But I couldn’t bring myself to say any of this to him as we cut across the park, the damp grass brushing against the bottoms of my boots, the bums who lurked beneath the trees. I probably would have felt safer snuggling up to the guy who slept under his garbage bags ful of beer cans than alone in my room.
We hailed a cab fairly easily once we got to Burnside Street – it was the weekend and downtown Portland was in ful swing with people spil ing out of hole-in-the-wal bars, music venues with shitty bands, and late-night dives. I wanted the night to keep going. I wanted to line up with the masses at Voodoo Donuts and feel like the city had my back.
But instead we both got in the cab. At least Maximus made sure to drop me off before him, even though he lived way closer to downtown than I did.
As the cab pul ed down my familiar street, he asked, “Do you have a big day tomorrow?”
“I was scheduled to work,” I said, feeling a pang of embarrassment, anxiousness. “But who knows what’s going on with that anymore. I guess I’l just get haunted.
Maybe I’l take up knitting. Baby slippers seem to be pretty popular.”
My voice was shaking slightly at that last bit and I swal owed back my tears. My house loomed in front of us, the cabbie reciting my address.
“Perry,” Maximus said, reaching for my hand. “I know you’re scared. But so far, nothing real y bad has happened.”
“What?” I snapped at him. I briefly eyed the cabbie in the rearview mirror and he quickly looked away, none of his business.
“Abby is taking it slow. Knocking and slippers, painting your nails.”
“And taking over my body!”
I could sense the cabbie was looking back at me again, wondering who the hel these weirdos in his cab were.
Maximus lowered his voice. “We don’t know yet if it’s connected, remember? I don’t think it is. In fact, I know it’s not. You’re stil you, Perry. One hundred percent.”
“Oh, wel , if you’re so smart, why don’t you tel me what else it could be?”
He gave me a smal smile, immune to my anger. “I don’t know. I know you don’t like to hear that it could al be in your head-”
I gasped at that. Appal ed.
“But,” he continued, “you’ve been through a lot. So I would at least consider it, if I were you. I’m going to come over in the next few days and we’re going to figure this out and start from there. One thing at a time. Abby won’t be a problem, you’l see.”
I wondered when he had gone from Ghost Whisperer to Ghost Buster, but I had no choice but to believe him. He was the only person who had experience in this, and the only person who took me seriously. Maybe not entirely seriously, but enough. And he was a good kisser.
He leaned forward and hugged me and that cinnamon smel engulfed me again. Then he said, “I’l cal you tomorrow.”
I would have stayed al night in that cab if I could, but I reluctantly got out. To his credit, he kept the cab waiting outside until I had unlocked my front door, then it sped away into the night.
I tiptoed up to my room, trying to ignore the darkness of the sleeping house, and made it to bed. The slippers on the floor were gone. The pamphlet was back on the table. I don’t know why I was so against having it al be inside my head. That would actual y be glorious. Maybe there never were any slippers. And if there were no slippers, there was nothing to fear.
It didn’t explain a lot of other things, though, but before I could even indulge those possibilities, the evening of wine and tequila folded over me like a breaking wave and I was down for the count.