’t heard a car, and how would we explain showing up on his front porch? We have to drive.” She frowned. “I haven’t driven in a long time. Can you drive?”

If Susan had thought, she would have realized that driving a car was much farther distant in my past. However, I always enjoyed driving. How much fun to be behind the wheel again. “Of course.” I supposed it was like a bicycle. I might wobble a bit at first, but how different could it be?

“I’ll get the keys.” Susan’s voice was eager with no trace of worry or concern. “We’ll take Jake’s car. Her purse will be on the hall table downstairs.”

“All right.” I opened the bedroom door, whispered, “You are carrying the letter so float downstairs.”

I followed the envelope over the stair rail. I heard a soft gurgle of laughter. Susan was enjoying weightlessness. When the letter was a few inches from the hall table, the brown alligator handbag on the table apparently opened of its own accord. A handkerchief was briefly lifted and replaced. A change purse jingled. “Here they are.” A black plastic oblong with several keys attached dangled in the air.

“Excellent.”

She tossed the keys in the direction of my voice and I caught them.

With objects to carry, Susan with the letter and I with the keys, it was necessary to open the back door. I waited until I saw the letter on the porch and shut the door.

“Oh, it’s so cold.” Susan sounded shivery.

“Wear that gorgeous mink.”

“It’s in the house.”

“Think: Mink.”

“Mmmm. Thank you.”

I decided to think mink as well. Much warmer than suede. I followed the letter through the shadows to the garage.

Susan opened the side door into the garage and turned on a light. She punched a plastic oblong on the wall and the garage door lifted with a whir. “The blue Ford,” Susan instructed.

I slipped behind the wheel and Susan settled in the passenger seat. I turned the key, pumped the accelerator. I put the car in reverse. Metal scraped against brick. In my defense, I hadn’t realized the wheel wasn’t quite straight when I started. I jammed on the brakes, inched forward, straightened, backed up again.

I put the car in park and reached for the handle. “I’ll see about the door.”

“No need. Push the remote.”

“Remote from what?”

Susan cleared her throat. “It’s not remote from anything. It’s up there on the windshield to your left.”

I glanced at another plastic oblong attached to the interior of the windshield. How complex earthly life had become. However, I appreciated not having to leap from the car to lower the garage door. “Certainly. The remote.” I didn’t want Susan to lose confidence in me. I pushed the button. The door slid down. At the end of the drive, I waited for directions.

“Leon lives on Shanty Road about eight miles east of Oil City.”

In the early oil days, a makeshift camp had grown up on the outskirts of Adelaide when oil was discovered. Shanty Road ran between Oil City and the smaller town of Briarwood.

As I drove, Susan was curious. “Do you like coming back to earth?”

“This is only my second time to return. I love being in Adelaide. I was happy here.” We passed an elementary school. “Rob and Dil went to Sequoyah.” I reminisced about the harried years when Rob and Dil were little and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day and Bobby Mac was getting started as a wildcatter and twice we had to mortgage the house, the exciting years when oil gushed and we traveled to Europe and Rob was an Eagle Scout and Dil the prettiest girl in her class, and the too-short years, when I was the mayor’s secretary and knew everything going on in town and Bobby Mac was at his peak. That ended with our last trip on the Serendipity.

Near the edge of town, I roared up a hill.

“The speed limit is sixty.” Susan’s tone was mild and only slightly nervous.

I glanced at the lighted display. Oh my. I slowed.

A siren sounded behind us.