Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (42 page)

I had to start doing the right thing for this guy.

“I’m going to listen to Mom’s message,” I said. “I’m not sure what to do next.”

“That’s a good idea,” Farley replied. “Getting advice from you mother is a very good idea. Not like my grandfather.” He shuddered. “He was mean. Did I tell you that?”

“No, you didn’t,” I said. I reached up and pressed the voicemail button, and the machine started.

“Marie,” my mother’s voice quavered. She sounded sicker than the last time I’d spoken to her. “You’re really having a run of bad luck, aren’t you? Maybe it’s time for you to come home. I’ve always got room for you here.” She sighed, then started coughing, and I wasn’t sure she was going to be able to stop. Finally she did, and after she caught her breath, she continued.

“About your friend, Farley. I’ve been doing some thinking, and you know, you didn’t do badly. I wanted to let you know that. Be gentle with him, dear, but help him see what he needs to see. It isn’t the way he died, or who killed him. That’s not what’s holding him here. The manner of death never is, though it sometimes makes for a good book.

“No girl, it still comes down to him figuring out why he lived his life the way he did. From what you’ve said, he doesn’t sound ready for that yet.” She stopped speaking, and I reached for the button, certain she was done.

She wasn’t. Not quite.

“I probably shouldn’t have said that into this machine, should I?” she whispered. “Sorry dear. Give me a call. I’d love to hear from you.” And then she was gone.

I deleted her message, then went back to Farley. “It still comes down to you figuring out why you lived your life the way you did,” I said. “Once you understand that, you will be able to move on.”

I couldn’t tell if he was listening to me or not.

“Did you hear me, Farley?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I heard you.’

He was staring at the floor as if mesmerized.

“The grain of this wood sure is nice,” he said. “Nice, straight line to it. Good wood. A person can appreciate wood like that.”

He tilted his head, caught my eye, and smiled.

“Know what I mean?” he asked.

I really didn’t, but before I could ask him what he meant, he disappeared before my very eyes.

Stage Three
Seeing What He Needs To See

Farley:
This Wasn’t Like Before

This wasn’t like before, when I’d blinked away to that horrible nightmare place where I’d died.

This time I went back to my childhood, when I was six—

Marie:
Making the Phone Call

I stared where Farley had been, and tried to think. Exhaustion was overtaking me, because way too much had happened, but there had to be something I could do.

I struggled to my feet, and sat down at the desk. Mom said Farley had to figure out why he lived his life the way he did so he could move on. I was still convinced that his daughter Rose was the key. It had to do with the way he lived his life concerning her. He had to deal with this. I was convinced of it.

I called information, to see if I could get her number, half-onvinced that I wouldn’t find her. She was probably happily married and listed under her husband’s name. Maybe she was living on the other side of the world. Something to make this all very hard.

She wasn’t. There was exactly one “R. Hewitt” in Edmonton, and when I dialed the number, I knew it was her, before she said hello.

She sounded remarkably good, for someone who had lost her father such a short time before. So good, I suddenly didn’t want to bother her. But as I looked at the spot where Farley had disappeared, I knew I needed to finish this. For him.

“My name is Marie Jenner,” I said, using my best receptionist voice, and hoping she wouldn’t think I was calling about a survey or something and hang up before I had a chance to get the right words out. “I knew your father. I think we should talk.”

She sighed, and when she answered again, she didn’t sound as good.

“Are you with a paper?” she asked. “I already told you guys, I’m not giving interviews. My father’s death was not news. You understand?”

“I’m not a reporter. I knew your father, and I have information for you. I think you should hear it.”

She sat silently for a moment, and though she were trying to decide whether to hang up or not.

“Please,” I said. “Hear me out.”

“All right.” Her voice was tight. Angry. “What do you want to tell me that’s so important?”

“Your father—your father —”

“What about him?”

“He—loved you. Very much.” I felt my face heat as I spoke the words, and wondered, for the briefest moment, what I was trying to prove.

“Who did you say you were?” Rose’s voice had sharpened, and I could hear hints of Farley there.

“I’m Marie Jenner.”

“How do you know my father?” Her voice faded. “Were you his girlfriend or something?”

“What?”
Me
,
Farley’s girlfriend? What a horrible thought.

“Well, well,” she continued. “He got himself a girlfriend. And a young one, by the sound of your voice. Sounds like he finally found a life, at the end.”

The conversation had severely derailed, so I tried to get it back on track. I needed to have her meet me, have her talk to Farley through me. I needed this more than I was willing to admit.

“I wasn’t his girlfriend.
Really
. I think you and I should get together and talk about him. How he lived, how he died, stuff like that.”

“I’m sure you mean well, but I’m not meeting you. And I’m not talking about my father to you. He and I parted ways a long time ago, and now he’s dead. Going over it won’t bring him back.”

I glanced at the spot where Farley had been, half-expecting to see him reappear.

“You might be surprised,” I murmured. “I think it’s important that you understand how much that man loved you—”

“I do know,” Rose replied. “I understand completely, Marie. I loved him too. But loving him wasn’t enough, you know? He couldn’t get past his compulsion to keep me safe, and for my own sake, I had to leave. He couldn’t let me grow up, couldn’t let me make my own mistakes, couldn’t let me be. I’ve forgiven him, because he couldn’t help it. I know that. I’ve moved on.”

“He died thinking you thought he was an asshole,” I whispered. “You can’t have thought that of him. Did you?”

“Yes I did. Because he was.” She chuckled. “I know he couldn’t help it, but he was.”

“But—” I wanted to stop her, wanted her to take the words back, because this wasn’t the way I had this playing out in my mind. She was supposed to admit she had unfinished issues with him, we were supposed to meet over his grave, she was supposed to cry and say that she loved him, that she didn’t think he was an asshole—and he had to hear her, so he could move on. But it wasn’t going to happen. None of it.

“Let it go, Marie,” Rose said. “I made my peace with my father years ago. It might not seem like it to you, but I have.”

I thanked her for her time, and put the receiver down. Farley had been right. They really were done. He didn’t need to see her again. I felt my throat close, and the tears come. Sometimes you don’t get closure—not the way they do in the movies, anyhow. Sometimes all you get is what you have. No matter how much it hurts.

I sat down beside the place where Farley had disappeared, and waited for him to come back. I didn’t have a clue what I was going to say to him, or how I was going to help him. Not a clue.

Farley:
Dreaming of Grandpa Harry

I am with Grandpa Harry and I’m helping him fix the fence. The horses broke it down, and then got out on the highway, and Grandpa’s mad, again.

My gloves are too big and they keep getting caught on the barbs and slipping off and it’s funny, kind of, so I laugh, but Grandpa Harry doesn’t like that because we have to get the work done. It’s important, more important than anything, so I make my hands big so the gloves stay on and I can hold the wire the way he wants but I can’t and I wish for a minute they could be like Mickey Mouse’s, nice and big like that with their own gloves painted on, then Black Jack, one of the horses, comes over for a visit and I look away from the wire for a second so I can breathe in Jack’s warm grass breath, and the glove pops off.

The wire whizzed away from my hand and caught Grandpa Harry right under the eye. It flicks out a chunk of skin and flesh, and then there’s blood, and I’m not laughing anymore, because the wire snarls around me as I try to grab it and get it away from him so he can fix his eye, and then, as I grab for it, my glove dances further away, speared through by the barb, and I feel the wire biting me, biting me, and Grandpa Harry looks at me and growls, blood slipping down his face like red tears and I’ve never seen him cry before, and he says, “I TOLD you to hold the wire, boy!”

I know I’m gonna get it, so I try to dance away, but the wire is holding me, and Grandpa Harry already has his belt out and I can’t get away, but I know not to cry or say sorry or anything, because you have to take it like a man.

Grandpa Harry’s hard hand clutches my arm, crushing the wire into my skin, and I close my eyes and wait because you never know where he will start—but the belt doesn’t whistle through the air, and instead of more growls I hear him say, “Well, that’s not right,” very softly, as though he’s really surprised at something. I open my eyes a crack and watch the belt fall from his hand, and I watch him go down to his knees slow, like he’s tired, and then he says, “Help me, boy,” before he falls face first into the fence.

It curls around him, and it curls around me, and I am bound to my grandfather by the biting, snarling wire.

It takes me a long time to get free and run back to the house to get help. Black Jack follows me all the way, dancing around me like he wants to play, his tail up like a black tattered flag.

It takes me too long, and Grandpa Harry dies. It’s all my fault, but I don’t cry. I take it like a man, and make the promise on his grave that I’ll never let anyone close to me ever get hurt like that again.

Ever.

I didn’t blink back the way I had before. I sobbed as the old man, lying broken and bleeding in the snarl of barbed wire, faded and faded, leaving me nothing but the sky blue of his shirt, and a faint whiff of his aftershave. Then that paled, and in its place was Marie, leaning over me, yelling into my face.

“What?” I said, my throat still so tight I could barely speak. “What do you want?”

“Oh, Farley!” she yelled, falling into me and bawling her fool head off. I was too tired to move, so I let her heart beat in my chest for a while, and let her warmth touch the coldness of my soul.

Marie:
Farley’s Confession

I realized I was acting like a blubbering idiot, and tried to stop. Watching Farley slowly coalesce back to being, crying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” as bloody scratches covered him, and then slowly faded. Where had he gone? Who was he apologizing to? What the heck had happened to him?

I pulled away from him, and saw, as the scratches faded away to nothing, that he was beginning to glow more brightly than I’d ever seen before. He groaned, and shifted, pulling at his shirt as though something had him bound.

I heard James moving around in the other room. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered, and tried to breathe warmth into Farley’s cold face. Instead of responding, he flopped back and stopped moving. It frightened me. “I promise. I’ll be right back.”

I ran to the inner office, and caught James trying to get up.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to sound all calm so I could get him back in bed. He smiled at me, still zonked by the drugs he’d been given in the hospital.

“Nothing,” he said. “It sounded like you were crying out there. You weren’t crying, were you?”

“No,” I whispered, feeling my throat tighten as I said the words. “But I have work to do. Lie back down. If you need anything, give me a holler.”

“Give me a holler. That’s cute.” James stared up at me blearily. “You’re really cute, you know that? Even with the visions and all, you’re really cute.”

“Visions?” I didn’t need this. Not at all.

“Yeah. Visions. Like down in the restaurant. You had a vision, right? Don’t worry, I think it’s very attractive. Everything about you is pretty darned attractive . . . “ He waved his hand in front of his face, and momentarily distracted himself with it, laughing like a loon. It was not a pretty sound, but I was glad to hear it. With any luck, he wouldn’t remember a thing when he finally did wake up.