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"She's not even thinking about me at all anymore. She's not," he said. Or was it my own voice?

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After all, we were both dead and buried. He was in a grave outside. And I was in a body no longer permitted to be my own.

She wasn't thinking of either of us anymore.

3

Baby Celeste's Gift

.

I waited up for Mama for as long as I could. but

I kept drifting off and finally fell into so deep a sleep. I never heard her come home. My eyes snapped open before dawn and I sat up in bed realizing I had fallen asleep in my clothes. I was surprised Mama hadn't looked in and woken me to ask me why. Could it be that she was still not home?

Practically tiptoeing out of my room. I saw Mama's bedroom door was open. She usually left it open so she could hear Baby Celeste if she called out during the night for any reason. She rarely did. In fact, I rarely saw her cry and complain. She, was born contented. Mama says.

I approached Mama's doorway as quietly as I could and then peered in and was relieved to see her in bed. However, her clothes were cast sloppily over a chair and it looked as if she had simply kicked off her shoes not caring where they fell, which was quite unusual. She hated anything to be out of place in the house because it would upset the balance of energy. She looked dead asleep so I returned to my room and tried to go back to sleep myself. I tossed and turned and went in and out of dreams filled with people I had never met. Was our home a haven for all wandering spirits? Mama never spoke about any but our own family, and those I saw when they wanted to reveal themselves to me, I had seen before in a picture in our house.

The morning light startled me like a bell rung right by my ear. I rose just as Baby Celeste was calling. To my surprise. Mama hadn't risen, and when, with Baby Celeste in my arms. I looked in on her. I saw Mama was still in a deep sleep.

Baby Celeste thought it was funny and laughed. Mama stirred, but didn't awaken. She didn't get up even by the time I had washed and dressed Baby Celeste. I took her downstairs and made breakfast for the two of us. Mama came down while we were at the table eating.

"I can't believe I slept so late," she said. "It's been a long time since I've been out on a date. Dave wanted me to try his favorite cocktail. Something called a cosmopolitan. It made me a little giddy. I can't recall laughing as much for years, or at least since I was with your father."

She kissed Baby Celeste and looked at me. Mama never drank alcoholic beverages, except for some elderberry wine. Why had she done so now and why was she acting so casual about it? Imagine if I had done such a thing. I thought. She would lock me in the turret room for days.

"My God. Noble, speaking of your father, you have his any face on this morning. It's like a mask you found among his old things in the attic."

I looked down, then raised my eyes at her slowly.

"Why are you doing this. Mama? Why now and why with this man?" I asked timidly.

She sighed deeply, thought a moment, looked into the right corner of the room, then nodded.

"Haven't I told you many, many times that nothing happens to us without a reason, without a purpose. Noble?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with this?"

"Sometimes it takes a while to understand, but nevertheless, we do finally understand. Sometimes it happens with the help of our family, which was what happened in this case."

"What were you told?" I asked as boldly as a police investigator.

"I was told, as you so bluntly put it, that the Fletchers were brought here for a purpose."

"The Fletchers? What purpose?" Did she mean the birth of Baby Celeste? She stared so hard at me I didn't think she would answer, but she did. "To protect us."

"Protect us?" I shook my head. How could she even think such a thing considering all that had happened between me and Elliot Fletcher? "I don't understand. Mama."

"You will," she promised. "Be patient and cooperative and you will, Now I'm going to make myself some soft-boiled eggs and then start on a rhubarb pie. That's Dave's favorite pie. I don't suppose you remember me telling you rhubarb pie was my grandfather's favorite, too, do you?"

"No." I felt sure she never had told me and I didn't want to permit her to lead me away from the topic.

"Well, it was. So you see, everything means something. Noble. Nothing just happens by

coincidence. I've been teaching you that for as long as you could hear. I think. What you have to imagine." she continued, turning to her teacher's persona (she could take it off and put it on like a coat), "is the world is full of lines, invisible strings, all intersecting, connecting, running parallel for a while and then touching. Every action, every word spoken, every birth and every death, is another line, even every thought, and when you can understand that and you have the ability to see that, you will know what to look for. as I do. You simply have to have more faith in me and yourself and try harder. Then it will come to you just the way it came to me. I can remember the exact moment."