Dancing Ladies Read online

  Crossing the doorsill, she stopped and waited, her arms full of grocery bags and her heart beating hard at the back of her throat. Within seconds, though, she knew it was all right. This time, there was no tingle of warning, no cold drafts, no whispers or glimpses of an alien presence. In a wash of relief, she carried her groceries into the kitchen.

  Over the next few days, in a blessed respite from whatever was causing the unpredictable visitations, she began to relax.

  In spite of herself, though, she kept remembering the time, eons ago, when she and Cass hovered on the brink of something more than friendship. One winter night, her high school date had too much to drink at a party, and Kate hunted out Cass, through the din of hard rock and haze of smoke, and asked for a ride. They'd ridden home in the front seat of his dad's old Buick. The heater didn't work, but the radio did, and they'd sung at the top of their lungs, laughing at the balloons of vapor coming from their mouths in phrases. In the bliss of being eighteen, healthy and happy, he had kissed her goodnight.

  One second Kate was laughing, her head thrown back against the seat and turned slightly toward Cass, and the next she was waiting while his mouth descended slowly toward hers. Her breath stopped in her throat. He didn't touch her. His left hand was slung over the steering wheel and his right braced on the seat between them. His lips brushed hers like wisps of cobwebs, once, twice, and then again. In the cold and the dark, his breath fanned her cheek with warmth, and deep inside, in a place she didn't even know existed, a curl of something wonderful began to grow.

  He pulled away, only far enough to see her in the dim light from the dashboard, and they looked at each other in surprised wonder for one long moment. And then, Cass turned and firmly placed both hands on the steering wheel. His voice was unsteady.

  "That was stupid, wasn't it? I don't usually move in on another guy's date."

  Kate scrambled out of the car and, leaving the door hanging open, ran up the walk, took the steps two at a time and threw herself across her bed. She listened, dry-eyed and panting, as Cass drove away. By morning she'd decided that the kiss had not meant the same thing to Cass as it had to her, or he would not have thought it stupid. Anyway, she'd have to give him up as a friend if they started something else. She hadn't been willing to do that. And there was always Leah, who Kate knew would like nothing better than to date Cass. If she and Cass were to date rather than Leah and Cass ... That was a bag of worms she had not been willing to open. The kiss was never mentioned again between them.

  She never told Leah about the kiss, but the secret bothered her. They told each other everything, and this small subterfuge, as Kate thought of it, gnawed relentlessly at her. Still, she didn't tell. Leah had been jealous of every sideways glance Cass had thrown at another girl and Kate knew it. But he had never asked either of them out, and in a sense Kate was glad. Maybe he didn't want to come between twins. Maybe she was afraid he could. He'd graduated a year ahead of them and had his own group of friends. By the time Kate was ready to graduate, Cass already had one year of Northwestern behind him.

  Now, college, marriage, careers and kids later, the friendship they'd shared, and that one kiss, occupied more of Kate's thoughts than she cared to admit.

  As she tossed and turned one night, sleepless, it occurred to her that at least she had something to think about other than Leah's haunting. For, wonder of all wonders, after an entire week of peace, Leah seemed to have given up. If Leah had been in the house, Kate would have known it. She seemed to have an inborn, instinctive sense of Leah's presence. And she hadn't been around, thank God, for seven full days.

  Except that Babe still wouldn't enter the orchid room. The sight of him sitting on his haunches at the door and staring, unblinking, into the space beyond made her distinctly uncomfortable. But she'd deliberately gone into the room herself and found nothing there. Nothing at all. She could not, however, entice Babe to come with her. The one time she'd fastened his leash onto the collar and tugged, he'd merely slid along on his backside and ferociously fought the pull. With the hair on the back of her neck prickling, she gave up.

  Whatever it was, even if she was unable to see it, was still there.

  Four

  Purple Phantom ‘Apparition'

  Dainty rounded pink petals. Phalaenopsis Hybrid.

  Kate awakened in the dark, breathless, heart pounding. Her hip was warm. Very warm. Besides the heat, she had the sensation of being patted, not gently. A hand. There was a hand on her hip! She lay on her right side, one arm curled beneath the pillow and one tucked close to her body. By the dim glow of the night light, she could plainly see both of her wrists. A hand on her hip?

  She felt as if she was kicking hard for the surface from fathoms-deep water. Acutely aware, yet somehow struggling through a muddy lake. There was movement again in the sensitized area. No longer was there any doubt. Something was on her hip!

  A surge of adrenaline opened her eyes wider. The furniture in the darkened room was cast into vague relief, and she was alone. Who was in bed with her? Her heart suddenly racing, she swung her left hand in a defensive arc backward over her body to knock away whatever, whoever, it was but her hand whisked through thin air. Jerking around in bed she stared, heart clamoring fiercely, at the foot of the bed. Nothing. No one there. And no one in bed beside her.

  She sat up, sweating and panicky. The overhead fan whirred, creating a swirling draft. The sheets were cool. In spite of sweating, her body felt chilled. Everything was cool, except for the spot on her left hip that still felt warm.

  Cautiously she felt her hip with a hand. No warmth farther down her leg. None across her stomach. Just the one patch about the size of a palm on her left hip, and that was warm almost beyond the comfort zone. She tried to clear her mind. She must be dreaming.

  Suddenly, she was aware of the heavy scent of gardenias in the room. Her heart seemed to hesitate, then her stomach fell away and she sat bolt upright.

  Katey-did. Katey-did-did-did. Yes, she did. Katey did it. The words came as before, drifting as if on the air from far away. Whispering. No! Not again! But her lungs were full of the cloying scent of gardenias.

  She swung her body to the side, her feet fighting the sheets. A whimper of fear rose in her throat. From the corner of her eye she saw a shaft of light in the hall. It came and went all in a second, like a bolt of lightning. She stared into the darkness, holding her breath.

  Again—a blinding spear of light in the hall, and then blackness.

  There was no storm outside. A glance showed moonlight streaming in the window. If not lightning, then a short in a light fixture?

  The shaft of light came again, this time in jagged streaks on the wall opposite her door. Katey-did, came the sing-song voice. Katey-did-did-did.

  Rational thought was a thing of the past. She felt sweat pooling in the middle of her back. Her hands were clammy. Head lights of a car going by in the street? No. The hall wasn't at the right angle for lights to reflect in through the window. No logical explanation presented itself.

  Katey-did, did, did. Her breath jammed in her throat. The dead did not walk, talk! They did not! Her head went light. This wasn't happening. Could not be happening!

  "Leah?” It was a mere whisper of disbelief. “Leah? Leah, is it really you? What do you want?"

  A giggle. Kate sucked in air. Leah laughing. The sound was unmistakably hers. The satisfied chuckle she made low in her throat when she'd finally gotten her way after an argument. And then, taunting, the voice came again. Katey-did. Katey-did-did-did.

  "Stop it!” Kate cried into the empty room. “Stop it. And leave me alone."

  The light flashed repeatedly, this time illuminating not only the hall, but oozing as far as the bedroom door as well. It was more of a blue iridescent glow than an actual light. There was an eerie, otherworldly, cast to the vision. Brilliant, yet shot with shadows that came and went.

  Dammit, Leah hadn't changed, even in death. She was still playing games! And then Kate was on her f
eet and running to the door as much angry as she was frightened. How dare Leah do this? Whether or not she wants to admit it, she knows what happened that afternoon at the river!

  She flicked the light switch. No hall light came on. But the strange glow was changing shape as she watched. It seemed to be trying to find a form, ballooning and bulging first this way and then another, like yeast rising and falling, growing fat and then abruptly elongating. Suddenly, in the blink of an eyelid, it shrunk to the size of a dinner plate, hesitated, and then seemed to rush at her.

  Kate slammed back into the wall. Her hands came up protectively, but her fingers melted through the apparition as if it weren't there. The glowing blob stopped an inch, it seemed, in front of her face and pulsed with a frantic radiance. Kate panted, afraid to move. Afraid to close her eyes. There was no sound, but she had the feeling the thing was shouting at her. She was terrified.

  "Leah,” her voice was shaking so badly she could hardly speak. “Leah, this isn't funny. Go away!"

  Again the giggle, but the form backed away, hovered and moved down the carpeted hall, toward the staircase, the throaty chuckle trailing back as if over a shoulder. Katey-did. Yes, she did. Katey did-did-did.

  Kate stood, breath coming hoarsely in shallow gasps, staring at the spot where it disappeared. It was just—gone. One second the thing was floating, undulating down the hall, and the next Kate was left peering into the dark.

  What could it have been? Not Leah. Surely not Leah. Leah was dead. Kate had been there, seen it all, suffered it all. And yet, no one else had ever called her by the special name of Katey-did. Since they had both begun to talk as toddlers, after hearing their father repeat the name in play, Leah had called her Katey-did. The name had been used affectionately, or so Kate had always thought.

  The hair on her arms was raised and stiff with shock. Was she hallucinating? But the warmth on her hip had been real. That wasn't just hearing things, seeing them. She'd felt the warm hand. Which was interesting, in a horrifying way. The hand had not been trying to hurt her. Had not shaken, or pinched, or even gripped hard. More as if it was trying to awaken her. As if Leah, who had never needed as much sleep as Kate, was awakening her to get up and play.

  Was it truly possible, after all, for spirits to come back from the dead? Because, even though she had never believed in such things, it appeared Leah was trying to make some sort of contact with her. If it was indeed Leah. But who else, oh God, what else, could it be?

  She had no enemies. Not even Huey hated her. Granted they'd had their differences, but this was weird. It smacked of the occult. She thought of séances and mediums and, what did they call them? Sensitives. She wondered if she was one of them. A sensitive. Oh God, please no. She didn't want to be a person who dealt in the reality of the inexplicable.

  Kate covered her face. She felt jangled and mixed up. Was she going crazy? This kind of thing didn't happen to normal people. What was she going to do? Max would—Max!

  Tripping in her haste, she ran down the hall to his room, flung open the door and skidded to a halt beside his bed. He lay sleeping soundly, spread-eagled on his stomach. Babe's head was lifted, ears laid back and the ruff of hair around his neck raised. He crouched on the bed beside the sleeping boy.

  "What was it, Babe? Did it come in here?” No, not likely or, given his ready-to-spring stance, the dog would have raised a rumpus. But it was clear that he had been aware of something he didn't like. He had been ready to protect Max with all his puppy heart. If only the dog could talk.

  For reassurance she put a hand on the child's back, feeling his regular breathing, lungs pumping in and out. Max was fine. Leah hadn't bothered him. She breathed easier.

  But Kate knew with a conviction that needed no explanation that Leah had been there. Leah picked moments when Kate was preoccupied and vulnerable, working at her silks, sleeping, tending her orchids, and she came like a restless wind to tease and tug at memories. To tweak the cover of things best left buried. To push the guilt button.

  The pattern had been the same as a child. Whether it be a friend, a parent, or Kate, Leah had loved to tease. The problem was that she didn't know when to quit. She teased until her victim was at the point of hysteria and then pretended it was all in fun. Oh, Kate knew her well.

  The thing was, Leah had never been cruel. Never, until the end, and that was understandable, had she deliberately caused anyone or anything actual pain or anguish. She was always pushing the envelope to the very edge before she stopped, but there had never been any malicious intent behind her teasing.

  However, Kate thought, she didn't need to wonder any longer if Leah was tormenting her now. She knew.

  * * * *

  By the weekend she almost had her composure back. Leah had not returned. No nocturnal supernatural visits. No calling Kate's name in sepulchral tones. No apparitions in a mirror. For the most part, life settled into a normal pattern. Despite that, she was restless. Edgy. Taut and wary.

  She didn't want to be this way. Being afraid of her own thoughts had never been her style. Confrontation was best. Face whatever it was and work through it. The counselor had taught her that. Now she was afraid of every little incident that wasn't planned. For two days running there had been a black car with dark windows parked in front of the house. Just like that first day when she almost backed into it parked across the street. The car was there for several hours, both days, and as she opened the door to go out to see if someone needed help, it pulled away. Kate could have gotten really nervous about if she hadn't held herself sternly in hand. On the third day, the car had not appeared and she relaxed.

  And there was the telephone. It rang and rang, with no one on the other end of the line, until both she and Max were sick of answering. “Wrong number,” she'd told Max at first. “They dialed the wrong number and hung up before we answered.” And then when the calls continued she'd said, “A telemarketer. They ring a bunch of numbers and talk to whoever answers first. It's no big deal. Just annoying.” And yet, in a back corner of her mind, she wondered. Twice the phone had rung in the middle of the night. Did telemarketers call at two am? Besides that, she'd put her name on a national list not to be called for advertising purposes.

  Kate worked at remaining calm. At not jumping to conclusions. At keeping her cool. There were natural laws governing all things. Laws of nature and the universe. She just didn't know, yet, what natural laws were being bent. If, indeed, any were.

  For Max, life was full. He had Babe and T-ball practice and homemade cookies which Ruby June brought down with faithful regularity. One afternoon, Kate took him and Babe down to the lake and, after a long conversation about water safety and why he was never, ever permitted, under any circumstances, to go to the lake alone, they played in the shallows. Kate gloried in the picture they made, the boy and the dog, beneath a delphinium sky, splashing and cavorting without a care in the world.

  Evenings, they played games—sometimes video games, sometimes Chinese checkers or chicken-foot dominoes. Between double solitaire, every night, and board games for ages six through eight, Kate felt as if she might be slipping into her second childhood. Ever so slightly, barely admitting it to herself, she began to be impatient with her self-imposed isolation.

  Working at night, after Max was asleep, she completed one commission and began another, this time magenta and pink Dendrobiums on pale lavender silk. The orchids were smaller and needed greater concentration on detail. Her own bed-time found her exhausted, with bleary eyes and sagging spirits.

  One night, late, Joseph Kiniki, her fabric man, called from New York. He had nothing new in the way of another commission, no business—he just wanted to talk. Kate liked Joe, liked him a lot, but the man was married, and she was a bit uncomfortable with the path some of their conversations took. She cautiously held him at arm's length.

  "What'cha doing, Baby?"

  "It's been a long time since I was anyone's baby, Joe. And, if you must know, I'm working. Working hard. I'm close to fi
nishing the evening trousers you ordered."

  "Great. Ahead of schedule. Look, I have to fly to Chicago next week. How about joining me there? Dinner and a play sound good?"

  "Wonderful. And I'm Alice in Wonderland. Are you the White Rabbit or the Cheshire Cat?"

  "You aren't taking me seriously."

  "No. I guess I'm not."

  "I'm hurt. Why not? I'll send your plane ticket."

  "Ah ... I can't do that."

  He went on as if he hadn't noticed her thanks-but-no-thanks. “It's just a quick hop from Springfield to Chicago by plane."

  "Not possible. You'll have to tell me about it later."

  "Wear one of your own creations and I'll have the prettiest girl in town on my arm."

  "Joe! Your turbo is on constant charge!"

  "I suppose it is. So?"

  "You're married!"

  "I've told you, we have an understanding. Maybe another time."

  Kate rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Joe was hard to discourage. But she had to admit he was good for her ego. She didn't flatter herself that she was the only female Joe came on to. A whole chorus line of girls probably danced through his life. But, she smiled to herself, he was entertaining. And he was a fabulous fabric man. She couldn't do without him. He was also a stable connection with the outside world, and she needed that right now. Kate admitted to herself that she enjoyed his phone calls, even enjoyed fending him off. Joe was reality.

  Without the interference of Leah, life took on the trappings of life as usual once more. Ah, blessed in-a-rut normality. Kate couldn't help hoping that maybe Leah had done her damage and given up, or moved on, or whatever restless spirits did in their spare time. She felt vaguely restless herself.

  The realization finally dawned on Kate that she was lonely. After weeks on end with little to no adult conversation except for the occasional call from Joe or maybe Bree, she felt she was encased in bubble-wrap and invisible to everyone except Max. She also knew, although she never actually spelled it out, that she was pouring her entire self into Max, and it probably wasn't healthy for either of them.