Read Online The Lost Husband by Katherine Center - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Center
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“I wasn’t kidding about your husband.” She blinked. “I can find him.”
I looked at the name tag again, just to have a place for my eyes.
“I’m not looking for my husband,” I said. I knew I had to explain, but my throat seemed to close up and I had trouble saying the words. They felt like the most private words I could possibly speak, and this total stranger was going to force me to say them—now in front of every single person in the long line behind me.
“My husband is not lost,” I said. “He died.”
Now she had it. The whole room did. I felt a collective sigh of sympathy like a little breeze. I looked down at the counter. Whenever I had to tell anyone about Danny, I always got the exact same look of sympathy. Every time. Different people, different times of day, exact same face.
Not that day, though. Not with Sunshine. In fact, her face went the other way.
“I know!” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. “That’s what I do.” And then she glanced over at our audience, both in the line and peeking out from the aisles, and waved me to lean in closer. I tilted across the counter, near enough for her to cup her hand over my ear and say, in words that seemed to blow straight into my head and swirl around like smoke, “I call up the dead.”
“Okay!” I said, too loud, straightening back up. “Thanks!”
I grabbed the bag and didn’t even wait for change. I walked straight out of that store, countless puzzled faces behind me, and before I knew what I was doing or where I was going, I found myself not back at the farmyard but driving too fast down the highway in the wrong direction, pedal to the floor, in hopes of getting as far away as possible.
By the time I slowed down, I was passing the sign for the Atwater Spring. And so I followed it, turning right and then left, passing a picnic area, then cruising to a stop in a parking lot. The sky had been darkening all afternoon. I got out and felt a heavy breeze brush my arms and face. Without thinking, I followed the trailhead through mesquite trees down toward the spring.
I did not, of course, believe that Sunshine could really talk to the dead. I did not believe in ghosts, séances, or even—if I’m being really honest here—an afterlife. Even though I’d painted some pretty vivid pictures for the kids of their daddy up in heaven with a cloud of marshmallows for a bed, I didn’t actually believe it was a real place.
So I wasn’t sure, stepping along the path, what had spooked me so much. But I could still feel that girl’s breath in my ear. All I knew was this: I was finally moving on. Houston had been drenched in memories of Danny, but now I was in a new place with no reminders of the past. I didn’t want to talk about Danny, think about Danny, or chat in the feed store with people who thought they could have conversations with Danny.
He didn’t belong here, and that was that.
And so I knew what I had to do. I had to tell O’Connor that I couldn’t make any more trips to the feed store. I had to convince him to do them himself. Then I could stay away from that girl. Icould stay on the farm, where no one would ever bring Danny into the conversation without my permission again.
When I came to a ravine, there in the crease was the famous spring, which was disappointingly small and looked a little like a hot tub.
I stepped to the edge of the water, and then I kneeled down. Here, in this quiet place, surrounded by gusts of storm winds, I felt something rise around me that I couldn’t quite articulate. Suddenly, under that heavy and darkened sky, everything really did seem connected. It’s one thing to see those words on a bumper sticker, and it’s a hell of another thing to actually feel them.
Then the rain hit, and I took the path back up to the truck at a run. By the time I had the key in the ignition, I was out of breath and wet down to my underpants.
I drove back going ten miles an hour, and that felt fast under the
I looked at the name tag again, just to have a place for my eyes.
“I’m not looking for my husband,” I said. I knew I had to explain, but my throat seemed to close up and I had trouble saying the words. They felt like the most private words I could possibly speak, and this total stranger was going to force me to say them—now in front of every single person in the long line behind me.
“My husband is not lost,” I said. “He died.”
Now she had it. The whole room did. I felt a collective sigh of sympathy like a little breeze. I looked down at the counter. Whenever I had to tell anyone about Danny, I always got the exact same look of sympathy. Every time. Different people, different times of day, exact same face.
Not that day, though. Not with Sunshine. In fact, her face went the other way.
“I know!” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. “That’s what I do.” And then she glanced over at our audience, both in the line and peeking out from the aisles, and waved me to lean in closer. I tilted across the counter, near enough for her to cup her hand over my ear and say, in words that seemed to blow straight into my head and swirl around like smoke, “I call up the dead.”
“Okay!” I said, too loud, straightening back up. “Thanks!”
I grabbed the bag and didn’t even wait for change. I walked straight out of that store, countless puzzled faces behind me, and before I knew what I was doing or where I was going, I found myself not back at the farmyard but driving too fast down the highway in the wrong direction, pedal to the floor, in hopes of getting as far away as possible.
By the time I slowed down, I was passing the sign for the Atwater Spring. And so I followed it, turning right and then left, passing a picnic area, then cruising to a stop in a parking lot. The sky had been darkening all afternoon. I got out and felt a heavy breeze brush my arms and face. Without thinking, I followed the trailhead through mesquite trees down toward the spring.
I did not, of course, believe that Sunshine could really talk to the dead. I did not believe in ghosts, séances, or even—if I’m being really honest here—an afterlife. Even though I’d painted some pretty vivid pictures for the kids of their daddy up in heaven with a cloud of marshmallows for a bed, I didn’t actually believe it was a real place.
So I wasn’t sure, stepping along the path, what had spooked me so much. But I could still feel that girl’s breath in my ear. All I knew was this: I was finally moving on. Houston had been drenched in memories of Danny, but now I was in a new place with no reminders of the past. I didn’t want to talk about Danny, think about Danny, or chat in the feed store with people who thought they could have conversations with Danny.
He didn’t belong here, and that was that.
And so I knew what I had to do. I had to tell O’Connor that I couldn’t make any more trips to the feed store. I had to convince him to do them himself. Then I could stay away from that girl. Icould stay on the farm, where no one would ever bring Danny into the conversation without my permission again.
When I came to a ravine, there in the crease was the famous spring, which was disappointingly small and looked a little like a hot tub.
I stepped to the edge of the water, and then I kneeled down. Here, in this quiet place, surrounded by gusts of storm winds, I felt something rise around me that I couldn’t quite articulate. Suddenly, under that heavy and darkened sky, everything really did seem connected. It’s one thing to see those words on a bumper sticker, and it’s a hell of another thing to actually feel them.
Then the rain hit, and I took the path back up to the truck at a run. By the time I had the key in the ignition, I was out of breath and wet down to my underpants.
I drove back going ten miles an hour, and that felt fast under the
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