Raquel's Abel Read online

  I was exhausted when I got home, way too tired to worry about seeing any ghost. That made me think. With the surgery, would I get as tired as I did now? Or would I be able to dance all night long and never get heavy eyelids?

  I got in bed and waited for sleep to descend over me.

  “Who was that dadblamed rascal who picked you up in a jalopy?”

  I opened my eyes to see the man Grandmother called Abel Rollins standing at the foot of my bed. “Who are you? And why are you here?” I pulled the sheets up to my neck.

  He was still wearing my father’s smoking jacket, which further annoyed me. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  I reached over and flicked the light on. “What are you doing in my house?” I demanded. He certainly didn’t look like a ghost, but his edges were hazy. Was this a dream? I certainly felt awake.

  “I would like to know why you run around with a man like that.” He sucked his cheeks in giving himself a gaunt look.

  “I will call the police if you won’t leave right now.” I thought about it for a second. “If you can’t afford clothes, then I can give you some of my father’s.”

  “I don’t need your charity.” He stepped around to the side of the bed, and I saw him clearly. The haze had disappeared. What was he going to do?

  “I swear. I’ll call the police if you take a step closer.”

  He sat down on my hope chest at the end of the bed. “You may call the police if that would make you feel better.” A childish grin crawled across his face. “It might be a little embarrassing for you, though.”

  “Embarrassing?” I glared at him. Who did he think he was? “You break into people’s houses and take their clothes, and you assume I’ll be embarrassed?”

  He stood and held his hands out. “Please, I don’t mean to scare you.”

  “You come into my bedroom in the middle of the night, and you didn’t mean to scare me?”

  He folded his hands together in front of him and looked at his feet. “You are quite right.”

  The outline of his form in the dim light clouded up. There was a haze and then nothing.

  “Where did you go?”I jumped out of bed and ran my fingers through the thin air where he had once stood. “I must be going crazy.”

  I sat on the bed and thought about the man who’d been here. I liked him. He seemed so sure of himself, yet he wasn’t arrogant. His hair was blond, yet his eyebrows were dark, making him look like he’d spent time in the sun. I breathed deeply. He was very handsome. I should forget him, though. Undoubtedly he wasn’t real.

  I had recently published a biography on Isadora Duncan, and it had sold very well in urban areas. In fact, a bookstore very close to the White House had requested that I appear for a book signing.

  I took the train from Richmond to Union Station, and then took the Metro to a stop near the bookstore. The escalator took me upward to the bustling streets of Washington. I loved this city with its professional air, as if everyone walking the street were a lawyer or a senator or a congressman. There was a coldness, though, that I’d never felt in slow, Southern-styled Richmond. Along the DC streets, yuppies paraded past me with their iPod wires hanging from their ears, wearing their expensive gray and blue and brown suits with designer tennis shoes, their dress shoes in their briefcases.

  I had only walked a block when I had to stop to catch my breath. The thought of having that operation where they’d cut off part of my stomach scared me to death. It seemed like one minute I was determined to have it, and then a few minutes later, I had decided I’d never go under the knife. I leaned against a brick wall and watched people veer around me with irritated looks on their faces. I struggled to catch my breath so I could regain the strength to continue. Maybe I’d have to start that heart medication sooner than the doctor thought. In a few minutes I’d recovered and continued slowly.

  When I got to the bookstore, I trudged to the back and practically collapsed into a chair. Thankfully, it was a sturdy one. I waited for my heart to stop beating as if I’d run a marathon and tried to wrap my mind around my biography of Isadora Duncan. I'd entitled it, “Isadora: a Lady Ahead of Her Time”. She’d lived an interesting life, then had it cut short when she was strangled by her own scarf.

  Writing about a woman who saw the world so differently had been sheer joy. As I wrote about her dancing her way through Europe in the 1920s, I felt as if I were she. I’d admired her spirit and wished I were as adventurous as she had been. She was bold and grabbed life by the horns. She would have had that surgery a long time ago, I thought. I needed to be more like Isadora.

  It was time for the book signing to begin. I walked out and warmly greeted the people who had come to hear me speak about Isadora. I started off talking about the profound impact one freethinking person had on the privileged people of her time. I read a few passages in the book, then finished with my favorite Isadora quote: “Dance is the movement of the universe concentrated in an individual.” I thought it really summed up her attitude toward life and living.

  “Questions?” I asked. A few wrinkled their foreheads as if trying to formulate questions. Then I saw some hands shoot up.

  “Yes.” I pointed to a woman with honey blonde hair sitting in the front row.

  “I was wondering if you had tried those new diet patches they've come out with.”

  Even though I was good with words, I'd never been able to formulate a proper comeback for things like this.

  Another hand shot up behind her. “Do you have a question?” I said cheerfully hoping we could get back onto Isadora Duncan.

  “You know it's all in what you eat.” She raised her eyebrow at me letting me know the path I should take.

  “Well, I must have covered Isadora's life very well since there are no questions or comments about her.”I tried to remain composed, then turned around and walked straight back to the employee's area without saying another word.

  If I stayed, they’d continue to give me unsolicited advice. I gathered my things and headed out the back door. I was disappointed that the book signing had gone so badly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

  Sitting on the train back to Richmond, I thought about the book signing. At least I hadn’t signed any of their books. They hardly deserved that. Maybe this was a sign, though. I was going to take action. I dug around in my purse for my cell phone and dialed that number. “Yes,” I said. “I’d like to make an appointment with the doctor.”

  “And what will be the nature of your visit?” the receptionist asked.

  “I would like to have the gastric bypass surgery.”

  The next morning, Regina called and said she was coming by. Supposedly, she had good news. It could only be one thing—she had a new boyfriend.

  She walked in wearing an outfit I could only dream of fitting into. The top was sleeveless, black, and glittery. Her slacks stopped just below the knee and her sandals had tiny rhinestones on top of them.

  “Glad you finally decided to stop by.”

  “You’re not going to spill anything on me are you?” She sat down in the overstuffed chair and crossed her legs as if someone were here to see.

  I didn’t respond to her accusation.

  “Well, I met someone,” she announced.

  “That’s nice,” I said, trying to be positive. “Where did you meet him?”

  Her mouth expanded into a tight-lipped smile. “I was having a drink in one of those places in Shockoe Slip and he came over and introduced himself.”

  I forced a smile and nodded.

  “The rest is history.” She ran her hand over her clothes. “He bought me this entire outfit last weekend.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Of course. His name is Barry and he’s a lawyer.”

  I tried to keep my eyes open as she talked about her new beau, but I’d heard it all before, except the guy had a different name.

  As she droned on, my thoughts drifted to my next biography. I was pretty
sure I’d be writing about Theodore Roosevelt. I’d enjoy writing about a man who was as comfortable rubbing elbows with politicians in Washington as he was helping cowboys in a cattle roundup.

  Finally Regina had had enough of telling me about her new conquest and excused herself.

  I loved my sister, but since she’d never gotten an education, talking with her was as boring as staring at a wall. Would she ever stop going from man to man?

  A few days later, I’d had the appointment with the doctor regarding the gastric bypass surgery. Even he’d pointed out all of the risks involved. People had died from it, although not under his care. He said that if I were serious about it, I’d have to be examined by a gastroenterologist, have a psychiatric exam, and I’d have to have neurological tests. If I passed all of their tests, and I was still interested in having the surgery, he’d perform the operation.

  I contemplated what that meant as I drove to the University of Richmond to conduct an interview. Yes, I was nervous, and yes, I was still excited about having the surgery, but I still wasn’t completely convinced it was the right thing to do.

  As I continued to meet the professor, I forced myself to concentrate on the subject of my next biography. I’d already read quite a bit about our 26th president. While police commissioner in New York, he was the first to allow Jews and women to serve as police officers. He was also quite a visionary, leading the armed forces to a more global perspective, which may have enabled the United States to win both world wars. So far, he appeared to be the kind of person I wanted to write about. The professor I was meeting with claimed to be an authority on Teddy Roosevelt. I hoped he’d be able to give me even more insight into his character and motivations.

  The professor’s office was on the fourth floor, so I entered a crowded elevator that began to screech half way up. A horrible metallic sound worse than fingernails on a blackboard ran through the shaft, then the elevator ground to a halt.

  Someone hit the alarm. When nothing happened, two students began to tug at the elevator doors. Soon they opened and we saw that the elevator had stopped between floors. An opening of about a foot high appeared. The boys scooted out and soon were followed by everyone but me.

  Even slathered with baby oil I wouldn’t I fit through that slit. I stood there inside the elevator, alone and humiliated, for hours. Not one single person thought to hand me anything to drink, or a stool to sit on; and, feeling like I was on display at the zoo, I was much too embarrassed to ask for help.

  After the repairmen had finally gotten the elevator to move, I continued up to the professor’s office. He had gone to class. I’d have to call him and apologize and think up some excuse. I wouldn’t want to admit what really happened.

  The next day, I stood in the kitchen looking at the pages of information the surgeon had given me. If I’d had any doubts about having the surgery, being stuck in that elevator had erased them. How much more could I take?

  I heard a whoosh behind me. “Maria Elena,” I called.

  “Good afternoon,” said a deep male voice.

  I turned to see him. This time he was dressed in a WWI Infantry uniform complete with a metal bowl-like helmet that had been called steel Stetsons when they first came out.

  I ignored the thrill that crept through me. “I don’t know how you keep getting in the house, but I really must ask you to leave.” Why wasn’t I scared of him? I certainly should be.

  He cocked his head back and stared at me out of half open eyes. “I have come to tell you that you are making a mistake.”

  He was so irritating. “If I’m making a mistake, it’s no business of yours.”

  “Is that any way for you to talk to your greatest admirer?” He took his helmet off and held it at his chest.

  “What’s so great about your admiration? You just seem to be a plain old nuisance.” A very handsome nuisance, I thought to myself.

  “Hardly should you think of me as a nuisance. I am here to save you from that abominable idea you’ve got parading around in your head.” He blinked his dark eyes slowly and puffed up his chest.

  “First, it’s none of your business and second, it’s not a bad idea at all. This will give me a new lease on life.” What was I doing arguing with a spirit?

  He looked like he’d swallowed a lump. “It could take your life.”

  I ignored the truth of what he was saying. “Why does it mean so much to you?”

  “Because.” He threw his head back. “Because, I would like to court you and, and, I can’t do that if you…” His deep voice halted abruptly.

  “Court me?” It sounded so regal, so old-fashioned, yet very flattering.

  His face clouded over, and soon his features went hazy, then, as quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

  Was I going crazy? Or was this just my psyche’s way of dealing with the fear of having major surgery?

  Chapter Three

  A few weeks later, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of that ghost. He was probably just a dream—or wishful thinking, I thought, remembering his gorgeous dark eyes. A guy that hot had never been interested in me. Maybe in Regina, but never in me.

  I’d finally finished going through the multitude of tests in preparation for the gastric bypass. The surgery was tomorrow. All I had to do was follow the directions on that...that...that list. Where was it? It had been in the kitchen. I looked on the island, the countertops, then on the floor. Where could it be?

  “Maria Elena,” I hollered. “I left my list here and now I can’t find it.” I opened the trashcan and moved the contents around a little bit. “I still can’t find it,” I screamed louder.

  “Wait, Señorita Raquel, Marcio’s wife is about to find out,” she called from the TV room. Grandmother was upstairs taking a nap, so Maria Elena was watching her soap operas again.

  “I don’t care about your Peyton Place. I’m looking for my list to make sure I do the right things before surgery.”

  Maria Elena came sulking into the kitchen and glanced around. “I no see it.”

  “I had it right here and I didn’t move it.” It had explicit instructions about what clear liquids I could consume and when.

  “Maybe the door was opening and the wind blew it out?” She went outside and began to look around on the patio. “Here. I see a piece of paper right here.” She picked it up and unfolded it.

  I grabbed it out of her hand and felt the slickness of moist paper. “It’s gotten wet.” Odd, it hadn’t rained all day.

  “Si, Señorita, I can’t even reading anything.”

  “How could this have happened?”

  “Ay, Madre de Dios.” Maria Elena crossed herself. “It’s the ghost. In my country, there an old abandoned mine not far from my parent’s house. The Spanish killing many Indians there, and if you going by there at night,” she waved her hand up and down, “you hearing the Indians screaming.”

  “Did you actually hear them yourself?”

  Her pupils moved around in circles. “Well, no, but many people told me.” She nodded her head emphatically. “But your paper…” She pointed to the illegible, crumpled-up wad.

  “No problem. I’ll just call the doctor’s office and get the information.”

  “Sure, you doing that. You will be more skinny like movie star.”

  I dialed the doctor’s office and got the instructions. This time I stuck it in the pocket of a big muumuu I wore around the house. As soon as this fat began to melt away, I’d buy no more loose-fitting stuff. I’d buy slinky things that hugged my new form.

  I hadn’t eaten anything all day in preparation for the surgery and I was feeling weak. I decided to go upstairs and lay down. My head hit the pillow and I let my mind fill with pleasant thoughts—walking daintily in high heels and being able to sit on any chair, not just the ones that looked sturdy or wide enough.

  I sank deeper into my pleasant dream.

  “Mademoiselle Raquel,” he said overemphasizing the rhyme. “You are a vision of loveliness.”

&nbs
p; The meadow was foggy around the edges, but I could see miles of carpety soft grass. Beside me walked a soldier with a metal helmet, jodhpurs, and a button-down coat.

  “At your service, Ma’am,” he said crisply as he gave me a military salute.

  I skipped across the damp lawn, enjoying moving quickly without my extra two hundred pounds accompanying me.

  The soldier faced me, running backwards, holding his helmet over his eyes.

  I ran faster, liking the cool breeze on my face. My lungs filled and emptied easily. This is the way my life would be without all the flab.

  The man removed his helmet and looked at me with those deep brown eyes. “I like you the way you are.”

  “The way I am,” I repeated. My weight crippled my legs and soon I was rolling across the green grass, damp blades cruelly slapping my face.

  I opened my eyes. It had been a dream. Of course it was a dream. But it was the same man. Abel Rollins.

  Maybe it was just nerves about having the operation. That’s it. I was apprehensive and my subconscious was dealing with it this way.

  I patted the pocket of my muumuu. Nothing crinkled. Where was the list? I dug my hand down in the fabric. I looked around on the bed. It could have fallen out while I was sleeping. Yes, I had been tossing and turning and it must have slipped out. It had to be here. I ran my hands all around the sheets.

  That scoundrel.

  This time I knew who had taken it. The laugh was on him, though. I remembered everything the nurse had told me.

  The alarm went off at five o’clock. They’d said it was imperative I be there at six sharp. The hospital was just a few miles away, so all I had to do was shower, get dressed, and drive over there. Owen was meeting me there and would wait for me during the surgery.

  I grabbed my purse and headed for the car. Funny, I wasn’t nervous at all. In fact, I was excited about making such a big change in my life. I reached for my keys. Wait. Where were they? I dug around in my bag some more. They weren’t here.