Strange but True Read Free Page B

She stops and swallows, making a lump in her throat that puts Philip in mind of the pet snake he took care of for Donnelly Fiume back in New York, the way it looked when it was digesting a mouse. “I’m sorry it’s taking me a bit to get it out. But you know how you plan something in your mind, and then when the moment finally arrives, you forget exactly how you wanted to say things? That’s how I feel sitting here right now. I guess… I guess I don’t know where to begin. So maybe I’ll just ask you first if you’ve ever watched that guy on TV, the one who talks to the dead?”
    The question does something to his mother’s face. Philip sees her blink three times in rapid succession; her upper lip twitches. But his face goes blank. His heart, which had been steadily picking up speed, feels as though it has just slammed into a wall. He has seen the guy Melissa is talking about plenty of times on late-night TV. Maybe you have too. A cherub-faced balding man with a thick Long Island accent who calls out random initials to people in the crowd as though he is summoning their beloved. When he hits the right initial and guesses a name, the guy spews details that the dearly departed is supposedly sending:
    You once lost your engagement ring…
    You took a trip to an island…
    The two of you had a favorite song that you used to dance to…
    These bland bits of information cause people in the audience to weep, but Philip always finds himself wondering why they don’t ask for more concrete details that might actually prove something, like a Social Security number or the name of a first-grade teacher. Instead of saying any of this, he stays quiet and listens to his mother and Melissa.
    â€œDid you see this guy?” his mother asks, her lip still twitching as hope bubbles up in her voice.
    â€œNot him. But there is a woman in Philadelphia named Chantrel who does the same thing. I went to see her.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œTonight.”
    â€œBut I thought you said you’ve wanted to tell us this for months.”
    â€œThis is all leading up to what I want to tell you.”
    â€œWell, what did this Chandra woman say?”
    â€œChantrel.”
    â€œOkay, Chantrel. What did she say?”
    â€œWell…”
    â€œWell, what?”
    Melissa’s eyes move to Philip, then to his mother again. “Ronnie communicated with me from the dead.”
    Philip’s body language does nothing to hide his reaction. He leans back from the table and crosses his arms. At one time, he might have believed in this sort of thing, but there is a lot he used to believe that he doesn’t anymore: God, love, fate, luck, and psychics who channel the dead, to name a few.
    Meanwhile, his mother sits at the table and leans so close to Melissa that it looks as though she’s going to take a bite out of her. “What did she say?”
    â€œShe told me that Ronnie is happy in heaven. He plays football all the time. He remembers the rose corsage he gave me on prom night.”
    As she talks, Philip has to fight the urge to limp back to the sofa bed and pick up his Anne Sexton biography or turn on Letterman, which is starting right about now. He hasn’t done much this past month but read biographies of famous poets and watch TV. This moment reminds him why: his real life sucks. Melissa goes on to tell them that Ronnie misses his parents and that he visits the house a few times a year, especially on Christmas Eve. Philip is tempted to ask if he haunts them before or after Ebeneezer’s house, but he refrains. When he can’t stand keeping his mouth shut a second longer, he stands to get more coffee. That’s when Melissa puts her hand on his. Her fingers feel as brittle as an old woman’s, the pads chapped and warm.
    â€œPhilip,” she says, looking at him with that eerily motionless face. “Ronnie had a message for you too.”
    Even though he