CHAPTER TWELVE
I was speeding east on I10 when I ‘woke up’. I don’t have any other way to explain it. I became aware of my surroundings when I heard a siren behind me. I looked in the rearview mirror and, sure enough, I was being pulled over. After easing to the shoulder, I turned the car off and waited.
While the patrolman was doing whatever they do, I tried to get my bearings. I was in one incredibly sweet ride although I had no idea how I got there. It wasn’t my car and I hoped to heck that while I was sleepwalking, or whatever, I hadn’t stolen it. But I must have stolen it. How else would I be driving it and why else would I be stopped by law enforcement?
My heartrate shot through the roof while I imagined being sent to federal prison to become designated chew toy for some beefy tattooed guy with an IQ that equaled room temperature. I was lost in the horror of that scenario, when the patrolman approached.
“Good day, sir.”
“Officer,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound too shaky.
“Can I see your license and insurance?”
“Um, sure.”
I leaned over to retrieve my wallet. When I opened it, I realized it contained a lot of hundred dollar bills. It also contained an Alabama driver’s license showing my parents’ address in Fairhope.
“Here you go.” I handed him the license, then opened the glove box to look for proof of insurance, hoping to hell there wouldn’t be a gun in there. Or drugs. After all, I was a high end car thief who might also be high. There was no telling what I’d done.
There were papers. One was the car registration with my name and the Fairhope address. Under that was proof of insurance, also with my name and the Fairhope address. The relief almost made me sag in my seat, knowing that however I’d come by the car, it probably wasn’t dishonestly.
Handing over the insurance, I said, “What exactly is the problem, Officer?”
“You were doing eighty-seven in a seventy-five mile per hour stretch. And I’m going to have to write you a speeding ticket for that.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I sat quietly while he wrote out the ticket. When he was finished, he handed it to me. “You can pay by mail or show up for your court date. Your choice. Here’s your license and insurance. Have a nice day.”
“Yeah. You, too.”
I put my license back in my wallet, threw the proof of insurance back in the glove box, and started the car. The next exit was Schulenburg. I pulled into the Whataburger conveniently located on the off ramp. Inside, I headed straight for the men’s room. After closing myself in a stall, I pulled out my wallet and counted the bills. Five thousand dollars.
Looking down I saw that I was wearing faded jeans, a faded Luckenbach tee shirt, a Tag Heuer watch that looked like it was more valuable than the franchise I stood in, and cowboy boots that were not only gorgeous, but felt great on my feet.
Huh.
I decided to put a Whatachicken in my stomach while I was trying to sort out where I was and why. Maybe I had amnesia. On the way in I’d looked back at the car and noticed the license plate. Alabama. The one with the pretty blue water and sky. It was personalized and said ‘GON4GUD’. Another strange piece of a truly bizarre puzzle. It did make a pretty contrast with the tomato red Boxster though.
I got the sandwich, took it to a back table, and sat down where I could keep an eye on the car. Everybody who pulled into the Whataburger slowed down to get a look at it. I guess they didn’t see one of those in Schulenburg every day.
Speaking of that, where was Schulenburg? I got out my phone and pulled it up on GPS. Schulenburg was on I10 in far south Texas. Apparently I was heading east toward Houston.
Or home.
Yeah.
I must be going home.
What was the last thing I remembered?
Of course. I was quitting acting. That’s why I was going home. That didn’t explain the car or the memory loss, but whatever had happened, I seemed to have landed on my feet with a dream ride, five thousand dollars and damn nice boots.
As I was sliding back into the Boxster to get back on the road, a local kid yelled, “Sweet wheels.”
I smiled and waved, sincerely wishing I could remember how I came to be the owner of the car.
It was just about six when I blew past the Houston city limits. Since I was going to have to stop somewhere for the night, I thought Houston would be a good choice. There wouldn’t be another five star hotel before New Orleans and, for some reason, I was feeling drained. I couldn’t leave a car like the Boxster in the parking lot of a Motel 6 overnight. Hell no. Nothing less than secure valet parking in a hotel with excellent insurance just in case the parking turned out not to be secure.
After pulling off the road, I pulled out my phone. It was bigger than I’d remembered and in a nicer case, but everything worked the same. I looked up five star hotels near I10. Four Seasons. I dialed the number.
“Four Seasons Houston. How may we help you?”
“Reservations.”
“My pleasure.”
“Reservations. How can I help you?”
“I need a room for tonight. You got something?”
“We do. Yes. But there is a large meeting taking place here and we’re almost full. We’ll need a credit card.”
“Oh. Alright.”
I didn’t know if I had a credit card. I pulled my wallet out of my pants and found several cards including a black American Express. Surely I’d remember if I’d won the lottery. Right?
After reading them the number and expiration date, I put the Four Seasons address into the car’s nav system and decided to put the top up because it was looking like rain. I popped the trunk. Lo and behold. In addition to the deck where the soft top was stored, there were two large and one small rolling suitcases. The luggage was leather and looked like it could easily hurt Bill Gates’s travel budget. Huh.
My curiosity about what was in the bags could wait until I got to the hotel. The task at hand was getting the top on the car. Well, I’m not the most mechanical sort and the top came in two user-unfriendly pieces. Thank goodness for video instruction guides online. The car manual was practically useless, but I followed YouTube instructions and got the thing on. I wouldn’t swear it was hurricane-proof, but the wind noise wasn’t bad.
On the road again, I decided to turn on the radio and discovered two things. First, the car had satellite. Second, I learned that I have damn good taste in music. The dial was set to Road Trip. New music. Old music. Innovative covers. Good stuff.
At the hotel, I told the valet to have all the luggage sent to my room. The clerk looked impressed by the black American Express and smiled when I asked him to break a hundred dollar bill for tips. I wasn’t sure why I felt so at home in a five star hotel. But I did.
I got on the elevator with a guy wearing a tux. He looked me up and down and said, “Nice boots.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks. They’re my favorites.”
I didn’t know if that was true, but it sounded good and could be true. Hell. Maybe I was an actor after all.
The room was nice enough. I was thinking it was nothing to write home about when it hit me that I must have gotten used to a luxurious lifestyle at some point. My life was a mystery, but at least I woke up in a five star lifestyle.
When the luggage arrived, I gave the guy a nice tip.
After turning on the TV news I unzipped the first case to see what kind of stuff I’d packed for my trip home. That was when I heard the announcer say that it was the twentieth day of October, a year later than my last memory.
Jesus. I’ve lost a year?
How could that be possible? On the other hand, how could it be possible that I’d acquired a Porsche, luggage too good for Prince Charles, and a black American Express? Not to mention the cowboy boots.
Hold on. That meant the AX was expiring in eleven days, at the end of the month. I wondered if they’d be sending a new one to my parents’ address, but my intuition doubted it. I don’t know why.
After sitting down on the side of the bed to process losing a year, I looked at the news and tried to absorb what I might have missed through current events. It seemed like life had pretty much marched on with or without me.
After a few minutes I was recovered enough to want to look in the luggage again. I opened the heaviest bag first and quickly found out why it was heaviest. One entire zippered side contained cowboy boots. Six pairs. The other side contained jeans, twill pants, and shorts.
The second bag had tees and collared knit shirts neatly folded on one side, with socks, boxers, flip flops, Chucks, and a leather jacket that managed to look both expensive and cool at the same time on the other.
Whatever I’d been up to, I was a casual kind of guy.
That left the smallest case. Toiletries, a professional hair dryer, and a book about sightings of a ghost in a little town called Wimberley, Texas. The name sounded familiar.
Was that what I was doing? Paranormal research? I’d gone chasing after ghost stories? It’d be nice to know what I found out. Maybe I was one of those ghost hunter guys on TV. Or maybe I was a producer of a show, scouting around for good material. Maybe I’d just been heading home for a visit.
I pulled out my phone and went through the contacts list. All my acting contacts were there. All my bartending contacts were there. Nobody else except for family.
Messages didn’t give up any clues either. No messages at all. None sent by me. None received by me.
Pressing my mother’s contact number I listened to the ring.
“Hello?”
“Mom, hey.”
“Will! How are you?”
“Good. I’m actually on the way there. Didn’t I tell you I was coming?”
“No. I think I’d remember something as momentous as that.”
I chuckled. “Okay. Well, should be there tomorrow night.”
“In time for dinner?”
“If you like.”
“Of course I like. I’ll make your favorites.”
She sounded as excited as if she’d won stuff on a game show and I wondered what I’d done to deserve great parents.
“I’ll save up room and come starved.”
“You do that, sugarbunch. I can’t wait to see you.”
It was so comforting to hear her thick Southern drawl. It had all but disappeared in modern times, what with Midwestern being spoken from a flat screen while grabbing a beer at the bar, waiting in line at the bank, waiting for a flight at the airport, even waiting for the gas tank to fill up.
“Love you. See you soon.”
I ended the call and looked at the open suitcases. How was I going to explain all this?
I’d spent a lot of time sitting in the car. Maybe a walk would clear my head.
When I got down to the street, I asked the doorman, “I want to walk a little and eat a little. What do you recommend?”
“Fancy or just good food?”
“Just good food.”
“You like Chipotle?”
“Who doesn’t like Chipotle?”
He chuckled. “It’s about eight blocks.”
“That’s perfect. It’s a nice night.”
“Yes, sir. Exactly seventy degrees.”
He gave me directions. I gave him a tip.
It felt good to walk. I arrived ten minutes before they closed at eight so I ordered a burrito to go. I walked it back to Discovery Green, which was only a block from the hotel, bought a beer from a small step-in bar, and ate on a park bench while listening to a small jazz band playing for tips.
Everything about the moment was good. The burrito. The beer. The park. The music. The temperature. The fact that I had a black American Express in my pants and a Porsche Boxster parked at the Four Seasons where I was staying. So why did I feel so unsettled? So incomplete? Like something absolutely essential was missing?
It was inexplicable. I had the feeling that I was missing a chunk of my stomach, the place where peace and sense of well-being reside.
After a restless night of dreaming about being arrested for auto theft, identity theft, credit card theft, and burrito theft, I checked the weather the next morning before I left. Sunny all the way. So I reverse engineered the convertible top using the same method. You Tube video. The valet parker was a big help. I found out that it’s easier with two people.
I sped through east Texas, over the Atchafalaya Swamp, took I12 north of Pontchartrain because it was the most direct route, but got off long enough to find a lakefront crawfish bar for lunch.
When I got back on the road, I passed a turn off to New Orleans and felt something tug at my mind. There was something about that I was supposed to know, but couldn’t remember.
I picked I10 up again close to the Mississippi border, but decided to take old Highway 90 to Biloxi because it hugged the shoreline and was a beautiful drive. I remembered that from times I’d driven the route before the L.A. years.
The water was gorgeous, the sunlight creating a sea of sparkling silver over blue. I alternated between watching the road and appreciating the scenery. Going through Pass Christian I turned my head to the right to see the beach. For a second I thought I saw a woman in the car with me, hair black as night pulled back into a ponytail that was ruffling in the breeze. I didn’t see her face. It startled me enough that I jerked the wheel and got a honk from a truck in the oncoming lane.
When I felt safe enough to glance back at the passenger seat, no one was there. I was pretty sure I was going crazy.
When I passed the casinos and resort hotels at Biloxi, the Hard Rock caught my attention. What was it about that? Something I couldn’t quite remember, but it bothered me like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.
As planned, I made it through Mobile before rush hour and pulled into the driveway at Fairhope right at five o’clock. By the time I got the door open and stepped out of the car, my mother was rushing out the door.
“Oh, my lands, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Willem!” She pulled me down so that she could give me big smooches on both cheeks. Her enthusiasm made me laugh and temporarily forget my troubles. Eventually she was able to take adoring eyes away from me and look at the car. “And what heaven’s name is this?”
“Car.”
“I’ll say! Looks like a nice one. Love the color. And I think it suits you. So does this mean you’re a movie star?”
“Hardly. It means I’m a failed actor slinking home with his tail between his legs.”
“Well, you slink in mighty fine style.”
“Come get settled in while I finish dinner. What do you think we’re having?”
“Fried catfish?” She nodded and grinned. “Lots of lemon slices and tartar sauce?”
“Of course. If I didn’t know that about you, I wouldn’t be your mama.”
“Mashed potatoes?” She nodded. “Green beans with bacon?”
“Hundred percent correct. And a special surprise for dessert.”
“Nobody cooks like you, Mom. It’s kind of a wonder that I escaped from home without weighing three hundred pounds.”
“Oh, now. We have salad sometimes.”
I laughed. “Yeah. As an appetizer before an entrée of something deep fried.”
“Well, I don’t cook Cal-fusion cuisine. Whatever that is.”
“I could explain it.”
“No.”
“Okay. Is it just the three of us for dinner tonight?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Everybody is coming.”
“Oh, good.” I wasn’t sure I sounded sincere, but I tried.
Actually I was glad there’d be a crowd because it would be easier to hide all the stuff I didn’t know about my life. I hauled the bags around to my old room at the back of the house. There was something really comforting about the fact that it hadn’t changed at all in ten years. Maybe the folks had left it alone because I was the only one who didn’t have a real home.
My two older brothers had gone into the construction business with my dad and were doing well. My sister’s husband worked at the resort so, strange as it is in this day and time, the entire family stayed close by in Fairhope.
That meant that the house would be filled to bursting with siblings, in-laws, nieces, nephews, and me. Mom fussed that there was no hope of seating everybody at the large dining table so we had to be satisfied with just the adults. The older kids were allowed to fill plates and eat on the picnic tables outside. The kids too young for that were fed in the kitchen, moms running back and forth between adult talk and kiddie care.
It was a circus.
And I loved it.
Right up to the minute when the dreaded question popped up.
“So, Will, what about that car?”
Geoffrey asked the question, but it could have been anybody. They all wanted to know.
I’d been over the answer to that question a hundred times in my head and still didn’t have a satisfactory answer. At the moment of truth, I lied.
“It was a parting gift from my agent. I think she felt bad about the fact that she’d never gotten me a single acting job in ten years.” Eight pairs of eyes stared at me like they were waiting for more. “Sorry, guys. There’s no more to the story. The car looks good, but it’s not new. I got it used.”
“Oh, well,” said Geoff. “That makes all the difference.”
Geoff was born second after my brother, Thadeus. He liked to stir the pot, which was exactly what he was doing.
“Yeah,” is all I said.
Mom rescued me. “Well, it’s a beautiful car. It’s nice you have something to show for the time you spent in California.”
“So what are you gonna do now?” asked Thaddie.
“Go back to school. And maybe write some young adult fantasy books.”
“About what?” asked my sister, Vivienne.
I smiled. “I had this idea about a beagle who thinks he can turn into a big black bear.”
Viv laughed. “Sounds like fun.”
Geoff’s wife, Linda, said, “I’ll preorder right now.”
Mom had disappeared into the kitchen, but I began to smell something incredible.
“Mom!” I yelled. “Are you making Bananas Foster?”
She poked her head out. “In your honor, prodigal son.” She looked at Viv. “Vivienne, round up a couple of the grandkids to help carry to the table and come dish the ice cream for me.”
Viv got up and disappeared into the kitchen.
Before any more questions were posed that would require lies for answers, I did a preemptive strike with questions of my own.
“What are you working on right now, Dad?”
He was sitting at the end of the table, still fit with a flat stomach, and tan. I’d heard somebody call him handsome, but I couldn’t remember who.
When he smiled, the skin formed crinkles around his eyes. “We’re working downtown Mobile. Renovating an old apartment hotel. Turning it into something called a ‘boutique’ hotel. Irish pub, flower shop, hotel entrance on street level. Rooms above. Stripped it right down to studs so we could rewire, reconfigure the floor plan, and fit with new plumbing. They’re calling it Suite Home Alabama.”
I chuckled. “Catchy. Wonder where they got that idea? Sounds like the only thing you’re keeping is the place on the block.”
Dad chuckled. “Pretty much.”
Kids were coming in and out delivering bowls of bananas foster which meant that people sitting at the table forgot all about conversation for a few minutes.
“Mom!” I yelled. “This is incredible!”
She came to the kitchen door and took a bow.
As soon as I’d finished with dessert, I got up, carried it into the kitchen and dove into cleanup. There was some resistance since dinner was supposed to be in my honor, but I insisted on doing dishes.
“It’s your welcome home dinner. You’re not supposed to do dishes.”
“I won’t take no for an answer,” I said. “Let me feel useful.”
I did the dishes with two sister-in-laws, kept them talking about their kids, school, soccer, swim team, etc. Since it was a school night, everybody packed up and headed away early leaving me with my mom and dad.
“Y’all are gonna have to forgive me, but I’m turnin’ in early.”
“Oh, sure. You drove all the way from Los Angeles by yourself. Of course you’re tired.” Mom gave me a quick hug.
“Yeah. Night.”
I had no idea whether I’d driven from Los Angeles or not. And that bothered me. Where had I been and what had I been doing during the last year that had gone missing from memory? Where was I coming from when I ‘woke up’ on I10?
Shutting the door of my old room, I glanced at the bags sitting on the twin bed across the room from the bed I slept in. I pulled off my boots, stripped down to my boxers, and unzipped the small bag. The book was sitting right on top. I picked it up, turned on the bedside lamp, turned off the overhead light, and crawled into bed.
It was only eight thirty, but I had to escape before I was forced to tell more lies. Lying to parents had ceased to feel recreational before I turned twenty.
I focused on the book. There had to be a reason why it was the only one I had with me.
The first part was a history of Wimberley. It was reported that it was founded by an English couple about the same time Sam Houston was fighting the Battle of San Jacinto. It was rumored that the husband had been a highwayman in England and that they’d fled with stolen money to a new life one step ahead of the law.
I turned the book over and looked at the cover again. The story seemed so familiar to me, I was thinking I must have read the book before and forgotten about it. Reading on through Deck Durbin’s history with the Texas Rangers and Pleasant Wimberley’s determination to keep the ranch and tavern going on her own, the story continued to feel overly familiar.
Sometime during the night I woke with the book on my chest and the bedside lamp on. I turned off the light, put the book down, and tried to go back to sleep, but a nagging feeling of emptiness clawed at me, like a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied.
The next morning light poured in between the white shutter louvers that covered the windows in my room. I brushed my teeth, threw water in my face and hair, smoothed it into submission, pulled on a pair of jeans and padded into the kitchen.
“There you are beautiful boy,” came my mom’s cheerful voice. “How about some coffee?”
“Yes,” I croaked. “Sorry. Morning voice.”
“Sit yourself down right there and let me bring it. I’m not always gonna want to wait on you, but you’ve been gone a long time and I feel like fussin’ over you a little.”
I did as I was told and sat down at the big kitchen booth built in the shape of a crescent moon. “Dad already gone?”
“Long time ago. He’s still an early riser.” She set a cup of coffee in front of me. That was followed by cream and sweeteners. “What are you doing with your day?”
I stared into the cup of coffee. “Not sure. Matter of fact, I was wondering if I can just have a few days to do nothing? I won’t stay long. I just need to kind of check out for a little. Would that be okay?”
She scoffed. “Of course, Will. If you’re still here in six months, we’re going to have a talk, but you’re welcome to sanctuary for a few days.”
It was such a relief to hear that, it felt like a reprieve. I waited for the brick in my stomach to feel lighter, but nothing happened.
The first day I sat on the side of my bed spinning the black American Express end over end in my hand. When Mom called me for dinner, I said I wasn’t feeling up to snuff and asked if I could just eat in my room. She agreed, but looked worried.
The next day I went out, bought myself a laptop at Best Buy, had the geekoids set it up for me, ate tacos at Jack in the Box, and drove home.
I got my folks’ wifi password and found out that I could withdraw fifteen thousand dollars in cash before the card expired in fifteen days. But I could buy condos, cars, and all manner of things that could be sold so that I could matriculate through a degree without having to work.
It seemed like a good plan, but I would have to get busy if I wanted to close real estate transactions and buy tons of resalable stuff in two weeks. And that was the rub. I didn’t feel motivated to get busy. I didn’t feel motivated to do anything except sit in my childhood room and wonder what I’d forgotten.
After four days of this behavior, my mother knocked on my door. I opened it.
“You could use a shave,” she said.
I palmed my face and rubbed. “Yeah.”
“And you look awful.”
“Yeah.”
“Come have an iced tea with me.”
“Mom…”
“Now.”
“Okay.”
I trudged behind her to the kitchen. She’d cut a few fresh canna lilies from the garden and set them on the table.
Dutifully, I sat at the table and waited. She set an ice tea in front of me.
“What’s the problem, Will? You’ve spent four days in your room doing something that looks a lot like hiding. You’re thirty. Too old for that nonsense. What’s going on?”
There were only two choices. Lie or tell the truth. If I lied, she’d know. If I told the truth, she might think I’m crazy.
“Heart to heart? If I tell you the truth, it has to be confidential. You have to promise.”
“You know I’m good at keepin’ stuff to myself when I want to. What’s the problem?”
“It’s big.”
She blew out a breath. “Am I going to need an Arnold Lit?”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“Answer the question.”
“Maybe.”
She got up, and set an ice tea glass on the counter. She pulled the gallon jar of sweet tea out of the fridge and poured until the glass was a third full. She then pulled out the gallon jar of lemonade and filled the glass another third full. Stepping out the back door, she pulled a sprig of mint from the plants she kept by the back steps, ran tap water over it and threw it in the glass. Next went in enough ice cubes to fill it almost all the way up. The last step was the part that caused my mother to rename her favorite concoction Arnold ‘Lit’. She added three ‘splashes’ of vodka to the Arnold Palmer and stirred. Satisfied that she was ready for anything, she sat down again.
“Okay. Hit me,” she said.
I blew out a breath. “Okay. Here goes. I don’t know any other way to explain this. I woke up behind the wheel of that car to find that I was being pulled over by highway patrol on I10 the other side of Houston. He said I was doing eighty seven in a seventy five. Anyway, disoriented doesn’t begin to cover it. I thought he was gonna say it was grand theft auto. ‘Cause I have no idea where that car came from or how or why I was heading east on I10 with a black American Express card and six pairs of cowboy boots.”
The smile left my mother’s face. I had her one hundred percent attention. She took a drink of Arnold Lit without taking her eyes away from me.
“He asked me for proof of insurance and my driver’s license. What I pulled out of my wallet was an Alabama license with this address on it. Same for insurance. My name. This address. So he gave me a speeding ticket and let me go. I don’t have to tell you that doesn’t make any sense because I haven’t used this address for more than a decade.”
I took a drink of tea and a deep breath before continuing.
“So I have five thousand dollars cash in my wallet in addition to the black American Express card that expires the end of this month. In ten days. I have no idea where any of that came from either. What’s more? I’ve lost a whole year. Last thing I remember I was planning to quit acting and come home, but that was October of last year.”
“Do you think you’re mixed up in organized crime? Drugs?”
There was a stack of cold biscuits sitting on a plate. I grabbed one and took a bite out of it more because of nervousness than being hungry.
I raised my hands. “How do I know? I can’t say no because I just don’t know.” And the Voice was being obstinately silent. Deadly silent. “That’s not the worst of it. The worst of it is that I feel like I’ve done something horrible, something wrong. As in really wrong. I just don’t know what it is. I’ve lost something I need. Something I don’t think I can live without. And I don’t know what it is.”
She stared at me a long time.
“Say something,” I finally said.
She stood and put her hand to my forehead like she was checking for a fever.
“I’m not running a temperature, Mom.”
“I didn’t think you were. That’s not what I’m checking for.”
“Well, what…?”
“What else?” She sat down again. “Have you left anything out?”
I thought about it. “Like what?”
“Visions? Strange feelings about things?”
“Visions?” Like the woman in the car? “Well, when I was driving Pass Christian by the water, for a second I thought I saw a woman in the car with me. Long black hair. I didn’t see her face. It was just for a second.”
She nodded. “What else?”
“There was a book in my luggage and, speaking of that, the first time I’ve seen those clothes was last night when I stopped at a hotel and opened those bags. I’ve got seven pairs of cowboy boots. Apparently I love them. When the hell did that happen? And how?”
“What’s the book?”
“It’s about a ghost, of all things. I started reading it last night. I have a strong feeling that I’ve read it before or know the story somehow.”
“Show me.”
I got up, retrieved the book, and set it down on the kitchen table. She made a face. “Wimberley, huh? Figures.”
“What? What figures?”
“I’m gonna take you to see somebody.”
I slumped down in my chair. “You think I’m crazy.”
She frowned. “No. Not that kinda somebody. But you’re gonna have to turn loose of some of that green in your wallet, because she ain’t cheap.”
“So you don’t think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.”
I took a minute to absorb that. After hearing my story, my mother came to the conclusion that I’m not crazy. “Who is it you’re taking me to see?”
She shook her head. “Just trust me. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Let me ask you something. Do you remember calling just about this time last year? I remember it was late October because I was putting out gourds and mums on the front porch in between trying to control your dad’s mad gardening ideas.”
I was shaking my head. “No. I don’t remember that.”
“You told me you had a live-in girlfriend.”
“I did?”
“Wow. That doesn’t sound like me. What else did I say?”
“That her name was Rave. That you were moving to Wimberley, Texas and going back to school. Does that jog any memories?”
I grabbed my head. “It doesn’t jog memories, exactly, but something you said just gave me one hell of a piercing headache. And maybe heartburn, too.” I squinted at her between my fingers. “What else?”
“I haven’t talked to you since then. Whenever I tried to call, I just got static. Couldn’t even leave a message. Sent a lot of texts, but they were never delivered. Failed to send.”
“Wow.”
“You’re repeating yourself.” She rose. “Just relax. Have some breakfast. Watch some TV. Let me see what I can set up.”
“Okay.”
Fifteen minutes later she came back in the kitchen. “Go get ready. We have an appointment in two hours and it’s an hour and a half journey from here.”
I didn’t question her further. I showered, shaved, pulled on a pair of jeans and tee so soft they were as comfortable as pajamas, picked a pair of brown snakeskin boots and I was ready to go. I made the bed, put my wallet and phone in my pockets, and grabbed the car keys.
“You want to take my car?”
Mom grinned. “Don’t be silly. You think I get the chance to ride in a car like that every day? Of course we’re taking your car.”
I smiled at her. “You navigate.”
“You’re in good hands.”
“Where we goin’?”
“I know somebody who lives on a little island off Heron Bay. Don’t worry. You’ll like her. Probably. You got cash?”
“Yes. I heard you say green.”
She nodded. “Just bring that and an open mind. You’ll be fine.”
The rag top stayed on the Boxster because of a probability of rain. It was just as well. My mother probably didn’t want to get blown around for a couple of hours, although it was hard to predict with her.
When we got to Heron Bay, she directed me to a tiny marina then walked into the office like she owned the place. “We need a ride over to the island and back. Means waitin’ around a couple of hours or so. How much for that?”
An old guy with white hair and beard sat behind stacks of papers including mail that probably hadn’t been opened for years.
“Well,” he said, “I might have somebody who could take you over.” He rubbed his beard, looked my mother over, did the same with me, and when his eyes got to the boots I knew we were screwed. He looked from the boots up at me with a smile that said he’d taken my rich boy measure.
“Think four hundred is fair.”
“You providing a five course gourmet dinner with that?”
The guy’s smile fell. “Time’s worth something, missy.”
I didn’t like hearing my mother called ‘missy’. It sounded all kinds of wrong. I started to step forward, but she put a hand on my arm. “Two hundred and a fifty dollar tip if the driver is nice and I don’t get sprayed on the way over.”
“Three hundred.”
“One seventy five.”
The old guy narrowed his eyes. “Two hundred, a fifty dollar tip for Stevie, and a fifty dollar tip for me.”
When Mom looked at me, I nodded.
“Done,” she said.
Crusty guy held out his hand until I put two hundred dollar bills on his palm. Then he picked up the phone. After a few seconds he said, “Got a job for ya.” He hung up, apparently without waiting for an answer.
A few minutes later we heard steps on the decking outside the office. A kid entered and nodded at us. He was fairly ordinary looking. About twenty years old, with lanky hair that hung around his ears.
“This is Stevie,” old guy said. “He’ll take ya.”
To Stevie, he said, “Take ‘em over to the island and wait for the roundtrip. Grab a sandwich, some water, magazine, whatever.”
Stevie opened the small refrigerator and withdrew a couple of bottled waters and one of those packaged sandwiches that you get in convenience stores, the ones with bread so soggy it’s falling apart because of the lettuce and tomato. Ugh.
“This way,” he said.
We followed him for a short walk down the pier. He stopped at a small motorboat. Frankly, for three hundred dollars I had thought we might have bought something bigger, but I wasn’t in a position to argue.
While Stevie untied, I stepped into the boat and then helped Mom.
“Mom,” I said under my breath. “Have you been to this place before?”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “Lots of times.”
Well, that was a surprise.
As we neared the island, Mom directed Stevie to a private dock with easy access pier and steps.
“We’ll be back in about two hours,” she told Stevie. He nodded and went about tying off.
I followed her up a crushed granite path lined with overarching trees that ended in a magnificent semitropical garden. The house beyond was a one story yellow clapboard with white shutters and porches all around. The word that came to mind was inviting.
It had just begun to drizzle when we reached the front door. I hoped Stevie had a pancho.
My mother walked right in without knocking.
“Mistral!” she yelled. “We’re here!”
I heard a voice from somewhere deeper in the house. When the woman emerged I saw that she was about the same age as my mother and shared Mom’s penchant for bright-colored clothing. Her hair was highlighted with streaks of light blonde that complimented her tan and sky blue eyes. She was really attractive for a hermit.
“Katrina,” she grinned at Mom. “It’s nice to see you.” After giving Mom a hug, her eyes wandered to me. “Who’s this?”
“My baby, Willem.”
“Willem,” she rolled it on her tongue. “I like it.” She looked me over. “Have a problem, do we?”
She cocked her head like she was evaluating. I didn’t want to say something smart ass like, “Duh. That’s why we’re here.” So I remained quiet and let her answer her rhetorical question herself.
“Let’s get some refreshments and sit on the back porch. I love to be out on the porch when it’s raining.”
“That sounds perfect, Mistral,” said Mom.
We followed her through the house and found that she had already set a table with petit fours, little sandwich squares, and what appeared to be an iced pitcher of Arnold Palmers, complete with the same mint my mother used.
“This is beautiful, isn’t it, Willem? Thank you for going to so much trouble for us.”
“No trouble at all, Katrina. It’s always lovely to have you.”
After she poured drinks and encouraged us to help ourselves to the tea goodies, she turned to me and said, “Willem, do you mind if I touch you?”
“Actually I prefer Will. And it depends on where.”
She laughed. “Very well, Will. I have no interest in becoming overly personal with you. After all, you’re the child of a friend.”
I glanced at my mother. She hadn’t used the word ‘friend’, although it was clear they enjoyed a familiar relationship.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Oddly, she got up and put her hand on my forehead exactly as my mother had done.
“Hmmm,” she said as she returned to her seat. “You’ve been enchanted.”
My mouth fell open. “What does that mean?”
“Enchanted?” She raised both eyebrows like she thought I might be dense. “Bespelled. Bewitched. Ensorceled. Enthralled. Hexed. Fucked with. Understand?”
I frowned. “I understand that last one.”
“Where has he been?” she asked my mother.
Mom rolled her eyes and said, “Wimberley.”
Mistral looked back at me. “Of course. How long were you there, Will?”
I looked at my mother, who answered for me like I was a child. “Possibly a year.”
Not willing to be left out of the conversation, I jumped in. “What do you know about Wimberley? And what did you mean by ‘of course’?”
“My great-grandmother used to live there. She was asked to leave. Apparently she didn’t fit in. Will, tell me in your own words what the problem is.”
“I’ve lost a year, meaning I don’t remember anything that’s happened since October of last year!”
She waved a hand around. “Yes. Yes. I know. But that’s not really a problem. What’s bothering you?”
She didn’t think losing a year was a big deal?
“Search your heart. Tell me what’s really bothering you.”
Search my heart?
“I feel like I’ve done something really bad, something I regret, but I don’t know what it is. Something’s missing. Something I think I can’t live without.”
“Well put. The spell you’re wearing is like a film covering your memories. It’s pressed and sealed into place kind of like the plastic wrap you put over leftovers. It can be lifted away if that’s what you want.”
I sat up straighter. “Yes. That’s what I want!”
As soon as I said it, I wondered where my healthy dose of skepticism was. I was missing a year. This stranger said I’d been enchanted and I was going along with that diagnosis as if it was unquestionably true. On the other hand, I didn’t have anything to lose, besides a few bucks.
“You’re incredibly lucky that you have a mother who can recognize symptoms and that she knows somebody who can correct such things.”
I looked at Mom with a newfound respect.
“Alright. I’m not going to pull punches,” Mistral said. “Sometimes this is painful.”
I nodded. “So is not knowing what’s going on.”
“Katrina,” she said to Mom, “maybe you’d like to go inside. This could be hard for you to watch.”
Mom brought herself up to her full height. “I’ll stay. I won’t interfere.”
“See that you don’t,” warned Mistral.
“You ready?” she asked. When I nodded, she said, “Close your eyes.”
The minute I did I felt like my insides were being vacuumed. I gasped and tried to open my eyes, but they stayed closed. I tried to stand, but I couldn’t move. Then wave after wave of memory was restored. Orientation. The contest. Destiny and her beagle. Turning Raider over in the river. The Witches’ Ball. My beautiful Ravish. Our life together. School. Friends. Singing to Rave. And finally, the look of betrayal on her face when I told her I wasn’t staying.
I doubled over and began dry-heaving, struggling to get breath into my lungs in between gags.
“What you’re experiencing is perfectly normal,” Mistral said. “Just relax into it and it will pass shortly. You’re going to be fine.”
Slowly the impulse to gag began to subside as did the inability to get enough air into my lungs. When I was able to open my eyes, I sat up, still panting. My eyes were watering. She handed me a tissue and I took it.
“Wow,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Are you one of them?”
Mistral smiled. “What’s in a name? I can’t sing and I can’t ski worth beans. But I can do this.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Good job. What do I owe you?”
“Two thousand.”
Truthfully, I wouldn’t have questioned it if she’d said more. After all, how much was it worth for me to find out why I couldn’t get comfortable inside my own body. She was right. I was lucky that Mom was Mom.
I pulled out my wallet, counted out twenty bills, and put it back in my pocket.
“So,” Mistral said, “you love her?”
I thought about that for a few seconds and found that I was grinning. “Yeah. I guess I do. What a shame I had to put her through this to figure out that I’m a douche.”
“Well, Willem Wizard, I’m betting the colony is going to be real glad to see you heading back their way. You carry the promise of strong witchy daughters.”
I just stared at her.
Willem Wizard?
Mom was shaking her head. “He doesn’t know there’s a strain running through the family.”
Mistral looked surprised. “Oh. Well, now you do. It’s strong on your mother’s side and you got some from your dad as well. Your name, Draiocht, means wizard.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Have something to eat before you go. There’s not a decent restaurant between here and Mobile.”
I took a couple of the dainty little sandwiches and washed them down with a gulp of minty Arnold. I grabbed a handful of little sweets on our way out and ate them on the path back to the boat.
I looked at my watch. “We were there for an hour and a half?”
“Yeah. It was worth it though. Right?”
“Mom, you’re incredible. How did you know what was wrong and who could fix it?”
“Well, over the years there have been things that needed a little help from outside, a slight course correction you might say. I’m a client of Mistral’s.”
“And you knew this was a magical problem?”
“Like she said, there’s a little bit of the gift running through your own family. That’s probably why the memory wipe didn’t work as well on you as it does on some people.”
“I have to get back. I still have nine days to make this right.”
“Or you turn into a pumpkin?”
“Pretty much. I have to get Rave to take me back before the clock strikes midnight on All Hallows.”
“Okay. So you’re leaving in the morning?”
“No. Leaving as soon as we get back.” I was feeling giddy with hope. “This ride has satellite, Mom. See if you can find us some road trip music.”
Within a couple of minutes we were speeding along, listening to Alabama Shakes. I was feeling lighthearted as possible for a man who knew he had to face his woman and grovel, crawl if necessary, anything to have her turn a smile my way again.