Her Eyes (8 page)

The hour grew late before Frank took Catherine inside their home. She looked tired, so he'd carried her and tucked her into bed. Win went to the foot of the bed and lay on top of the covers like a guard dog.

"Will you be okay while I run next door and talk to Jim?"

"Sure.” She grinned in a sexy, sleepy way. “Don't leave me alone all night, though. I might get lonely."

"I won't be long."

He kissed her again and almost changed his mind. Jim might be waiting. He usually went to bed at eleven. Funny the things one knew about a neighbor, although Frank hadn't really known this, at least not consciously, until the night that night Catherine got hurt. The clocked ticked to midnight. Frank stepped outside, going down the front steps once he saw the lights on next door. The houses weren't too close together, thankfully, but he saw Mary's shadow appear in the window. A moment later, the porch light came on.

Frank walked to the front door. Before he knocked, the door swung open, and Mary ushered him inside while looking out the door to see who or what he'd brought with him.

"I came alone. Catherine wants Win to stay with her."

"Don't stand at the door all night. Come in.” Her head, covered in small pink foamy curlers, bobbed up and down as she spoke.

Frank stepped into the house. Modern on the outside, the inside was filled with antiques, family photos, and clutter from years of living in the same place. He liked it, despite the stack of newspapers that would never reach the recycling station or the overflowing green box with plastic bottles. That was how they were. They collected everything, thinking that one day it would come in handy. Problem was, even when a specific item would be helpful, they couldn't find it.

They stopped at the living room. Jim sat in his recliner, gazing at the television, absently listening to the 11:00 news. Mary had a rocker near him, that left Frank the couch. He had to move five throw pillows before finding room to sit down, and then he realized that he'd messed up the afghan on the back of the couch. Quickly smoothing it, he sat, leaning forward to keep from disturbing anything else.

"How is she?” Jim spoke first, hitting mute on the television before Frank responded.

"Fine. I guess. This whole thing is getting weird."

Mary looked at Jim then opened her mouth. Jim immediately shot her a warning look that she promptly ignored. Her eyes were wide, her interest barely restrained. Mary loved to talk anyway, but this time it seemed she had something that Jim didn't want her to say.

"Now, I'm not one to believe in those non-Christian things. You know, supernatural stuff's more for those pagans.” Her gentle cadence reminded Frank of another time when women wore long dresses to church and used fans while sitting in their pews.

"You're a fine Baptist, Mary.” Frank told her, even though he didn't like where this was going.

"At the hospital, you said her heart stopped. When she woke, she acted different.” Mary paused, and Frank nodded, assuming that's what she wanted. “Has it occurred to you that ... well, have you ever heard of a walk-in?"

"Is it like a drive-in?” Frank didn't mean to sound harsh or make light of what Mary was saying, but he couldn't follow this conversation.

"No, smart-ass. You sound just like Jim.” She shook one old boney finger at him. “A walk-in, it's like a spirit."

"You think my wife is a ghost?"

"No. I think when she tried to kill herself, her soul tried to leave and another took up residence.” Her mouth shut tight, lips pressed together into a thin line. When no one spoke, she continued. “Okay, make fun if you want. How else would you explain her strange behavior, or the dog?"

"I don't know. You explain it to me."

"I think your Catherine changed her mind, and now there's two souls in that body. One has to go. I think Win is trying to make the old Catherine leave.” She leaned back, crossing her arms over her large chest.

"A walk-in, Mary?” Frank asked, a distant look growing in his eyes, as if he were remembering something. “What exactly do you mean by that?"

"As I understand it. Now, remember, I don't necessarily believe this. It's just something I heard and then did a little reading about, you know?"

Jim sighed, and Frank nodded. That Mary had done more than heard a little something and did a little reading was clear to both.

"Mary, if you have an idea what's going on with my wife I would sure like to know. At this point I think I'd believe anything."

"Well, here's what I remember. I went to this lecture on reintarnation."

"Reincarnation, Mary."

"That's right, thank you Jim, reincarnation. So, what this person said is that before we're born we have this whole list of things we're going to do. In each life, we have certain things we're going to do to finally get to where we don't have to come back here anymore. Sometimes we bite off more than we can chew, and we get tired. We just don't think we can do it, so we want to give up. Now, suicide is a sin, a terrible sin and like the Catholics, they believe you go to hell for doing it. These metaphysical folks, they think that you can come back to do things right.

"But, sometimes, there is a soul that is maybe more advanced or someone that really wants to live. The body they were in finished what that person needed. That's why sometimes children die. They finished their mission here on earth, and it's time for them to go. But they like it here. So they make a deal with someone who isn't happy or who feels like they can't go on, and when the time is right one soul takes the other's place.

"Now, I don't know if this is so about Catherine. After the accident, she may have realized what a mean, rotten, snotty, b—"

"Now, Mary, you know it's wrong to speak ill of the—"

"She's not dead, Jim. She may have been for a few minutes but she's not dead now."

"Uh, Mary,” Frank interrupted, “what were you going to say about Catherine and the accident?"

As if to say, “See, someone thinks I have something important to say,” to her husband, she nodded. “As I was sayin',” she continued, “Catherine wasn't the nicest person around. Self-centered, vain ... never did know what you saw in her. Anyway, she may have realized she made a mess of things and didn't know how to make it right. She thought pretty highly of her looks and maybe she thought that without them she was nothing, a big nothing. You add that in with how rotten she must have known she was, she may have just said, ‘Enough,’ and wanted out. Well about the time she wanted out, maybe another spirit, a nice one, was wandering by, and figured Catherine's body was as good as any other, and when Catherine stepped out, the other one stepped in ... walked in. See what I mean?"

"I follow you, Mary,” Frank assured her, “but I'm not sure about this. I mean, how does a soul just wander around?"

"Ghosts, only not scary ones, but the ones that just weren't ready to die."

"But what about that other person's family? Why not go back to that family?"

"I don't know about that, the speaker didn't really talk about that, and I don't remember reading much about it. But it seems to me that if that person's job was done, they don't need to be part of that family anymore. And besides, if they have grieved, and went through the funeral and all, they might not take too kindly so someone just popping in and sayin’ ‘Hi, I'm your dearly departed,’ you know?"

"I suppose."

"Now, they don't always remember. In one of the articles I read—see I found this very interesting—they said that the new soul comes in and is able to pick things up, and they sort of remember, but they don't really know about the new body or remember a lot about the old. Over time, they forget the old life and become more and more the new person, but because they are more highly evolved, they don't become rotten. What I mean is not pick up the old personality traits."

"Well, now, I have something to say."

"What's that, Jim?” Frank nodded to the older man.

"I remember years ago some actor died, he wasn't all that famous, just been on TV for a couple a months, and he died. Well they donated his body parts, you know heart, lungs, corneas, the usual parts. One guy got his heart, and he talked in a magazine about how he was glad to have this new heart because his old one didn't work too well and he was going to die and this one worked fine. But, he found himself liking other foods and sports he wasn't too fond of before. They called it ‘cellular memory’ or some such thing. The cells in the donated heart remembered what the first person was like. Maybe that's what's going on with Catherine. Maybe whoever donated her eye or skin or both, was a really nice, caring person and Catherine is benefiting from that nice person's parts."

Frank didn't want to say it out loud, but that sounded even more out there than what Mary had to say. “Still, do either of you think it could be both? That the donor was a good person and that nice personality is coming through and that another soul or the donor's soul wants to be here?"

"You never know.” Mary said, nodding sagely. “You never know."

"Well, that makes as much sense as anything else I guess. I wonder who walked in if that happened. They don't tell you who the donors are with the privacy laws and all that. Still, Catherine said something the other night about a man who smelled bad and a knife. I thought it was just a dream, but now I'm not so sure."

"I think we'll have to wait and see."

"Jim, I do agree with you there. It's just so strange."

"Have you told anyone else about this?” Jim asked.

Frank remembered when a mother from their church had been worried over their daughter dressing in black and wearing funny make-up. Mary had half the women at her church organized into what people teasingly referred to as the Curse of the Baptists. They brought the family covered dishes for a month with someone from the church praying with them until the girl gave up wearing black. Sure, she'd tried to run away first. The ladies from the church tracked her down at a teenage hangout and embarrassed her into coming home. Now the girl had cleaned up and had a scholarship to college. She'd probably do anything to get out of this town.

"I had to get some advice, but I didn't go gossiping.” Mary groused.

"No,” Jim said dryly, “that would be a sin.” He snickered, and Mary pushed the recliner button, forcing him into a seated position.

"I appreciate everything, Mary, but I'm not buying soul jumping as an excuse for what's happening. I'm going to call a doctor tomorrow. I'm more worried about brain damage than anything else."

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"Thanks, Mary."

Frank said his goodbyes and Jim walked him out. They stopped halfway between the properties, neither seemed to know what to say. A stiff breeze chilled Frank. Finally, Jim spoke.

"I know my wife seems daft, but some of what she said makes sense.” He chewed his bottom lip a minute. “That sure as hell ain't the same Catherine who used to scowl at me from the window."

"Sure, but then what? You want me to perform an exorcism? Maybe I should politely ask Catherine to leave and the nice one to hang around as my wife?"

"That's what I'd do. That Catherine was a bitch.” Jim's hand flew to his mouth. “I'm sorry, Frank. I didn't mean that."

"It's okay. She was a bitch."

"I always wondered what you saw in her. I know it's none of my business and I don't mean to offend."

"None taken. What did I see in Catherine? I guess it actually starts with another lady. Well, actually she was a girl back then, but every way a lady.” He thought back. Everything had started with Pam. “Well ... back in high school, actually before that, I had this friend, Pam. We were best friends. Grew up a few doors down from each other. I remember the day she moved into the neighborhood. She was eight at the time, two years younger than me, and she looked so sad when she climbed out of her parents’ car. She had these two long reddish-brown braids and the biggest green eyes I'd ever seen, saddest ones too, at least on that day. I rode up on my bike and said hello, and I think I fell in love with her then and there. I know a ten-year-old boy isn't supposed to have sweet thoughts about girls, especially an eight-year-old one he never met before, but I did for Pam. I bugged my mom for two days till she invited them to dinner. When we were playing that night, I told Pam I'd be her best friend if she wanted. She said yes and, you know, we were. From that moment on, we were.

"I took her to my first junior high dance and my first senior dance. She was there for almost all my firsts.”
All but one
, he thought to himself. “She was a little tomboyish, but always a lady if you know what I mean. When I tried out for the football team she was right there rooting me on and I remember her being so proud of me. She was a little shy but I encouraged her to try out for cheerleading and I remember how thrilled she was when she made the team.

"Sometimes we would mix it up. You know how it is with friends who are almost like family. Sometimes you can get a bit testy with each other, and just when it would be getting kind of harsh, one or the other of us would say, ‘I'll be your best friend,’ and, Jim, just those few little words made it all better."

"So why didn't you marry her? What got into you?"

"Catherine. There was only one thing I didn't do the first time with Pam.” Frank smiled, and Jim nodded like he understood. “Well, that was Catherine. She was a cheerleader, too. Of course. Catherine was all about image, even then, and I was young and stupid. Trust me, Pam was cute. A real cutie without a stitch of makeup where Catherine could have owned a make-up store and it still wouldn't be enough. When I made quarterback in my senior year, Catherine set her sights on me. We went out a few times, and she would ask about Pam. I told her Pam was my best friend. Right after the homecoming game, instead of just going to the party, Catherine got me to go with her behind the bleachers, and we had sex. It was your typical fumbling teenaged sex. Over before I knew it.
That
was the only thing I didn't do with Pam first and probably the only thing that I should have. I really thought I was in love with Catherine, and when I told Pam, she was hurt. I knew she was, but made like I believed her when she said she only wanted to be friends anyway.