Haunted(12)

The doorbell rang and I stood up off the floor to answer it. Phoebe stood on the porch.

“Hey…”

“Hey.” She eyed me.

We walked back to the couch and sat down.

“Beth, what have you been doing?” She asked me.

“Thinking.” I spoke in a low voice.

“About?” Her hands made questioning motions.

“Ghosts…” A tear rolled down my face. Huh, guess I had one left. I thought I’d used them up.

“Why are you thinking of ghosts?” She looked me in the eyes.

“Phoebe, that’s what ghosts do…they haunt you.”

She paused and patted her lap.

“Come here and lay on my lap so I can stroke your hair.”


Didn’t have to tell me twice. I loved getting my hair stroked and no one had done it since the last time Eric did. I laid my head on her lap, and she talked to me.

“Beth, I know you have had it hard, harder than most of us. You, my friend, have some shitty luck. Your parents, Joe, the kidnapping, rapes, and your problems with Joey. But you are a strong woman. I have seen it over the years. Frankly, you amaze me sometimes.”

“Sometimes I want to disappear,” I whispered.

“But you can’t. We all have shit happen in our lives. You’re not the only one who wants to disappear sometimes, you know. We have a pity party for a couple of days and then we get the f*ck up and move on.”

I rolled onto my back and looked up at her. Phoebe wiped the tears that rolled down my face.

“Beth, it’s time for you to get the f*ck up,” she spoke gently.

“Maybe…but why? What’s the point?”

“Joey! He needs his mom. Like it or not, you signed up for the job. He comes first always. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for him.”

It felt as though she had slapped me. She was right. I’d had my pity party long enough. Joey needed me and I needed him. We’ve all had bad shit happen to us.

“You’re right, but I still feel so sad. I received my test results yesterday and at least I am clean. I didn’t really realize what kind of burden I’d been carrying until it lifted when I received the letter.” I paused and then added, “I don’t understand how I could be clean when I feel so dirty.”

Phoebe looked down at me and sighed. “Beth, you aren’t dirty sweetie. I’ll tell you what. You can be sad for the rest of the day and I will be here to stroke your hair, but tomorrow you have to promise to try to be at least twenty percent happier. Deal?”

“Deal.” I forced a little smile.

“I took off today just for you, my friend. What do you want to do?”

“Watch La Femme Nikita and order Chinese food?” I asked, knowing Phoebe would rather slam her hand in her car door.

“Fine.” She huffed and I smiled.

“Five percent right here.” I pointed to my face, smiling like a child.

***

“Okay, let me get this straight. She was committed for a crime she did not commit and now this government agency wants her to join their secret undercover spy thing?” Phoebe asked while eating her egg roll. She was totally captivated by the show.

I grinned. “Yup.”

“So she has no f*cking choice?”

“Nope.”

In the show, Nikita jumped Michael from behind and he turned and slammed her to the floor, telling her she should have gone for the kidneys. He continued to threaten her and told her she could go in the grave that they made for her.

“Holy f*ck! Did he just threaten to kill her?” Phoebe asked with cabbage in her teeth.

“Yup.” I stared at Phoebe, hoping and wanting her to like the show as much as me—plus that cabbage was killing me. Maybe I should tell her.

“But I don’t get the row eight plot thirty bit.”

“That was where they put her fake grave and had her fake funeral. He was letting her know they would just bury her body there.”

“He’s a f*cker!”

“Yup.”

“Do they end up together?” Phoebe looked at the screen and I smiled. She was hooked.

“Guess you’ll have to watch to see.”

***

After five hours of La Femme Nikita, Phoebe got off the couch. “Son of a bitch!”

“What?” I asked.

“I ain’t got time for this shit! Give me the rest of the first season.” Phoebe demanded.

I giggled and ran to the bookcase in my bedroom so I could grab the first season of the show. When I returned, Phoebe was in the kitchen, throwing away our Coke cans.

“Hey, Beth, what’s this?”

Phoebe brought out the boxes I had piled on my kitchen counter.

“I think they’re from Roman.”

“What do you mean ‘think’? Open them.”

I stared. “Phoebe, what does it matter? We can’t be together.”

“Open them.”

I checked the dates on the packages and opened them chronologically. The first one I opened held twenty boxes of Kraft Dinner. I pulled out the note. It read: We like Kraft dinner, don’t we?

The second box held a print of the painting “Girl Before a Mirror” by Pablo Picasso. The note read: I researched his work…this was my favorite. They are really abstract. Who knew?