A Summer with the Dead Read online

  “I’ve always thought so too,” Elly said.

  A hostess led them to a booth in a back corner with a view of a stream. The evening sun turned the river water amber and the lawn lime green. Clumps of daffodils bobbed in the breeze as new aspen leaves quivered.

  The booth’s green vinyl seats felt warm, as if previous customers had left a moment earlier. The waitress slid two glasses of ice water and two menus on the table. “Be right back, ladies,” she said and hurried away through double doors.

  “Well look at that. There’s chicken and dumplings on the menu,” Elly said. “It’s one of my favorites. We used to have chickens.”

  “Yes, you mentioned having chickens.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, and a cow and a horse. If that’s what you want, then order the chicken and dumplings. We’re celebrating remember? I think I’ll have the river trout. Benson didn’t like me to cook fish. He said it made the house stink.”

  “What are we celebrating, Maya, other than getting together after such a long time and you finally getting to see the farm?”

  “Freedom,” Maya said. “I don’t know if selling the farm makes you want to celebrate, Aunt Elly, but I’m relieved to be free of Benson. I think a party is in order.”

  “You’re getting a divorce, Maya?”

  Maya nodded. “Benson was served divorce papers yesterday, while he’s in the hospital with both legs and one arm in a cast. He’s so smashed up, he can’t lay a finger on me, so it was perfect timing. I suppose that sounds harsh. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “That depends. How’d he get so banged up?” Elly asked. “You take an iron skillet to him, honey?”

  “Maybe I should have, but no. He was street-racing his car like a dumb kid. I’m just glad he didn’t hurt anyone else before he flipped and crashed. I was always afraid he’d hit a young couple with a baby or some poor kid on a bicycle.”

  Elly shook her head. “Harlan was always so good to me. I’ve always said, there’s no one like my sweet Harlan.”

  “I’ve never had good sense when it comes to men, Aunt Elly. Handsome men are my kryptonite. I’ve missed meeting some nice guys by marrying Benson. Benson was all gift wrapping and no gift.”

  “Let’s not think about Benson then, honey. You’ve caught the attention of a good looking man here tonight,” Elly said. “Over there in the opposite corner booth. He’s glanced over here five times to check you out. He’s quite attractive with his wavy blonde hair and blue eyes.”

  “I’m taking a break from men, especially the handsome ones.” Maya dug into her shoulder bag. “Here’s some hand sanitizer, Elly. I read an article that said menus are crawling with germs.”

  After ordering, the waitress brought their dinners. “Enjoy, ladies. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Outside their window, a Canadian goose pecked along the banks of the stream. He raised his black beak toward the sky and honked as more geese circled and landed.

  Maya’s cell phone vibrated in her purse. She dug it out. “It’s Mama,” she said.

  “You’re not going to answer it?” Elly asked.

  “I’ll call her back later. Mom would just spoil our dinner with her questions and remarks.”

  Elly chuckled and turned her smile toward the man in the other booth. A moment later he passed by. Maya focused on the geese outside the window. She was serious about avoiding men for a while. For a long while. Maya made a point of studying her cell phone when the blond man exited the restroom door and returned to his own booth. He wore a pleasant cologne.

  “Did you save room for dessert, ladies?” the waitress asked. “We have a special on spring rhubarb pie ala mode this evening. That, or chocolate mousse.”

  “I ate every bit of my dinner,” Elly said. “No room for dessert.”

  “Nor for me.” When Maya paid the bill she was surprised. It was rare these days for two people to have dinner in a restaurant for less than forty dollars, including tip. If Benson had been there, ordering cocktails and wine, the total would have doubled. An ever-climbing credit card balance never seemed to hold him back. Money was no issue with Benson.

  Maya and Elly returned to the car. A bright half-moon shimmered above the peaks of the River Lodge’s three dormers.

  “There he is again,” Elly said. “The man who was eyeing you inside the restaurant.”

  The blonde man exited the front doors as Maya backed out of her parking spot. He wore beige slacks and a dark leather jacket.

  “He looks familiar to me,” Elly said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him before somewhere. Maybe he’s a clothing model in a magazine. He could be, with those looks.”

  Maya drove back toward the farm through trails of thin fog. The fog blanketed the marshes, hollows, and bogs. At the two-mile post, the car’s engine sputtered and died.

  “Aw crap.” Maya rolled to the shoulder and turned on the car’s emergency flashers. “I can’t imagine what’s wrong, I had a mechanic go over this thing from top to bottom just two weeks ago when I told you I was coming.” She dug in her handbag for her cell phone. “We’re in a dead zone here. There’s no signal.”

  Headlights appeared at the crest of the hill behind them. The driver flashed his lights and pulled up behind Maya’s car. The blonde man from the restaurant climbed from a silver Audi and strode to Maya’s lowered window.

  “Car trouble?” he asked.

  “Can’t be anything too serious. I had everything checked out recently,” Maya said.

  “I’m no mechanic, but let’s take a look.”

  Maya popped the hood. By the time she joined him at the front of the car, he had a flashlight shining into the engine compartment. He slid a screwdriver from his jacket pocket and tightened something in the shadows. “Try it now.”

  “Aunt Elly, turn the key,” Maya said.

  The engine roared to life and he wiped his hands on his handkerchief. “I’m Tony Bradley.”

  Maya shook his hand. “I’m Maya Pederson. Aunt Elly said you look familiar.”

  “Really? Can’t imagine how, since I moved here just three weeks ago. I own Bradley Realty, on Main Street.”

  Elly lowered her window. “I’m Elly Pederson. I own the farm on Cemetery Road.”

  “The old place on the hillside above the stream?”

  “That’s the place,” Elly said. “How’d you know that?”

  “I’m already familiar with just about every bit of land for ten miles around. I’m building a photo album of properties.” Tony Bradley lowered the hood of the car. “Maybe your aunt saw me taking pictures out along the road.” His hair glowed silver in the moonlight.

  Like kryptonite.

  Aunt Elly called again. “How about a home-cooked dinner as our way of saying thanks?”

  “I’d love it.” He smiled.

  “Saturday evening? Around six o’clock?” Elly suggested.

  Tony Bradley headed toward his car. “Looking forward to it.” He honked as he drove away.

  “It’s so much easier to meet someone nowadays, than when I was young,” Elly said.

  “You do realize you’ve invited a realtor to your house. He’s a salesman. He’ll want to list your property. He might become a pest about it.”

  “I have no problem getting rid of pests,” Elly said.

  “You sound very positive about that.”

  “I am.”

  Okay,” Maya said. “Dinner it is.”

  “It has occurred to me on more than one occasion though, that I never dated anyone except Harlan. I never even talked to another man on the phone. Well, I did, but only for business. I just never met anyone else. It’s so much easier these days.”

  “I don’t know about that. You had no trouble flirting with Tony Bradley just now.”

  “Aw,” Elly giggled. “He’s too young for an old lady like me, but I’ve always been a sucker for blondes. Harlan was a blonde when he still had hair.”

  “It’s a very modern thing for a w
oman to keep her maiden name after marriage, but you did that decades ago.”

  “Harlan didn’t care. He said the only thing that mattered was that we were together.”

  “He was open-minded,” Maya said. “I’ve petitioned to get my maiden name back. But I’m not waiting for it to be official. I’m already using the name Pederson again.”

  “I noticed that,” Elly said.

  “Until I heard you mention it to Mr. Bradley, I didn’t realize you live on Cemetery Road,” Maya said. “I grew up on Cemetery Lane. That’s an odd coincidence isn’t it?”

  “When we moved here, fifty-five years ago, our address was just Cemetery Road Farm, Graceville WA. Simple as that. Problem is now, half the time the road sign is in the ditch because drunks keep knocking it down on Friday or Saturday nights.” Elly straightened, leaned toward the dashboard and pointed. “Right there—see the tire marks in the dirt? And there’s the sign—in the ditch. The county will send a crew out in a week or two and stand it back up. They had to replace it twice last month. I guess there’s no hurry though. People around here know where the Cemetery is.”

  When they arrived at the farm, a dim light glowed through the curtains in the bunkhouse windows.

  “Looks like Coty’s up reading again. I saw boxes full of books when he moved in. Only one box of clothes, the rest was books and papers,” Elly said. “Lots and lots of papers.”

  Upstairs, Maya found a dozen pieces of seasoned fir stacked beside the little fireplace in her room. Beside the hearth stood a bundle of kindling, a stack of old newspapers, and a box of wooden matches. Not a twig, leaf, or wood chip littered the floor. Maya’s first impression of Coty had suggested he was rough and outdoorsy, not necessarily tidy. People often made the mistake of assuming Benson was neat and organized because he was a natty dresser. He kept his hair trimmed, his nails manicured and his shoes polished. Maya smirked, because Benson had been a slob around the house.

  Maya twisted two sheets of newspaper and dropped them on the grate with a handful of kindling. She struck a match and flames crackled as they spread from the paper to the cedar. She added small pieces of fir and then wedged one log of madrona into the pile. After setting the screen across the hearth, Maya sat on the bed. Firelight danced on the floor and walls. The golden flicker drove away the lonely feeling she felt when Elly first showed her this room. Now the room felt cozy and she felt safe here. She felt no déjà vu or sense of dread.

  Maya set her watch on the bedside table, undressed, and slipped into her robe and slippers. She pulled pajamas from a drawer and crossed the hall to the big bathroom. An old electric clock sat on the counter. 8:55 PM. She bathed in the claw foot tub and brushed her teeth in the pedestal sink. She returned to her room where the firelight had already slowed to a waltz on the walls and floor. She crawled into bed and pulled up the sheet, bedspread, and patchwork quilt. Reaching for the lamp switch, she noticed her watch was gone from the bedside table. She checked the floor and underneath the bed, inside the little drawer and behind the table, but it was gone.

  Maya slapped the corner of the bedside table with frustration. “I left it right there … didn’t I?”

  One day, several months ago, she found the unopened mail in the freezer, but had no recollection of putting it there. Maybe that was why Benson’s words stung so much: “You’re nuts, you know.” She felt a little better when Dr. Conover assured her, “We all do bizarre things when our minds are overwhelmed or we’re feeling stressed.”

  Her day had been hectic, a little stressful, and it felt longer than most days did. Maya was tired. Packing her things into the Edge and escaping the condo felt like two or three days ago, not like this morning.

  The sheets were crisp and smooth. “I’ll find my watch in the morning.” Maya turned off the light and opened the window a half-inch. Cool air puffed against the lace curtains. She smelled the green fields, fir trees, and moss. Country smells.

  “Finally, I get to explore the farm,” she whispered. A glimmer of excitement warmed her.

  Maya pictured Benson’s face, his sneering lips, his cold eyes. She heard his voice, as if her ears were scarred by the sound. “You’re crazy.”

  “Benson, just … shut up. I’m not going to let you ruin this adventure for me. Dr. Conover said I’m doing great, and I’ve even cut down on my meds. I’m just stressed, not crazy.”

  In her rush to flee their condominium, Maya’d forgotten to request a refill on her Lorazapam before leaving Tacoma. She had sixteen pills left and would soon need to phone Dr. Conover to ask for more. She dreaded that, even though Dr. Conover’d always authorized the refills.

  Maya closed her eyes and allowed the memories of the day to replay themselves, like scenes flashing across a bright screen. Again, she felt the panic to get away from the condo, experienced the tense drive across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, was calmed by the country views between Purdy and Bremerton, and then felt the excitement build as she reached the Olympic Penninsula. Peaceful scenes slid across the backs of her eyelids. She smiled at the remembered image of Elly’s farm from the road. She loved the way the driveway wound down one hillside, crossed the stream and climbed into the evergreens. She loved the way arriving at the house was like driving out from between velvet green curtains and across a sunlit stage. She liked the way the backdoor opened to a warm kitchen, and once inside, she liked how it took six steps to cross from one side of the kitchen to the dining room, another six steps to cross to the living room and the bottom of the stairs. There were eight stairs up to the landing, and fourteen stairs to the second floor. All even numbers. Plenty of even numbers here at the farm. That was good, very good. Even numbers were a protective sign.

  Maya had been relieved after she saw Elly lock the back door when they retired for the evening. Security was a serious matter. It was important to double-check locks, the same way it was important to unplug small appliances before plugging them back in. Hair dryers, food processors, vacuums, curling irons, can openers, almost anything with an electrical cord. Dr. Conover called Maya’s persistence to do these things an obsession. These were rituals, she said. Ceremonies. Good luck charms.

  No, they’re more than that. They’re insurance.

  “It bugs me, the way you organize all the drawers and cupboards, Maya,” Benson often said. “I feel like a school child, the way everything is alphabetized in the pantry, with all the canned goods lined up so perfect and straight, as if they’re on rails.”

  “It makes looking for something easier, Bens,” Maya answered. “And making out a shopping list is easier too, because I can see what we’re low on.”

  “And what’s this?” Benson held up a pair of red, silk underwear. “I gave these to you on Valentine’s Day. Why were they in the recycling bin?”

  How did he find those, buried beneath a layer of junk mail?

  Maya stammered, “Because blue is my luc … favorite color.”

  “But red is sexy.”

  I don’t want to be sexy around you.

  When Maya felt anxious or tense, she counted steps and stairs. Doing these things kept trouble away. If not four steps, then eight. If not eight, then twelve. Blue underwear had proven itself time and time again. She’d thrown away the red silk underwear because red was bad luck. So was black. Yellow was okay. Yellow was neutral. She liked yellow. It was cheerful, like daffodils. She loved daffodils.

  Thinking about Benson made Maya tense. She took a deep breath, stretched her legs out as far as she could and opened and closed her hands several times. Muscle by muscle, she relaxed, starting with the arches in her feet and working upward. Calves, thighs, abdomen, neck and arms. The mattress and sheets were smooth and cool. The room was silent. The low fire flickered. It was quiet here in the country. It was calm. A distant owl hooted in the forest.

  Maya heard someone whisper, “Don’t leave me here.”

  Maya sat up. “Aunt Elly, is that you?”

  Did I doze off? Maya waited but heard nothing else. I must ha
ve fallen asleep and the whisper was the start of a dream. She glanced toward the hearth. The fire was now a pile of glowing coals. Yes, I was asleep.

  The lace curtains lifted and brushed against the windowsill, the only sound other than Maya’s own breathing. She pushed the curtains aside and checked the roof outside. The silvery cedar shakes reflected moonlight like the edges of serrated knife blades.

  The whisper was not repeated and an hour later, Maya slept.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  MAYA PHONED HER MOTHER and smiled when the answering machine picked up.

  “Hi, Mama. Everything’s fine. I had no trouble getting here. The farm is wonderful. I have a cozy room with a view of the valley and fields—and my own fireplace! Talk to you soon.” Maya hung up. Obligation met.

  Maya arrived downstairs in the kitchen, dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt, ready for whatever household chore Aunt Elly needed done. Seven straight hours of sleep helped, and she felt convinced the whispering at bedtime was the result of a long, stressful day. Dr. Conover’s advice about hearing voices was always the same. “There’s nothing there, Maya. It’s just your imagination. What else could it be?” Those last words had become Maya’s mantra. What else could it be?

  Maya found her aunt squatting in front of the little wood stove, shoving split fir into the flames.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” Aunt Elly said. “Sleep okay?”

  “I did. When did you get up?” Maya asked. “I thought I might make it down here ahead of you and fix breakfast for us both.”

  “I’ve gotten up at dawn for so long I doubt I’ll ever break the habit, but I kept your breakfast warm in the oven.”

  Maya found a foil-covered plate of pancakes and sausage. She sat down at the table.

  “Any ideas what kind of dinner we should fix for Tony Bradley on Saturday?” Elly asked.

  “Something easy. How about roasted chicken?”

  “Sounds good,” Elly said. “And hot rolls, green beans and tossed salad. How about apple pie for dessert? Apple-walnut was always Harlan’s favorite. And since we’re having company, let’s eat in the dining room. I’ll have to remember to build the fire in the living room because the dining room stays cool even with the furnace turned up.”