Dancing Ladies Read online

  She had the crazy thought that maybe, just maybe, those were real stars bouncing around the edges of her vision. Her right hand was caught between them, feeling the thud of his heart, and she knew, without knowing how she knew, that he wanted to be closer still. She lifted to her toes, responding with her whole body and—

  A horrible, loud, blaring sound startled them both. His head jerked up, her body leaped back. The sound went on and on.

  Kate jumped for the door.

  "What is it?” he called.

  "Don't know,” she yelled, taking the stairs two at a time, one hand on the banister, the other flailing to keep her balance. Cass was right behind her.

  Downstairs she whirled in a circle, trying to focus on the sound. It was so loud she couldn't tell where it was coming from. She clapped her hands over her ears.

  "A car horn,” he yelled, and went out the front door at a dead run.

  Kate headed for the back of the house. Careening through the kitchen, she opened the door to the garage, and the sound hit her like a brick wall. Hers was the only car there, except for her dad's old Ford.

  She bashed a fist on the wall door opener to let Cass in from the front and ran back to the house for her keys. Her purse was hanging on the newel post as usual. She fumbled around in the bottom, found the keys, and ran back to the garage, feeling as if her eyes were crossed from the awful, terrible noise.

  Cass was standing by her car with the hood up and two wires in his hands. He looked bewildered.

  "It isn't my horn and it isn't yours,” he yelled. “Where is it?"

  Together they looked at the old Ford. She screamed, “It's been dismantled for years. The noise couldn't be coming from that horn."

  Nevertheless, he lifted the hood and nodded. The noise was definitely coming from the Ford.

  "Impossible,” she screamed.

  He nodded again and reached inside. Nothing happened. He straightened. “Nothing's hooked up,” he shouted. “There's no connection. There's not even a battery. Can't be here."

  But the noise was coming from Dad's old Ford, and both Kate and Cass knew it. Together they stared in disbelief at the old, proud relic from another generation. With sudden clarity, Kate even knew why it was happening. Her eyes narrowed. Cass had been kissing her. She had been enjoying a kiss from a man of whom Leah had been jealous when the horn began to blare. Kate's head came up.

  She didn't shout. She didn't even raise her voice. “That's enough, Leah. You've made your point. Now, stop it!"

  The sudden silence was profound. Kate's ears ached. What would Cass think? He'd know for sure she'd lost her mind. He would leave in poorly concealed embarrassment and never come back. It was an act of will to look at him.

  He wore an expression of disbelief. “You stopped it. You spoke to someone and it stopped!” His eyes honed in on hers. “What's going on, Kate?"

  She heaved a breath that went all the way to her heels. Drawing herself together, she said, “Come inside and I'll try to explain."

  After checking on Max, amazingly still asleep in his bed, she went back downstairs. “He could sleep through an earthquake,” she said, realizing as she said it that her words smacked of evasion. She wanted to put off the moment when she told him.

  Cass didn't answer, but drew out a chair on the screened porch and seated himself across the table. She noted the fact with sad amusement. Across the table and not next to her. Things would change now. Because she had to tell him the truth. None of it would make sense, and he might not believe her anyway, but anything else would sound like subterfuge. She wasn't a good liar.

  "There was a tragedy ten years ago."

  He frowned and seemed to think back. “Sure. Your twin sister died."

  "Did you know there was an accident before she died?"

  "I was away at college, but mother told me. Leah was paralyzed, right?"

  Kate stared at her hands, clenched in her lap. He might as well know the whole thing. She looked up, over the table and into his waiting eyes.

  "Six months before she died, our senior year in high school, we were on the way home after classes in a horrible rain. The spring storms had been awful that year and nine inches of rain fell in three days. Creeks were out, rivers were overflowing, the levee up north had broken. Basements were flooded, roads were under water and closed. It was bad.

  "Leah was mad at me. The reason isn't important. It was insignificant. She had yelled at me all the way home. I was driving. When she got like that you couldn't answer her. Any word said was like pouring gasoline on a fire. So I ignored her as I always did. She ranted and raved, and I just drove and pretended not to hear."

  Kate drew a ragged breath. Her fingers were knotted together so tightly they ached. “We had gotten as far as the bridge over the river, just south of here, when she screamed that I wasn't paying attention and ... And she grabbed the wheel and we went into the river."

  Her breath was coming in short, shallow bursts.

  "I managed to get out. She was trapped. I couldn't get to her, but when I surfaced there was a carload of boys up on the road that had seen our car go into the water, and they dove in and saved her."

  Woodenly, she went on as if relating a grocery list. “She had been injured, apparently as we tumbled down the embankment. I remember rolling over and over, but I had on a seat belt. She didn't. Afterward, Leah was paralyzed from the waist down.

  "She hated me from that moment. She didn't remember grabbing the wheel. She didn't even remember yelling at me, being angry. But she blamed me.

  "She sat in her wheelchair for days, weeks, on end, hating me. I didn't go to college in September. I couldn't leave her here, like that, while I went on with life as we'd planned. Mom and Dad wanted me to go, but I just couldn't. Anyway, I stayed home to help take care of her. For a long time she wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even look at me, but when she began, it was all screaming and name calling and ugliness. Then she stopped talking all together, to anyone. Stopped eating. Stopped dressing, allowing us to get her up. Everything."

  Kate sighed. “She slashed her wrists one afternoon after I helped her into the bathtub and strapped her into the bathing seat. She was supposed to bathe herself. Doctor's orders, to give her a bit of independence, he said. Instead she ... She chose not to go on living. She died blaming me, hating me, for what happened to her.

  "And I guess she still blames me. Lately, since I've returned to town, things have been happening. Strange things. Things for which there are no explanation. Like the car horn."

  Cass leaned forward. “And you think..."

  She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again. “I think it's Leah."

  She struggled for a moment with trembling lips while she waited for the disbelieving look in his eyes to materialize. “I know how it sounds. I know what you must think of me for saying it, thinking it, but there isn't any other explanation. It's Leah."

  She threw her hands wide in a helpless gesture. “There you have it.” She felt her chin tremble, after all. “The crazy lady in the old house on Market Street grilled your chop for dinner. I don't expect you to understand. It's pretty heavy stuff and,” she sighed and lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. Her voice softened. “And totally unbelievable. I know that, but you deserved an explanation. Maybe you'd better just—leave."

  There was a horrible moment when she thought he might actually get up and go, and then he said, “Are you trying to scare me away? I haven't had that wonderful dessert you promised, yet."

  Kate's eyes filled with tears.

  Five

  Bob Betts ‘White Lightning'

  Spectacular white flower with deep orange throat and ruffled petals. Blooms in October. Cattleya Mericlone.

  "Let's look at this objectively.” Cass spread his hands on the table, obviously still shaken.

  Deliberately, she beat back the tears. Almost pathetically glad he hadn't been frightened off, her throat tight, she spoke flippantly. “There's an objective vi
ewpoint? You could have fooled me."

  Full darkness wrapped around the screened porch where they sat. The moon was only a silver sliver low in the sky. Overhead a fan whirred as Cass leaned both elbows on the table and gave her his full attention. Kate had scattered lighted candles, dancing now in the backwash of the fan, and intermittent fireflies bloomed and faded across the lawn. In the distance the throaty croak of frogs hummed through the night. The peaceful scene was so rooted in tranquility and the reality of her life so different, that Kate's mind rebelled. With difficulty she dragged her mind back to what Cass was saying.

  "There's always an objective view. I'm trying real hard to find it just now. When did this all begin?"

  "The moment Max and I first entered the house. We both sensed a presence then, and I can always tell now, when I set foot inside the front door, whether or not she's here—active, I guess, is the word."

  "Let's go over it again. What happened, exactly?"

  Kate's chest rose on a big breath and she thought back. “We were barely in town from Winnetka. Max ran in ahead of me and I stopped just over the door sill. There was a feeling—an unwelcoming presence, for want of a better word—that I somehow sensed. I was, all of a sudden, spooked."

  She paused and heard the peepers down at the edge of the lake setting up their nightly chorus. A whiffle of breeze blew through the screen, ruffled the tablecloth and moved on. “This house is my home. I grew up here. There's always been a special, enveloping, feel of security. Of belonging. I love this house, and as silly as it sounds, as a child I always felt that it loved me too. These walls represent security to me. But not that morning. There was an oppressive atmosphere somehow. Almost as if something was trying to force me back out the door."

  "You felt hands? A physical pushing?"

  "More like a pressure, an invisible force preventing me from entering."

  "Did Max feel this presence?"

  "I don't think so. He just barreled on in the door and went straight back to the kitchen. But he saw something there that almost frightened him."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know. I didn't see it. He said he thought for a minute that someone was there, but...” She shook her head.

  "And then what?"

  "He was hungry and wanted to go to McDonald's, so we started back out the front door. I looked into the mirror by the stairs to brush my hair...” she paused to compose herself and went on. “I looked into the mirror and saw her looking back.” Again Kate's eyes threatened tears. “My sister. Dead for ten years. It isn't possible, I know. Don't say it. I must be totally weirded-out."

  "Do you think you're imagining things? And how could you tell it wasn't you? You were identical twins."

  "I could tell. There were subtle differences. Her hair was always curled more tightly than mine. My chin a tiny bit more pointed. The look in her eyes. I could tell."

  "Are you questioning your mental stability?"

  "N-not exactly. But I can't help wondering if all my faculties are in the right place. Maybe the synapses are skewed or something."

  He made a gesture of dismissal. “You experienced something very out of the ordinary. And that's the fact we have to go on. What else?"

  "She calls me,” Kate said, hesitantly, thinking we. He said ‘we'. But Cass would think she'd really gone around the bend with the business about Leah calling her name.

  "Calls you?"

  "She says my name. ‘Katey-did.’ No one else ever called me that."

  He eyed her speculatively. “Katey-did. Did what?"

  Her eyes bore into his. “She says, ‘Katey-did-did-did. Katey did-it,’ the same sing-song voice she used when we were kids. And I did. I drove the car into the river. I swam out uninjured. I wasn't paralyzed. I went to college. I found love, such as it was, and had a child. I have a career. I've been alive for ten years and she has been dead. I did it."

  A June bug slapped against the screen. The candle in the center of the table flickered wildly. He didn't take his eyes off her. “You know, of course, you weren't to blame, no matter what she thought."

  "I know it was an accident. I know Leah grabbed the wheel, making me lose control of the car. But she's right. I have ultimately done it all, while she had nothing."

  He reached for her hand across the table. She gripped his broad palm and held on tight.

  "One night recently she came in the wee hours and was a bubble of light, prancing up and down the hallway."

  At his raised eyebrow, she nodded. “I felt her hand on my hip, a warm pressure. But when I looked, no one was there."

  When he said nothing, she sighed. “I know. I can't expect you to believe it. There are times when I'm not sure I believe it, myself."

  "It's just a bit much to take in all at once. Are you sure you aren't dreaming when these things happen? Some simple explanation?"

  "Of course I'm sure! Do you think I haven't thought of that? There's something called autosuggestion. I've looked it up on the Internet. A possibility exists, slim but possible, that just my coming back to the house where such traumatic events happened could trigger these things that exist only in my mind. Real to me, but not actually happening at all. Some trick of the brain. Left over guilt surfacing, maybe."

  "I got that."

  "I don't believe in walking through psychic corridors to the other side of reality. This isn't the Twilight Zone."

  He nodded.

  "I don't just believe it. Max saw something that first day in the kitchen. What?"

  "I don't know. What?"

  "I think he saw Leah in a form he wouldn't recognize."

  "Has he seen pictures of her?"

  She pulled her hand free. “Yes. Photos of us both. Photos of her all alone. The portrait of the two of us in the living room. You saw it. We were identical except for small, insignificant differences. If Max had recognized the shape as human, he would have thought it was me. But he knew I was behind him, coming in the door."

  She paused. Then, “But there's another reason why I believe it was her. There is always a strong scent of gardenias when she's around. Her scent. It was what she used while she was alive. She's here,” she said firmly. “She was in the pantry that morning. No mistake."

  When he was silent, she fisted her hands in her lap and rushed on. “Don't you think I wish it were all my imagination? That none of it was true? This is my twin we're talking about. I loved her. She was my other half!” She covered her mouth with one hand and willed herself not to cry.

  Cass steepled his fingers in front of his face, elbows on the table. “You're forgetting something. I heard the car horn. That wasn't your imagination and it wasn't autosuggestion. That was real."

  "Yes. Thank God. And thank God Max is totally oblivious to all this."

  "Are you afraid of being here alone?"

  "Afraid of Leah? No. Surely, she wouldn't actually harm me."

  "You did say she looked at you with hatred from the mirror."

  "But she always looks that way when she's angry. She cools down and everything is okay again.” She threw her hands wide. “Listen to me. I'm talking as if she were alive!"

  "Ten years is a long time to build a head of hatred. She's terrorizing you."

  "She's—she's Leah. My twin. I can't believe she'd really hurt me. I won't believe it!"

  He raised both hands palms out. “Okay. Okay. You do realize, though, that this evening's experience has raised everything to a new level. She showed her power to another person. You are no longer the sole heir to all the harassment she's dishing out. I was here. I heard. I'm a witness."

  Kate sat back in her chair, his words skittering through her thoughts. Did that put Cass in a danger? Leah's jealously was evident in the timing of the blasting horn. Would her friendship with Cass make him a target, too? She closed her eyes and thought wearily that Leah dead was no better, and no worse, than Leah alive had been. Unpredictable and unstable.

  Oh God. It just got worse. Would Leah allow anything to develop
between her and Cass? Or would she make life such a harrowing experience that he'd be driven away? And if that were so, why in the name of heaven was she going to all this trouble?

  Not, of course, that Kate wanted a romantic relationship, but she needed a friend. She needed a friend. And Cass appeared to be that person.

  So many questions. So many whys. And no answers. Kate put her head in her hands and closed her eyes against the quaking uncertainty that shook her insides.

  * * * *

  "Do you have everything? Come on, Max, this isn't practice. We'll be late for your first real ball game.” She was standing at the foot of the stairs looking upward, listening to Max banging around in his room, when the phone rang. Another telemarketer? If so, having to answer the phone and finding no one there so many times a day, as well as the night, was getting old. Winsom seemed worse, even, than Winnetka had been.

  "Kate? It's Spence. Do you have a minute?"

  Not a telemarketer. “Spence! Well ... Barely. I'm on the way out the door."

  "I've just had another offer on your house. A man here in town, who insists he be anonymous, wants me to inform you he's willing to up the ante on your house."

  She pictured him sitting in his office at the bank, white shirt sleeves turned back, papers strewn on the desk. “Another offer? The same person?"

  "Yes, the same guy. He seems to be dead set on buying your house."

  "I told you earlier. My house isn't for sale. Are you sure he wants my house?"

  "No mistake about that. He insists that I call and make another offer. A rather generous offer, I might add. Could I come out and talk to you about it?"

  "That would be pointless, Spence. I'm not interested. Where did he get the idea I wanted to sell?"

  "How would I know? Shall I tell him ‘no,’ then?"

  "Well yes, tell him no. I'm not going anywhere.” She was indignant and a little irritated. How many times did she have to refuse? Although, in the back of her mind a little voice spoke up, I wonder if Leah would follow me somewhere else? Is she confined to this house, or is it just me in particular she wants to victimize? “I have no intention of selling my parent's house,” she said, enunciating carefully.