Watch for the Dead (Relatively Dead Book 4) (14 page)

Rebecca pivoted to look more directly at Abby. “Why do you ask?”

Should she lie? “Well, you know I’m interested in our family history. It’s just that, since I’ve been here, it seems kind of, I don’t know, familiar. Like I’ve been here before. Does that make sense?”
Lame, Abby, lame
. And not exactly true.

“You mean, like past lives, reincarnation, that kind of thing?”

“Maybe. I don’t know how to explain it.” That much was certainly true.

Rebecca thought for a moment. “You know there was lots that my family didn’t talk about. Like when my grandfather disappeared and my grandmother refused to mention him, ever.”

“Wasn’t your mother ever curious?”

“I don’t think so, or if she was, she never shared it with me. I think her mother had put the fear of God into her early on, and her father, Samuel Pendleton, was a kind of bogeyman, never to be spoken of. Although looking back at him now, I think he was just a weak man and kind of overwhelmed by circumstances. He took the easy way out.”

“And his wife was angry—I can understand that. But did your mother never talk about her parents? I mean, she would have been around thirty when her mother died. She must have known her.”

Rebecca sipped her wine and stared out over the water, where the light of the sun sparkled off the little wavelets. “You know, her own father died when she was only twelve, so she never really knew him. Her mother was widowed for a long time, something like twenty years, but she never remarried. I’d guess . . . well, I don’t think it was a happy marriage. Did you know that my mother wasn’t born until they’d been married for almost twenty years? Ruth’s mother—what was her name?—was nearly forty by then. That was kind of unheard of in those days. It must have been something of a shock to her.”

“Olivia. That was her name.”

“Right. I know you love this genealogy stuff. Does Ned care about it too?”

“He does, thank goodness. It takes one to know one. So why do you say that Olivia’s marriage wasn’t happy?”

“Hints, here and there. Listen to me—it feels like I’m sharing gossip, even though everybody involved is long dead.”

“Mother, I don’t think they’ll mind. And I asked.”

“I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. Or make you think less of them,” Rebecca protested.

“I won’t, I promise. Please share?”

Rebecca leaned forward in her wicker chair, which creaked as her weight shifted. “Well, there was one story . . . I think Olivia’s husband was a drinker.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I forget how it came up—maybe when my grandmother was complaining about how badly men treated their wives. I think she forgot I was there. But Olivia’s husband—Samuel, I think he was—wasn’t a particularly pleasant man. He had plenty of money, thanks to his wife, but I think you’ll find she kept pretty close control over it. When she died, her daughter Ruth found that their house had always been in Olivia’s name, not his, and not shared. Again, kind of unusual for the time and place.”

“What about the story?” Abby prompted.

“If I remember it right, Samuel decided to get into local politics, and ran for mayor of the town.”

“Hang on—this was Westfield? In New Jersey?” Abby interrupted.

“Yes, that’s right. Anyway, he proceeded to get very drunk on election day, even before the polls had closed. Olivia was so upset, she and the Irish maid managed to lock Samuel in his bedroom. But he was determined, so he climbed out the window to join the election partying. Needless to say, he did not win. I got the impression, over the years, that he thought very well of himself, a feeling that others did not necessarily share.”

“He died relatively young, didn’t he?” Abby asked, trying to remember her family tree.

“I think so. He had a stroke on the golf course, or so I was told. It took him a day or two to die, but he’d lost his ability to speak.”

“How sad. So Olivia stayed on in the town?”

“Oh, yes. She remained active in good deeds, did a lot of volunteer work. In fact, she joined the Daughters of the American Revolution—you must know that.”

“Yes, I looked up her application form at some point, but I don’t think I did the math. She joined in 1928, and her husband would have been dead more than ten years by then. But she was still raising Ruth there—your grandmother.”

“I think Granny went to a local private school, as a day student. The family money apparently survived the Depression, but if I think about it, I’d guess they were spending down capital by then, not living on the income. There was nothing left for my mother.”

Abby looked up to see Ellie standing in the doorway, and she gestured to her to join them on the porch. “Ned says to ask you, should he put the food on the grill?” Ellie said.

Abby checked her watch: it was after six already. She hadn’t even heard Ellie come down the stairs. “Sure, that’s fine.” She drew Ellie closer. Ellie didn’t look at her, but kept her eyes on Rebecca, her gaze curious. Abby felt the familiar tingle when she touched Ellie. Then she reached out quickly to lay her hand on her mother’s. Just to see what happened.

Whoa! Something like a slide show slammed through her head—fragments of images, people, places. She recognized Olivia—the older Olivia. There were fuzzy patches between the images, almost like blanks. Abby looked at her mother’s face: Rebecca looked scared. Ellie dropped Abby’s hand like a hot potato, although she didn’t move away. Abby released her mother’s hand and waited to see what would happen. The images faded, and the world stopped whirling. They were back on the porch in the dwindling light.

“What was that?” Rebecca said, in a whisper.

Abby was torn between elation
—she has it too!
—and dismay. How could she explain this? Much less, quickly and simply? Her mother was staring at her, begging for answers.

She took a deep breath. Turning to Ellie she said, “Tell Ned to go ahead. We’ll talk later, okay?”

Ellie nodded and slipped back into the house. Abby turned back to Rebecca. “No, you’re not going crazy, and you didn’t just have a stroke. But this is going to take some explaining, and some time. Can you wait until after we’ve eaten?”

Rebecca gulped. “I guess so. You know what this is? Was?”

Abby nodded. “I do. But I don’t have all the answers yet.”

“Does Ned know?”

“Yes. He shares it too. He’s related to part of our family, several generations back. And that’s why Ellie has it.”

Rebecca slumped back into her chair. “Oh, my God. I’ve never felt anything like that. You sure it’s not dangerous? It can’t hurt me? Or anyone else?”

“Not that I know of. But I’m pretty new with this, and that’s another reason why I haven’t told you about it. I want to understand it better, but I’m still learning. I’ll tell you what I know. Listen, do you want Dad to hear all this?”

Rebecca shook her head vigorously. “Not until I understand it myself. I don’t want to worry him.”

“Can you send him to bed early?” Abby asked, smiling. “We can talk after.”

“Fine.” Rebecca stood up abruptly. “I need another glass of wine.”

Abby followed Rebecca into the house and watched as her mother gave her father an affectionate peck on the cheek, as though her world hadn’t been rocked only minutes before on the porch. Abby looked past them at Ned, who raised an eyebrow. She nodded. He looked incredulous, and tilted his head toward Rebecca and Marvin. Abby gave a quick shake, trying to signal
Not now, not yet
. Ned nodded once, then raised his tongs. “Dinner in five.”

Ellie reappeared as Abby was setting the table. She was carrying Kitten, but Abby didn’t have the heart to tell her not to hold the cat while they were eating. It wasn’t fair to her either, to keep changing the rules, but Abby couldn’t help it. She hadn’t planned to test her mother—she’d reached out spontaneously, affectionately, and wham, there it was. Her poor mother—she was so unprepared for this!

Dinner was a disjointed affair. Marvin was the only one at the table who didn’t know that something odd was going on, although he must have sensed something, but he had never been much of a conversationalist and remained quiet. Rebecca did her best to fill in the silences, but her chatter came in fits and starts. She’d introduce a topic and then suddenly lose interest. Ellie didn’t say much of anything, watching the adults acting strange. Ned was polite and courteous, serving up food, refilling glasses, clearing away the plates when they had finished eating. Abby just felt . . . confused. If she had her way, she would find a quiet corner and work out a strategy for explaining what had happened to her mother. But that wasn’t an option. The door had opened, and Rebecca deserved an explanation, but Abby knew she didn’t have all the answers. Maybe not even half of them.

Nobody seemed interested in dessert. Ned quietly volunteered to do the dishes. Marvin, who might not be psychic but had sensed the currents at dinner, said, “Hey, Ellie, you have games here?”

Ellie said politely, “Sure. Board games, though—there’s no TV, so no video games.”

Marvin smiled. “I’m a whiz at those old board games. Want to see if I’ve still got the magic touch? That is, if Abby and Rebecca don’t mind?” He looked around the table and raised an eyebrow.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Marvin,” Rebecca said quickly. “Abby and I will have a chance to talk—I know you don’t like that kind of girl talk.”

Marvin rubbed his hands together. “Well, then, young lady—lead me to ’em,” he told Ellie.

“I’ll join you when I’m finished cleaning up,” Ned said.

“Would you like to go sit on the porch, Mom?” Abby asked.

“Won’t there be mosquitoes?” Rebecca said, somewhat querulously.
Was she stalling?
Abby wondered.

“Don’t worry—I’ve got plenty of bug spray.” She stood up. “Come on.”

Rebecca followed her obediently out to the porch, and Abby handed her the can of insect repellent. When they were covered, they sat down. Rebecca avoided the chair where she had sat earlier—Olivia’s chair—so Abby took it instead. “Where do we start?” Rebecca asked tentatively, looking scared.

“I think we should start with how I met Ned, which was my first episode.”

Chapter 15

Alone on the porch, Rebecca looked warily at Abby. “You know, I feel that I don’t know you anymore. I thought everything between you and Brad was fine, until you told me that you moved out, just like that. And now you lay this . . . thing on me. Is there anything else I need to know before we get into this? Like, you’re an international terrorist?”

At least Rebecca was trying to joke about it. Maybe that was a good sign. “I know you and Dad liked Brad, but you only saw him when he was on his best behavior. When it was just the two of us, he more or less ignored me, except when he wanted a meal or his laundry done. And that was before he cheated on me.”

“Oh,” Rebecca said. “I didn’t know.”

“Because I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t your problem, it was mine. I made a poor choice. I fixed it.”

“And Ned?”

“Ned started out as a friend, when I was still with Brad. He helped me find a job. He didn’t do anything more until I told him Brad was out of the picture. And even then, I found myself someplace to live on my own—I didn’t want to jump right into something else without some time to think.”

Rebecca nodded. “I can understand that. I wish I could have helped, but I suppose this was something you had to work out for yourself. I only want you to be happy, you know.”

“I know, Mom.” Abby paused to gather her thoughts. “I told you, this thing started with Ned, the first day I met him, back in Waltham.” And she launched into the story of their first encounter, when she’d seen Olivia and her parents at the open house in their former home, and then she’d seen Elizabeth again at the cemetery, and more people in the Wellesley cemetery, and the house in Weston, and then in Charlestown . . . As she laid out the timeline for her mother, she realized that she should have been keeping better records of all these encounters, although she hadn’t realized how significant they were at the beginning. She reached the point where Ned had finally admitted that he possessed the same ability, and they’d worked out that they shared some genetic connection that had persisted through the generations. Abby stopped short of trying to explain how she’d managed to run into a relative from the Revolutionary War, not to mention a Salem witch. She studied Rebecca’s expression, which was a peculiar mix of sympathy and fear.

Abby was surprised by Rebecca’s first comment. “So he didn’t tell you that he saw dead people for a while? For quite a while, it sounds like.”

“Okay, I was kind of pissed off when I found that out, but Ned’s a scientist—he founded a company that does chemical analyses, including DNA testing. He didn’t want to prejudice me, which would have changed my responses. And I have to add, he’d spent most of his life denying that he saw anything unusual. I guess guys react differently. His mother had it too, and the two of them never even talked about it until very recently. Who knows how many other people have this ability, whether or not they recognize it? But nobody talks about it. They can’t, because someone would have them locked up.
What, you hear voices and you see dead people? You must be nuts!”

“And where does Ellie fit? Was—or, heaven forbid—is Ned married?”

“No, it’s more complicated than that. A married friend of his was having trouble conceiving, so she asked Ned for a donation, and he complied. He hasn’t been involved in Ellie’s life until after we got together. By the way, there’s a second child, a boy, but he’s younger, and we don’t know if he shares this thing.”

“But how did you meet Ellie and realize that she was seeing . . . what you were seeing?”

“I was kind of babysitting her one day, while her mother was working, and Ellie wanted to walk through a cemetery nearby. Okay, that seemed a little weird, because I thought I was the only person who liked visiting cemeteries, but I went along with it. And then she told me she saw someone there. I couldn’t see him, but I didn’t want to tell her to stop imagining things. It wasn’t until a while later that we saw the same person at the same time. Someone we were both related to, as it turned out. But Ned and I had already kind of figured out there was a genetic component, something that gets passed down. I apologize, but I thought it had kind of skipped you—you’ve always been so practical.”