The Crossover (25 page)

“I’ve got an even better idea. How about I deliver it to him in person. I think he will be happy to know that you’ve decided not to press charges. Have a safe flight, Clay.”

I took a mental snapshot of Jeremey getting back in his car and driving off. I would remember him for his kindness.

When I saw the large monitors for departures I quickly spotted my flight to Heathrow. I needed to get my garment bags checked and through security as soon as possible. I was almost home. My nerves were fried.

“What are you carrying, Mr. Thompson? Do you have any excess baggage?”

Excess baggage. I had a lot of excess baggage; guilt and paranoia and the price for that baggage was extortionate.

I got into the security line. I couldn’t wait to pass through x-ray, that was my safe zone. I knew Marc couldn’t get to me there. It seemed like an eternity.

“Step right on through,” said the TSA representative standing on the other side of the x-ray booth.

I was home free.

I looked behind me and saw my soul mate on the other side. My heart broke and I stood still in despair.

It was Monet. She was standing in front of the
Starbucks
on the opposite side of security. She was in a black tracksuit and her hair was covered in a yellow scarf. She looked sad.

I was so confused and distraught. I was walking away from the love of my life. A million emotions raced through my mind but one particular thought reigned over all. I told Marc I would leave Monet alone. I turned my back on her and proceeded to my gate. It was one of the hardest things I had to do. I left a piece of me on the other side of security. I turned around with the intention of seeing her face one last time.

She was gone, again.

G
ood morning passengers, the time in England is 10:15 in the morning. We will be landing very shortly, thank you for flying
British Airways.”

Yawn.

I looked out the window as we descended. Dark gloomy clouds obstructed my vision of London’s beautiful landmarks and historic architecture.

I left England feeling invincible and so focused. I had everything. I returned with a gap in my teeth and a hole in my soul. I had many thoughts during my nine-hour flight. I saw repeat flashbacks of leaving Monet standing in front of the
Starbucks.
My nerves were beginning to settle and I questioned my judgment while in the hospital. I couldn’t get over her posting Marc’s bail. I felt betrayed as I saw no acceptable explanation. I was so confused emotionally and I knew why. I was missing Monet and everything reminded me of her, particularly the phone in my shirt pocket that she bought for me. As we taxied in I took a deep sigh and switched my phone on. I glanced at my screensaver. It was picture of Monet and I during happier times.

My phone blew up with messages alerting me that I was back in the UK and at least 13 missed calls. They were all from Jo, but strangely it was her home phone and not her cell. I was almost sure that she told me she had it disconnected.

It had to be news of her scan results. Jo and I had a bond that transcended normal human interaction. Our session bonded us in a profound way. The session transformed her life but more importantly I wanted it to save her life. I will never forget the time when she heard me cite the Lord’s Prayer as if I said it aloud.
How did she do that?

For years I entertained hundreds with my psychic routine of channeling my thoughts, and on the smallest stage with no witnesses it really happened. Jo and I had a bond that opened my mind as well as my heart. I really missed her company.

While waiting in the baggage claim area I flashed back to my stay at the hospital. I remembered passing the cancer ward and that old lady whispering to me.

Deus succurro nos totus.

It was the way she said and how it made me feel. Like she was trying to tell me something. I wished I knew Spanish so I could’ve interpreted what she said.

Home at last. I love it how cats are so emotive and expressive when you’ve been gone awhile.

“Missy, I’m home,” I said as I dropped my bags in the doorway.

She walked right past me and sat in front of her food tray in the kitchen. No eye contact at all. There is an old saying that summed up the difference between cats and dogs.

Dogs have masters, cats have staff.
I was Missy’s personal servant.

The trip was exhausting and I was super-tired. I checked my
Hotmail
to see if I had any new emails. I had two.

1. We’ve adjusted your timecard. Get well soon. Ann.
   
2. Clay, my book signing is 7 August at the Milton Keynes shopping mall. Jo.
   

Hmm, no mention of her scan. Maybe she hadn’t received the results yet.

As I was about to log off I decided to use a Spanish online dictionary to translate that enigmatic message from the mystery woman in the hospital. Here we go.

Sorry, we did not find any matching results for Deus succurro nos totus. Please try our other translators.

After trying French, Italian, German and Portuguese I started to doubt if I’d spelled it correctly. I googled it. My spelling was in fact correct. The result troubled me. It was a prayer.

The message was just as disturbing as the tongue in which it was spoken. It was Latin. In all of my fifty years of living I never knew anyone who spoke Latin in conversation. I tried to rationalize the encounter in my head, but it didn’t fit. It really bothered me. It may have been a message, but from whom and for what?

My head started to hurt. I took a nap with Missy at the foot of my bed cleaning herself.

I was awakened by the beeping of a removal van reversing into the drive. I snatched my robe off the bedpost and investigated from my window. The van was reversing into Jo’s drive. Two movers jumped out and opened Jo’s door with a key. I put on my slippers and made my way to the drive as fast as I could. I followed one of the movers into Jo’s house.

“What’s goin’ on?” I asked tightening the robe around my waist.

One mover was Polish and the other English. The English guy responded.

“Just following orders, mate. We’re packing everything and putting it into storage for now.”

“Where’s Jo?” I asked.

“Dunno, mate.”

The Polish guy picked up the aquarium and started to empty it in the toilet. I almost lost my mind.

“Hey, wait! Whatcha doin’?”

“Relax, it’s dead. It’s just a fish.”

I couldn’t call Jo fast enough on her cell. I wanted to know why she was moving and why she never told me. My call was booted straight into voicemail. I found a
Ziploc
baggie and put Nemo inside. I knew Jo would be distraught but she would be more upset if she found out Nemo was flushed down the drain.

On my way out the door, the mailman placed Jo’s mail through the letter box. I picked it up. There was a letter from Hinchingbrooke Hospital. My hands trembled knowing I had Jo’s fate in my hand. I knew how important the letter was so I placed it in my robe pocket. As curious as I was I dare not open the letter. I needed to respect Jo’s right to be the first to know.

I went from one crisis to another and it was taking its toll. I didn’t sleep much, maybe an hour here and there. Too much mental chatter inside my head.

Around midnight Jo returned my call. I was half asleep but I quickly became alert. I ran into the study and picked up the call. It was a terrible connection. All I could hear in the background was her favorite Tom Jones number.

It’s not usual to be loved by anyone. It’s not unusual to have fun with anyone...

“Jo, if you can hear me call back. You must have a weak signal. Call me back.”

I was relieved that she called. I still had questions but at least I knew she was okay. She didn’t call me back. I went back to sleep.

On the way to work the next day I ran into Carl and his daughter Gabby. He was taking her to school. He buckled Gabby in the rear seat and met me at my car. He appeared concerned.

“Carl, long time no see. Hey, did you finally pick up that guy?”

Carl loosened his collar then responded.

“Aye, but he’s not the one.”

Carl put his arm around me and led me out of earshot of Gabby.

“Clay, I don’t really know how to say this any other way but…”

“But what?”

“Jo is gone.”

“I know. I’m upset with her. She never told me she was leaving. The removal van cleared her place out yesterday.”

Carl elaborated.

“Clay, I mean she’s our number 8. He got her. Jo’s dead.”

My legs buckled at first but logic kicked in.

“Carl, that can’t be. I had several missed calls on my cell from her when I landed. And she called me last night on my cell.”

“Clay, we found Jo’s body last Saturday. She couldn’t have called.”

I reached for my cellphone and I found no record of her midnight call. Maybe I dreamt it. However, the calls that flooded my cell upon my arrival in England were still there.

Carl suggested the calls were late coming through. I quickly checked my email notifications. Jo’s invitation to her book signing was still there and it was date-stamped the day of my arrival. Carl’s explanation was plausible but not convincing. Logic eventually prevailed. Jo was dead and there had to be some rational explanation.

The reality of Jo’s death started to sink in. I was completely numb. I couldn’t feel anything. I wanted to respond but I couldn’t.

“Clay, I’ve gotta run now. Stop by later.”

Carl drove off. I remained in that same spot for a few moments, completely motionless.

I went upstairs and laid across my bed staring at the ceiling. It was getting more difficult to suspend reality. I sat up. The letter from Hinchingbrooke was on top of my alarm clock. I delicately opened it with the sharp edge of my house key and read it.

Ms. Tompson,

It is my great pleasure to inform you that your test results are close to normal limits and there is a significant decrease in the size of the cancerous mass we detected during your initial visit. In my thirty years of practice I have never seen such progress. I am reluctant to use the word remission, but this is truly remarkable.

Dr. M.K Ahmed

The anger that seeped into my veins was only trumped by overwhelming grief. I lost my friend and she wasn’t coming back. My bottom lip started to quiver uncontrollably and my grip on the corners of the letter tightened until the letter ripped in half. I sobbed and the more I thought about it the harder I wept. The floodgates holding my tears at bay gave way. Jo beat cancer only to lose her life for what? I could see her smile in my mind’s eye and I could hear her voice in my head. I reflected on the highs and lows of our friendship. I remembered when she chastised me about calling her home number and not her cell.

“Clay, if you want to reach me, call me on my cell.”

I also recalled her ‘70s talk.

“Groovy. ”

I had lost her and there was nothing I could do about it.