Page 15 of Christmas Spirits

For the first time since I could remember, my mother was pushing herself to sit up in bed and staring at me with completely clear eyes. A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she lifted both her hands to me, beckoning me to come to her side again.

“Katherine…” she said, her voice scratchy and as low as a whisper. “My daughter…”

“Mama?” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but there she was right in front of me looking right at me and talking as if everything was completely normal.

“Come here. Let me get a good look at you.” She gestured for me to come closer. “It’s been too long.”

My feet moved without permission, leading me straight into her embrace. Her boney fingers gripped my arms tightly, and a grin spread across her dry lips. Sadness weighed heavy in her gaze as if this was a bitter sweet moment for her. Which was exactly what I was thinking, too. I couldn’t remember the last time my mother had been conscious enough to even form coherent sentences, and yet here she was, holding me so firmly it was like she was afraid to let go.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, her voice hitching as her eyes glossed over with tears. “Absolutely beautiful.”

I couldn’t hold back my own sorrow any longer. My knees buckled, and I collapsed on the side of her bed, grief clutching onto me and making me hiccup as I cried.

I wanted to stop, but my body was working on its own, all the feelings I’d suppressed for so long bursting out of me like a volcanic eruption. But I just couldn’t believe what was happening. The last time we’d talked—really talked—like this was… Well, I couldn’t remember, honestly. There were times I’d even wonder if I might forget her voice, especially when the time between my visits became longer and longer apart.

Her arms slid under mine in a partial hug, partial attempt to hold me up. “I know,” she whispered, pain choking her words. “Honey, I know—but don’t worry, I’m okay. See? Come up. Get off the floor.”

She tried to lift me back up to my feet but was too weak to do much. I swallowed down my sobs and rose again, my legs wobbling still, and rubbed my wet cheek with the back of my hand.

“There. Better.” Her smile grew again as she looked me up and down and pretended to dust off my coat front and legs. When her gaze lifted to my face again, she said, “Oh Lord, it’s like looking in a mirror, ain’t it?” She gave a short laugh. “If I was in my thirties again, we could be mistaken as twins.”

She was right. Even though wrinkles lined her eyes and mouth, freckles sprinkled her cheeks, and she was skinny—too skinny, almost sickly looking—the resemblances between us were still striking. The same dark complexion and skin tone. The same eyes, right down to the almond shape and color. And I had a feeling that if she took off the bandana and maybe took a shower, her hair would even have the same unruly curly texture as mine.

When her eyes flickered to the right, her body tensed, as if she was seeing something she didn’t want to see. The sudden change in her demeanor had me hesitating. I followed her gaze to find only Laurence standing there patiently waiting for us to finish our moment.

“Mama, this is Laurence. My boyfriend,” I said, waving for him to come over. As he strode toward us, my mother’s eyes stayed fixed in the spot he was. But nothing was there.

Like me, my mother was a Medium, but if it were a spirit she was seeing, I’d be able to see it, too, and the space appeared empty to me. No tingles of a nearby soul along my skin, either.

But before I could dwell too much on it, Laurence leaned over and placed a friendly kiss on my mother’s cheek. I knew it was because I’d told him stories about my grandmother, and how everyone—stranger or not—had to give her a kiss on the cheek when they entered her house. It had been a must, and something I’d thought to be silly growing up but missed terribly now that she was gone. I guessed he’d been listening and wanted to show it with my mom.

She seemed to like that, giving him and then me an impressed look.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Her voice dropped again. “Is he a supe?”

Meaning supernatural.

“A sorcerer, yes,” I replied.

Her thin brows shot up at that. “Oh! A spellcaster. You look like a smart boy. What level?”

“Uh…” Laurence took a step back, instantly looking ashamed.

“He’s about to pass his level one’s.” I made sure to say it without affliction to show him I wasn’t embarrassed at all, and neither should he be. I didn’t care what other people thought about it. He’d improved so much in the last few months alone. I was proud of him either way.

“I’ve been studying a lot,” he answered meekly.

“Well, then, I’m sure you’ll pass. I dated a sorcerer once—” She turned to me. “Before I met your daddy, that is. And he’d always talk about how hard the spells were. And I believe it. Conjuring something out of nothing? Amazing.”

Laurence’s lips lifted. “Yeah, it can be pretty rough sometimes.”

She grabbed his hand squeezed it in reassurance. “You got this. I know you do.”

His smile widened.

I used to imagine what it would be like to have my mother back since I lost her. I’d come up with these elaborate situations in my head, dreaming up what it would be like to spend Thanksgiving together or Easter, to come home from school and see her in the kitchen cooking dinner or pushing me on the swings in the park. I had imagined her singing, her temper, the way she would say she loved me. Now, finally getting a moment with her, one that was nothing like I’d made up, I was on cloud nine.

It was like a Christmas miracle.

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