There’s another pause. Then Dick says somethin’ that shocks me right out of my slippers.
“Did you make sure the number of candles on the table is divisible by three?”
I’m sure my lower jaw hits the floor. I spend a while blinkin’ in surprise, then say defensively, “Of course I did.”
“Hmm. Did you put any bread out?”
My temper snaps. Who does this damn Yankee think he is? “Can you interrogate me about my skill in communin’ with the other side after we find out what’s happened to my niece and Mason?”
That gets his attention. I hear him rustlin’ around, wrestlin’ with his bed sheets, then he comes back on the line all hot and bothered, hollerin’ like a stuck pig. “What’re you talkin’ about, woman? What’s happened to Mason?”
“That’s what I’m callin’ to find out! Have you heard from him?”
“No! The last time we talked was when I told him about the Harry Potter marathon, like we agreed! He said he was gonna take a cab to the theater, but that was hours and hours ago!”
“Criminy,” I mutter, propping a hand on my hip. “That means they could be anywhere right now.”
“If they even saw each other. That theater complex is huge. They coulda passed right by each other like ships in the night.”
I chuckle darkly. “Oh, they saw each other all right.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if they didn’t, Maddie would be at home by now and pickin’ up my call, instead of out somewhere creatin’ giant wormholes in the ether!”
“Wormholes? Ether?”
“Oh forget it,” I say, exasperated. “Just call me the minute you hear anything from your boy.”
“What’re you gonna do?”
I look around at all the ladies hangin’ on my every word. Ladies who’ve known and loved my niece all her life. Ladies who knew and loved my sister, too, God rest her blessed soul.
I tell Dick, “We’re gonna go find Maddie.”
We all pile into my Caravan. It’s quite the circus trick, because there isn’t one of us smaller than a size fourteen. Complicatin’ things is May, who’s been determined to eat everything that isn’t nailed down before her upcoming lap band surgery, and Cass, who quit dietin’ at size twenty-two and hasn’t looked back since. But we Lego ourselves inside and take off with Charlotte on phone patrol, redialin’ Maddie’s house and cell every so often.
First stop is the theater. We cruise the parking lot, looking for her car, but it’s nowhere to be seen. It’s not parked outside any of the nearby bars or restaurants, either, where she and Mason might’ve gone together.
Next up is the office. But when we roll into the parking lot, all the lights are out at Perfect Pairings.
Then we hit the all-night coffee shop Maddie goes to when she can’t sleep. She’s not in there, either.
But we end up stayin’ for pecan pie and coffee spiked with Southern Comfort as we sit around two pushed-together tables and think, which no right-minded person can do on an empty stomach.
I say to Charlotte, “Did you call all the hospitals again?”
“I did, Waldine. Nothin’.”
Delilah pipes up. “What about urgent care?”
I shake my head, thinking. “It’s bigger than that.”
The girls start to throw out options willy-nilly where Maddie might be.
“The library?”
“Closes at seven.”
“A club?”
“Not her style.”
“The park?”
“She’s too smart to sit on a park bench in the middle of the night like serial killer bait.”
Then, around a mouthful of pecan pie, Delilah says, “Maybe she’s at home and just isn’t pickin’ up the phone.”
Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at each other.
I say, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’d think a group of twelve women would have half a brain between them.”
At the speed of a herd of turtles, we all jump up and run out. When we get to Maddie’s, I screech to a stop at the curb. The lights are all on inside the house. The curtains in the front windows are wide open.
And there’s Maddie, vaccumin’ the living room carpet like it’s noon instead of the middle of the night.
Charlotte says, “Well, that’s a relief!”
“Don’t be relieved yet,” I say, watching Maddie through the windows. “This looks worse than I thought.”
“But she’s home and safe, Waldine.”
Delilah sums up the severity of the situation with two simple words. “She’s cleaning.”
Then everybody gets quiet, because we all know what that means.
24
Maddie
I think that knocking sound is in my head until I look up and see Auntie Waldine outside at the living room windows, rapping on the glass. She’s wearing all white, as are the eleven women gathered around her.
Oh no. This is so not the time for a visit from the Sisterhood of the Traveling Ouija Board.
I shut off the vacuum reluctantly and go to the front door. When I open it, everyone has moved to my front porch and are crowded around the door with the zeal of missionaries who’d like to inquire about the health of my soul.
I say warily, “Hi?”
“Child!” says my auntie, looking panicked. “What’s happened?”
I want to be surprised by that. I should be surprised. But it’s taking all my energy just to concentrate on the list of things that still need to get cleaned in the house. I can’t deal with the mysteries of the universe at the moment.
I say calmly, “Nothing’s happened. I had dinner with Mason and now I’m cleaning. Would anyone care for some sweet tea?”
Eyeballs ping pong back and forth as the ladies share knowing glances.
Then, with the hushed tones and slow movements nurses use with psychiatric patients, they turn me around and usher me to my kitchen table, where they ease me into a chair.
I watch them glance at the open cupboards—still empty and drying from the hot water and vinegar scrub I gave the shelves and doors—the jumble of jars, boxes, and cans colonizing all the countertops that I pulled from the pantry and cupboards that need to get dusted and alphabetized before they’re put back in, and the stacks of china I’ve already hand washed and laid out on the kitchen table, awaiting their return to the dining room breakfront.
After I polish the wood and Windex the glass.
And re-line the shelves with fresh liner paper.
I say, “Nobody touch anything, please. I’ve got a system. I’ve also got whiskey instead of sweet tea if you prefer.”
I’ve had a bottle of whiskey unopened in the cupboard for years. I only bought it for guests, because I can’t stand the stuff. At the moment, it seems of utmost importance that I get that bottle out of my house.
It’s just sitting there on the counter, mocking me. Reminding me of Mason.
“You don’t really drink whiskey, do you, Pink?”
Can you be haunted by someone who’s still alive?
I don’t realize I’ve said that aloud until Auntie Waldine sits in the chair beside me and clasps my hands in hers. Very seriously, she says, “There are some people who can project their astral body across great distances. So the answer is yes.”