Clouds In My Coffee (2 page)

Maybe it’s a symptom of ghost energy being in the realm of my aura somehow?

Geez. Now I’m thinking in supernatural terms!

I chuckle audibly and Ryan stirs.

“Hey babe,” he greets me with a yawn. “That was some workout last night. How about a repeat performance?”

I wriggle out from underneath his arm, wrapping the sheet around me. “I can’t believe you made all that noise,” I say, jumping up from the bed and taking the sheet with me.

Ryan lays there naked and not caring. Men have no modesty at all. “Me?” he asks, his eyes widening. “You were one wicked wench last night, girl.”

“Shhh,” I hiss, putting my finger up to my lips. “They’ll hear you, Ryan.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, getting out of bed and he’s got his swagger goin on as he closes the distance between us. I love his looks. He has thick dark-brown hair and gorgeous green eyes that darken into a sea of lust when we make love.

“Parrish,” he says, cupping my face in his large hands, “You made enough noise last night to wake up the dead and make
them
horny.” He shrugs on his boxers. “Wanna share a shower?” he asks, quirking a brow at me.

I grin because I just can’t help it. “You get it started. I’ll be right there.”

I grab a robe to put on and some clean clothes for the day. Several minutes later, Ryan and I are lathering each other up in our second shower in less than ten hours under my father’s roof.

I don’t give the previous night another thought until we’re seated at the breakfast table, wolfing down Sheila’s homemade waffles, which is so
not
what a model should be eating, when my father joins us.

“I trust you two slept well last night?” he asks, giving Ryan the evil eye, Italian style, which of course, causes my cheeks to turn as pink as my bedroom walls.

Sheila places a warm waffle on my father’s plate and a look passes which says, “
Let it go, already.”

“Slept great, sir,” Ryan responds nonchalantly. “Must be the high altitude or something.”

“And you, Parrish?”

“It was all good, Dad,” I blubber, my face turning crimson under his gaze.

And now I have to stop here to tell you that at age fifty-nine, my dad is still a hottie. I mean, through my “episode,” as I call it, when my mother was in the driver’s seat so to speak, and I was a voyeur to certain things in her life, he was seriously smokin’ hot.

He’s got the whole Italian-look thing goin’ on
big-time
. Dark eyes, dark hair—well it’s graying at the temples now, but it only makes him more handsome I think. He’s tall and still has a great build for an older dude. He’s kind of serious most of the time, but occasionally he slips up and shows his dry humor and wit.

I’ve heard that I look like him, but act like Ma. I can live with that. I’m five feet, eight inches tall, with longish dark brown hair that I have highlighted to make it more photo-friendly, as my agent Leonard says. I have my father’s dark brown eyes, straight nose and full lips. In other words, I’m kind of his female clone. Ma was blond, blue-eyed and no taller than five-four.

“What are your plans for today?” Sheila asks, taking her seat at the table.

“I’m going to hit the slopes again, I mean if Parrish doesn’t mind,” Ryan pipes up. “Is it okay with you?”

“Sure,” I reply, glad that he’ll be otherwise occupied so that I can focus on my trip to Evanston, “I have other plans anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” Ryan and my dad both say at once.

Shit.

How do I explain this
without
explaining it?

“Yeah—there’s an acquaintance of my mother’s in Evanston, Wyoming. She thought maybe it would be nice if I stopped by for a visit as long as I’m so close.”

“Sounds like a plan then,” Ryan replies, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’d go with you but I’ve got a conference call later on with Cassie to de-brief for my upcoming assignment.”

“Cassie?”

“Yeah,” Ryan, says, “I told you about her. She’s the new photo journalist I’ve been mentoring. We’re doing that wilderness layout in the Canadian Rockies, remember?”

“Vaguely,” I reply, sipping my coffee.

“Hey, the rental has GPS so just plug the address in and you’ll be fine. I mean I can skip the slopes if you really need me to go with you, babe.”

Truthfully, I wanted to go alone. “No, really, Ryan. I wouldn’t hear of it. Enjoy yourself, I won’t be gone long.”

Later on, after Ryan left for the slopes with Sheila, my dad comes up to my room, knocking softly on the door. “Parrish, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

He enters the room and I know he wants more information on my excursion to Evanston. I’m able to read him pretty well and it seems as if the same applies to him with me.

“Parrish, this acquaintance of your mother’s—would that be your mother here?”

As on Earth.

I turn from the mirror where I’d been brushing out my hair to face him.

He knows.

“She came to me last night. Just like she said she would. She came to me in my dreams. She needs me to use...my gift. There’s a stalled soul. That’s why I have to go to Evanston...to the grave.”

He is at my side in an instant, pulling me to my feet. “You’re not going alone,” he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. “I may not understand the full scope of this
gift
you have, but I’m going with you to make sure that you’re not in any danger.”

“I won’t argue with you, Dad, trust me. This is kind of my solo flight after all.”

“Which begs the question as to why your . . .
boyfriend
didn’t insist upon accompanying you.”

I can see that he is looking for reasons not to like Ryan and it’s a bit comical that this has just surfaced, since he undoubtedly heard our raunchy play last night.

“Ryan doesn’t know about my gift. You’re the only one I’ve told.”

“Why?”

I shrug and turn away from him as I get my coat out of the closet. “I don’t know how to explain it for one; and I guess I don’t want him thinking I’m some kind of…of…freak maybe.”

My father takes my coat, holding it up so that he is helping me on with it. He’s a perfect gentleman for sure. “Bambolina, it’s nothing to be ashamed of - this
gift
that you have.”

“I know that, I do. But, it’s new to me and I need to get my own brain wrapped around it before I share it with anyone else. Does that make sense?”

“It does as long as that’s your true reason, Parrish, and it’s not something else.”

For not knowing me long, he certainly knows me well enough.

Yes, I
am
afraid of what Ryan might think. I’m afraid he’ll think I’m nuts or, at the very least, he’ll have some concerns about what type of DNA would prompt such a physiological—or maybe it’s psychological—aberration in me. I do need to process this for myself, that part is true. My dad is the only one for the time being that I trust with this knowledge.

On the way to Evanston, I fill Dad in with as much information as Ma has shared with me on all of this with the stalled souls. A couple of times, I catch the sparkle in his eyes when I tell him about her referring to them as “Limbonians” and assuring me that she could vouch for them all.

“What?” I ask when I hear his soft chuckle just as I am describing how she looked in my dream the previous night.

“Oh, it’s just that I know my Karlie and it tickles me that the first order of her business after reaching her…uh, final destination was to make sure her hair and wardrobe were up to date.”

“I guess fashion and style were her thing, yeah?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he replies, his smile as broad as I’ve ever seen. It’s funny, but as serious as Dad always is, each and every time Ma comes up in a conversation, it’s like he makes up for all the smiles that he’s missed over the years. “Did she ask about me?”

“Yes, apparently she knows that I’m staying here with you and Sheila.”

I could see him visibly tense up. “Is that an issue?” he asks.

I look over and touch his hand that’s on the steering wheel, forcing him to glance over at me briefly. “She’s totally fine with it,” I reply. “In fact, I told her how nice Sheila is and that she would really like her. She loves you, Dad. And because of that, she wants your life to be happy since she can’t be here with you.”

He nods and the rest of the trip is spent in silence.

We reach the cemetery that she spoke of in my dream. It is exactly the distance she said it would be on the highway to the north of Evanston.

Dad parks the car and says he’ll go to the office and see where the grave is located in order to save time. Within five minutes, he returns and maneuvers the car around a winding paved drive towards the wooded section of the graveyard.

It’s a fairly remote section of the cemetery, an older section, where only sporadic graves are still decorated for the holidays. He pulls the car over and shuts off the engine.

“This is the area,” he says. He gets out of the car and opens my door, helping me out. We trudge a few yards—me following him. The snow has covered many of the headstones, but Dad finds it with no problem. He brushes the snow off of the flat headstone and peers down.

“Cecily Rene Adams; born September 18, 1956, died February 14, 1974.”

I feel the chill of the December wind whip around me. It feels like icy fingers caressing my neck and shoulders. Today is December 30th and it’s bitterly cold here. I’m not sure what to do since the only other time I have interacted with a stalled soul was the result of a car accident and I was sort of ‘out of it’ at the time. Something inside tells me that I need to do this alone.

I turn to my father. “I kinda need to do this on my own, I think.”

“Bambolina, I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’ll be fine. Do you trust Ma?”

He nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “Of course I do Parrish, it’s just that…”

“Okay, then please just go back to the car and wait. I promise you that I’ll be okay. You can watch me and see if anything requires your intervention.”

“I’ll not take my eyes off of you, sweetheart, I promise.”

Once he’s back inside of the car, I get down to business.

I clear my throat, wondering how I need to start this whole process.

“Hello?” I mutter sounding totally clueless. “It’s me, Parrish Locke? I think you know Ma…I mean, Karlie Masterson? She sent me to you, Cecily. I’m uh…I’m here to help?”

I feel like a complete idiot. I will never get used to this shit. I’m sure of that.

“So, I’m
sure
that Karlie filled you in about me coming by and the sooner you appear, well, the sooner we can get down to the nitty-gritty of your...issues. I mean, that’s why I’m here.”

Oh for Chrissake. I’m totally blubbering here.

I look over to where Dad has parked the car and I can see that he’s watching me, making me feel more self-conscious if that’s even possible. I release a heavy sigh. Perhaps Ma is wrong about this gift bullshit. Maybe it’s only a one-time thing and she somehow got her signals crossed with ‘Alpha Control.’

Then a voice, barely an audible whisper, floats to my ears.

“Call me Cece,” it says.

I whirl around to where I see her behind me. There she is, sitting on the frozen, snow-laden ground right by her flat headstone wearing the clothing that I presume she was buried in.

Oh. My. God.

It’s a fucking cheerleading sweater in gold, with a kelly-green pleated skirt, white bobby socks and tennis shoes. She’s got an awesome figure and her dark blond hair is pulled up into a ponytail with a kelly-green ribbon tied around it. She is cute…not beautiful, but definitely very cute.

“Hi, Cece,” I say, the nerves evident in my voice because I don’t want to screw this up.

“Hi, Parrish,” she responds in her hoarse, but loud whisper. “Your mom’s pretty far-out. She said you could help.”

When she smiles, I see that she has a dimple.

“Yes,” I stammer, “I’ll do everything that I can to help you, I promise. I’m fairly new at this, so where would you like to start?”

“It’s probably best if I show you. Do you mind?”

I watch as she stands up and then comes closer. All I can do is nod my head ‘yes’ even though I’m scared as hell at the moment. Of course, I know that my dad can’t see her and that however much time it takes for me to travel back in time to witness and observe Cece’s story will only be minutes of real time for us, but still.

Shit!

A fucking cheerleader?

Oh, Ma. You
owe
me.

And that’s the very last ‘Parrish’ thought that I have before Cece takes over my body as we begin the trek into the circumstances of her death.

April 10, 1973

Evanston, Wyoming

“Cecily! You’re gonna miss the bus if you don’t shake a leg, girl!”

I’m looking under my bed for my other tennis shoe, which I finally locate and toss into my athletic bag.

“Did you hear me?” Mom hollers once again.

“It’s cool, Mom,” I yell back. “Erik’s driving me today anyway.” I cram the rest of the stuff I need for tryout practice this afternoon into the bag and zip it up.

I grab my books and head out of my room towards the living room only to be greeted by my mother’s disapproving glare.

“Why is Erik driving you to school?”

“Because I asked him to, why?”

“You know how I feel about
that
boy,” she replies, frowning as she pulls a cigarette out of her pack and taps the end of it on the countertop in the kitchen.

“That
boy
,” I say, “has been my best friend since we moved here eight years ago and my boyfriend-boyfriend for almost two years, so I guess you better get used to it, Mother. Besides, what’s he ever done to you besides being respectful and polite?”

She lights her cigarette, blowing the smoke from her nose as she finishes packing my lunch. “Yeah, well he wasn’t smoking dope when he was nine,” she replies, shaking her head. “And, think about it, Cece, what are his aspirations?”

“Grass is a natural herb. Native American Indians smoked it in their peace pipes, you know? And, Erik is a musician and that’s his dream. There’s a ton of musicians out there making major bucks and I think he’s every bit as talented as they are.”