Being a man of science, he read up on mediums. Most would speak in generalities and watch you for clues. At best, Josh thought, they were simply very empathetic and good at reading people, hoping to give comfort. At worst, they preyed on the grieving by asking leading questions, then parroting back the information. “Was water significant to your mother? She’s showing me water.” Honestly. Who didn’t have some connection with water? People were 72 percent water on average. Everyone had some beach, river, pond, creek, salt marsh they loved. And then the bereft person would say, “Yes! We went to the beach when I was little!” and the psychic would say, “Yes, that’s exactly what she’s showing me.”
Not exactly proof of the afterlife.
He was only doing this for Lauren. She’d thought it would be fun. He wasn’t convinced.
It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the drive twisted through farmland laced with rock walls. He and Ben didn’t say much for most of the drive, which was their way . . . only speaking to observe something especially interesting. The five turkey vultures eating a dead raccoon, for example.
“Poor vultures,” Ben said. “They do us a service by eating carrion but get no credit.”
“True,” said Josh. There was a metaphor in there somewhere, but his brain was buzzing too much to find it.
He glanced at the clock. “We’re gonna be way too early,” he said.
“Should we stop at Dunkin’?”
“Okay. Yeah.” Being in Rhode Island, where there were more Dunkins per person than anywhere in the world, it wasn’t hard to find one. Josh pulled into the parking lot. “What would you like?”
“An iced coffee. Thanks, son.”
Josh went into the familiar, thick smell of the store. Since they were both Rhodies from birth, Josh and Lauren had never gone on a road trip of more than fifteen minutes without stopping for Dunkin’. Every time they went to the Cape, or Mass General, the airport, to Jamestown or Westerly, they’d hit Dunks and get their fix.
When was the final time they’d been? What was the last time he’d bought a coffee for his wife, such a small thing, but so precious? It would never happen again. He wished someone had told him. “Hey, pal, your wife will die soon, so this is the last time you’re gonna buy her a coffee. Savor the moment, okay?” He wished he’d been able to know all the last times so he could have enjoyed them, taken in every detail, every molecule of each moment. The last time they made love. The last time she laughed. The last time they held hands while walking.
“Hi,” the teenager behind the counter grunted. “What can I get you?”
“One hot coffee, black, and one medium iced latte with whipped cream,” he said.
He ordered, waited obediently, then took their drinks to the car. It was only then he realized he’d gotten Ben the drink Lauren always ordered.
“I . . . I got you the wrong thing,” he said.
“It’s okay. This looks great.” Josh got in the car and wiped his hands on his jeans. “You okay?” Ben asked.
“Yep.” After a second, he remembered Lauren telling him to share feelings with people who loved him. “I’m a little nervous,” he said. “Do you believe in this stuff, Ben?”
“Well . . . I believe we have a soul, and it moves on.” He took a pull of his drink. “In Korea, we have all sorts of traditions honoring the dead to let them know we miss them. Then I married a Catholic, and some of that has seeped in. So the short answer is . . . sort of, but nothing specific.”
“I think it’s complete bullshit,” Josh said. “Lauren wanted me to do this, though.”
“Well, then, it can’t be too bad an idea. But it also could be complete bullshit, as you say.” His face crinkled like crepe paper as he smiled.
Josh started the car. If he did somehow get duped into thinking Lauren was “there” or “here,” whatever that meant, how would he feel? Would he spend the rest of his life at Gertie’s, chatting with his dead wife? You know what? He’d take it. But what if Gertie said, “Sorry, kid. I got nothing”? Would he be furious? Crushed? A dolt for hoping for any crumb whatsoever?
Gertie had said on the phone that he could pay her at his discretion. She had a thick Rhode Island accent, leaving off the last consonant of words and adding an R after a vowel, per state law. “Pay me whatevah y’ think the readin’s wehth, Jawshuer deah.”
“You have arrived,” announced his iPhone. Josh pulled into the driveway of a modest, well-kept gray-shingled Cape, the yard graced by what had to be a three-hundred-year-old tree, based on its circumference. It was a good sign, that tree. He didn’t know why, but it reassured him.
“Don’t give her anything to go on, okay?” Josh asked Ben as they got out of the car. “Try not to nod or say, ‘Yeah, his wife died from a lung disease.’ Just let her talk.”
“You’ve told me that three times, Josh. I think I’ve got it.” Ben clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll sit silent and stone-faced, okay?”
“Sorry. And yes. Thank you.”
Before they even knocked, the door opened, making Josh jump. “Hello!” said a small, white-haired woman. Her face was extremely wrinkled, her eyes hooded like a turtle’s. “I’m Gertie, your psychic medium. Come in, come in, sweetheart.” Her accent was thick and comforting. “You’re Josh—can I call you that?” He nodded, and she turned to Ben. “And you are . . .”
“Ben. Nice to meet you.”
They followed Gertie into her little house, which was full of photos of family members. Cardinals were her favorite bird, apparently, because images of the red bird were everywhere—on the curtains, throw pillows, framed photos and cross-stitched samplers. It looked like a classic old lady’s house—too much furniture, outdated carpeting and the comforting smell of lemon Pledge.
In one corner, there was a round table, covered with an orange vinyl tablecloth. They all sat. Josh had already begun to sweat. His neck muscles locked, and his fingers felt tight with anxiety.
“So here’s how it works,” Gertie said. “We sit here, and I light this candle and say a prayer, and we ask your loved one to come forth. They show me signs, and I tell you what they are. Sometimes, I’m not one hundred percent sure what it means, so you’ll have to help me.”
Ah, yes. The leading questions. They’d say, “I’m seeing the number four. Is that meaningful? No? Think about it. They’re telling me four means something. Birthday? Death? Anniversary? Fourth floor of the hospital? Number of kids? Did you have four cats throughout your life? Four tires on your car?” And you were supposed to think your dead loved one was floating around you.