Now You See Her by Cecelia Tishy Page B

swallow,
     but in my field of vision, the light shimmers and waves, although Meg seems not to see it. I set down the ice water, but my
     rib is on fire. Breath held, I am seeing the letter that Devaney put into my hands. It’s as if I hold it even now, as if it
     is part of me: “Do something. HELP ME.”
    “Reggie, are you okay?”
    Heat warps the light like a mirage, and my rib is scorched. I smell smoke. I haven’t touched anything to prompt this, but
     maybe the memory of Henry’s letter is a trigger. Or maybe Henry beams his psychic energy at me, targets me.
    Meg speaks from a distance. “Reggie, do you need help? Can I help you?”
    “Just a minute. Give me a minute.” But the words of clocks and timekeeping are not real. One moment melts into the next. I
     am suspended in smoky vapor. Meg’s face is near yet far-off. I take shallow breaths and wait until the block letters begin
     to fade and the burning along with them. Slowly, the heat recedes, the air clears.
    “Do you need a doctor?” I manage to shake my head no. “Do you feel okay?” I nod, but my rib is still pulsing. “Reggie, for
     a minute there, you looked like somebody in another world.”
    My mouth is dry, my voice thin. “Just a random twinge, Meg. I should’ve eaten breakfast.”
    “It’s the stress. Listen, you’re not responsible for the stuff in your aunt’s files. She wouldn’t want that. Barlow Square
     is your home now. You need to meet new people, make new friends. Like the Red Hats, wonderful women. Another year or two,
     you can join. You’ll love us. Now you need to gear up, jump-start. That guy who promised to call you after his trip—have you
     heard from him?”
    “One postcard from Hong Kong, one postcard from Cairo.”
    “That’s it? Well, never mind. I say it’s time for a clean slate. Toss Jo’s files. You can use my office shredder. I’ll get
     a bottle of chardonnay. We’ll make it a party.”
    Determined to steer me out of the weird episode, Meg chats and jokes but also watches me, ready to call for help at the first
     sign of trouble. I reach for a pumpernickel roll to show good faith with my new friend. “Molly’s coming up from Providence
     for dinner this weekend,” I say. “And I’ve got to get Jack a birthday present.”
    “If he’s like my Skip, clothes are out.” I nod and ask about Meg’s son. “I just sent a check for his health care and car insurance,”
     she says. “It’s a whole new world out there for young adults, isn’t it?” Meg spears a blue cheese crumble. “Reggie, can I
     bring up something? Are you sure you feel okay?”
    I butter the roll with lavish swipes. “I feel absolutely great.”
    “Okay, good. I hate to do this, but there’s something I’ve got to ask you… another favor.” Meg glances sideways at the next
     table to be certain no one is listening. “I have to because I’m at wit’s end.”
    She leans close and lowers her voice. “Just for the record, Reggie, I’ve been in real estate here for over fourteen years.
     I’ve rented and sold places where awful things happened—heart attacks, fatal accidents, like the hair dryer that fell into
     the bathtub or the ladder that collapsed on a stair landing. One of my clients even fell from a rooftop. Nice woman, full
     of fun. The husband decided to sell the penthouse floor and buy a whole building once he got the insurance and the new live-in
     girlfriend. My commission paid Skip’s tuition for a year.” Meg looks me in the eye. “But this haunted house is something new.”
    “Marlborough Street?”
    She nods. “The doors keep slamming. Now the crystal and china objets d’art are falling off the shelves. The lights flicker
     even though electricians have checked the wires. That night, are you sure you felt nothing paranormal?”
    “Nothing at all. I tried my best. Maybe all that Black Power wall covering jammed the radar. Or maybe that chandelier is bad
     luck. Have you ever seen such a gruesome