Dream Dancer (Ghosts Beyond the Grove Book 2) (28 page)

     Once I got back to Charlotte’s Grove, I took a few days to decompress before unpacking my own stuff and dropping Zach’s stuff off at his house.  His behavior had been consistently normal ever since the curse was lifted and Dr. Landon was finally allowing him visitors.  It was so weird walking into that room and listening to him talk like a sane person again.  I wasn’t sure how much he remembered or whether or not I should mention the hell he’d been through.  For the first few visits, we spoke only of things like the weather and of how much longer he thought it would be before he was released. 

     Gradually, he began to ask questions about the huge gaps in time from one memory to the next.  I kept my answers brief and undetailed because I wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the whole truth.  I knew for certain that I wasn’t anywhere close to wanting to tell him the truth. 

     Once I got the payout from Grandpa’s life insurance policy, I took care of the next thing on my to-do list and once it was ready I booked my next flight—this time to Philadelphia.  I needed to visit Mom’s and Miranda’s graves.  The night of Grandpa’s funeral I sat down at his tiny kitchen table and read the second letter my mother had written shortly before she died—the letter addressed to Miranda.

     I hadn’t had the heart to open it knowing that it was not meant for me to read.  But now that the caterpillar had finally transformed into the butterfly she’d always been destined to be, I had no qualms about opening it.  It was one decision I would never regret.

     In the letter, I learned one valuable lesson—no one can ever predict the future.  Mom, who had been so good at prophecies, had totally missed the mark on two counts.  First, she was incorrect in thinking that I was going to die at birth.  Her second mistake was in believing that Miranda would not.  She’d read the signals completely backwards.

     She explained to my sister that there were two types of people in the world—healers and those who would always need to be healed.  According to her theory, I fell into the second category while she and my sister were both clearly in the first.  As Mom saw it, her own death was inevitable but my outcome still lay in the balance.  She expressed that with her own help from above and Miranda’s assistance here on earth that the two of them could help guide and protect me. 

     Mom referred to their alliance as “birds of a feather flocking together”.  That’s when I realized I’d had two angels watching over me this whole time not just one.  My sister was obviously responsible for at least one of the “coincidences” that kept me on the right path.  The little girl at the airport in Tucson—her name was Miranda.  Funny how I’d never looked at it from that angle before.

     I didn’t know the exact spot where they were buried but asking directions wasn’t necessary.  As soon as I saw the statue in the distance, I knew exactly where to go.  The marble likeness I’d commissioned of the two of them together was breathtakingly accurate—down to the finest details on the feathers adorning her dress.  She would now stand there for centuries cradling her baby in her arms for the whole world to see. Satisfied that I had closure, I was ready to spread my wings toward my next destination.

     Back to New Orleans.  After wrapping up everything in regards to my grandfather’s estate, I dropped by Elva’s Armoire one last time.  I shared the details of how my story ended and had a few laughs with her about Eduardo across the street.  Then I was back in the air one more time.

     Sedona.  I spent a little time with Roxanne and showed her pictures of the statue at my mom’s grave.  And heard one more time how I looked more like Mom every time she saw me.  My real reason for the flight to Arizona, though, was to bask in the peaceful energy of the place.  I’d expended so much of my own energy and absorbed so much of the negative that I needed to recharge my batteries in the worst way.

     I made sure to thank Salma while I was there and shared my story of what happened to the moonstones she gave me.  She was intrigued but not the slightest bit surprised.

     “Your Zach must be an indigo too.  Your children will be blessed with exceptional gifts.”

     “Kids?  Me?  I don’t think so.  Keeping myself out of trouble is a full time job plus I put in tons of overtime watching out for Zach.  I don’t want any more responsibility than I already have.”  

     “Never say never.  For those who do, it all comes back to them times two,” she replied before slipping out into the crowd milling around the bazaar.

     Her mysterious nature and cryptic quotes made me question one more time—albeit briefly—whether or not she was a time traveler.  It was fun to think that I may have just had a conversation with Cleopatra herself but that’s all it was—a fun thought.  I hiked up into the mountains and shrugged off all my silly notions that time travel could be real.  In fact, I shook off all of my untamed thoughts and did nothing but breathe.

     It was over.  My living nightmare was over.  Once I felt thoroughly cleansed, I booked one last flight before settling down.  Home.  I was heading home.

Epilogue

     I woke up the morning of the day Zach died much like every other—stiffened by age yet grateful to still witness another sunrise.  Slowly, I rose from bed so as not to wake him.  He’d been very tired lately and it reminded me of our time in Ohio which I hadn’t thought of in decades.  We did our best to put those dark times behind us.  It frightened me to be thinking about it again.

     My bones creaked louder than the steps beneath my feet as I made my way down to the kitchen for a cup of tea.  As I was about to toss the tea bag away, my hand hovered over the garbage can and a strange urge came over me.  With shaking hands, I cut it open and dumped the fragrant leaves into the cup.  I hadn’t performed that ritual in years but I still remembered exactly what to do.

     I stood over the kitchen sink and watched as the liquid drained out, anxious to see what kind of pattern would remain.  Turning the cup upright, I instantly regretted what I’d done.  There at the bottom, plain as day, was the shape of an arrowhead. 

     “Good morning, beautiful!”

     Startled, the tea cup flew from hands and smashed against the side of the sink.  I scrambled to gather up the pieces before he saw what I was doing. 

     “I didn’t mean to scare you, Ruby.  Here, let me help you clean up that mess.”

     His voice sounded stronger and more vibrant than it had in months.  There was barely a tremble in his hands as he swept the broken glass into the garbage.  And in his eyes I could see the man he was before Lei-Ah-Hi’s curse nearly destroyed him.  It put my soul at ease. 

     “Go ahead outside, I’ll make us both some tea.”

     Our morning ritual during the summer months was to sip our tea on the deck and watch the sun rise.  But for so long, he hadn’t been awake early enough to join me.  In fact, this would be the first time this summer that he would be sitting beside me and it was already late August. 

     He gave me the sweetest smile as he handed me that steaming cup then settled in beside me.  We used to sit there holding hands in silence but Zach was full of surprises for me that morning.

     “So I called the kids before I came out—they’re all coming over for dinner tonight.  How many pizzas do you think I need to order?” he said as he put his arm around me and snuggled up close.  “Three?  Four?”

     “Better try six or seven—you know how much Clayton and Elijah can eat once they get going.  And don’t forget Emerald is a vegetarian so get at least one of them without pepperoni.  Are the grandkids all coming too?”

     Clayton, of course, referred to Clay’s son who we basically adopted once he became an adult.  I got Clay’s permission to introduce myself to his son and to tell him that I’d been in contact with his dead father for years.  He took the news fairly well and when his grandparents died, Zach and I stepped in.

     Elijah and Emerald were our biological children—twins as a matter of fact.  Zach and I had agreed on not having any, considering Clayton as our own was good enough for us.  But Fate had other plans in store.  I often wondered if Queen Elva’s “positive” curse was to blame.  Weirder things have happened. 
Much
weirder things.  Salma was right on the money when she predicted that our children would possess exceptional gifts.

     Zach stayed in a happy mood all day long and barely left my side.  Any moments spent without me were preceded by a kiss on the cheek and followed up with more of the same.  It took me back to that time when I almost gave up on him, almost let him die.  I would have missed out on so much love if I had.

     After everyone else left, Zach sat down on the couch and motioned for me to join him.  I had a gut feeling that he had something important that he wanted to talk about.  We had wills drawn up but we never spoke of them or of what would happen once one of us was alone.  I dreaded having that conversation.  But the things on his mind were far more unsettling than death.

     “I want you to write a book—a book about what happened to me, a book about the curse.”

     “A book?  I haven’t written a book in so long I wouldn’t even remember how.  Besides, you always said no every time I begged you for permission to do it—what changed your mind?”

     After the dust settled, I went to college but not for my original intention.  Writing was my hobby but psychology was my passion.  I entered the field in the hopes of finding that arrowhead again.  It took years for me to get my doctorate because I took a lot of semesters off doing research and attending every paranormal convention I could find.  My practice specialized in patients who showed signs of possession.  I thought maybe if I wrote a book about what happened to Zach, that someone would contact me with a similar story.  The book went unwritten out of respect; the arrowhead remained lost despite every other possible effort.

     Without answering my question, Zach pulled a notebook and pen out of the desk drawer and handed them to me.  He gave me only enough time to open the cover before pouring out the details that he’d always kept hidden.  It was an emotional time for me—talking about his pain and torture and also speaking of friends and family who had long since passed.  By the time we were finished, I had five pages of notes but only half a box of tissues left.

     We climbed the stairs together.  Slowly, but together.  He got into bed with an aura of being unburdened.  My state of mind was the exact opposite.  I lay awake long after I heard the soft, rhythmic breath of sleep coming from the other side of the bed.  As I was about to drift off, he rolled over and wrapped his arm tightly around me.

     “That was the best movie ever.  The ending couldn’t have been more perfect,” he whispered into my ear.  “I’ll see you in a little while.  I love you.”

     Before I could say that I loved him too, a tiny electric shock shot into me in all of the spots where our bodies were touching.  I didn’t have to check for a pulse.  I knew instantly that Zach was dead.

     I struggled through the funeral, impatient for it to all be over.  There was no time for grieving.  I had work to do.  Writing was like riding a bicycle—you never forget how but it takes a little time to find the right balance necessary to move forward. 

     Once all of the well-wishers were gone and the last casserole was dropped off, I set feverishly to work.  Intent on perfection, there were days when eight hours only yielded two pages worth of progress.  But I never once lost patience with myself.  After six months of focused dedication, I woke up one morning knowing that the light at the end of the tunnel was before me.

     That day was today.  Like so many other nights, I had the dream about Zach and me in the movie theater but this time it was different.  This time, I got to see and hear every scene along with him.  It was the story of our lives together.  It was a highlight reel of all of our important moments blended together seamlessly—both the good and the bad.  And most importantly, I got to see how the movie ended.

     It ended with me finishing the manuscript.  It ended with me telling the world his story before putting the final touches on my own.  I knew that I was going to die today—just like Zach knew the morning before he passed.  There was a dual meaning when I typed the final words.  I sent the file to Emerald without any explanation then went upstairs to rest.  I was ready to be with Zach again. 

     The end.