for sixteen years. He’d finally died last month and been buried in Arlington National Cemetery with all due pomp, with Rebekah’s husband standing next to her, his arm around her. Rebekah felt tears swim in her eyes as she handed Zoltan the photograph and the letter.
Zoltan took the letter, didn’t read it, but seemed to weigh it in her hand. She took the photograph, glanced at it, then placed it faceup over the letter, in front of Rebekah.
“Rebekah, please place your left hand over the letter and the photograph and give me your right hand.”
Rebekah did as she was asked. She no longer felt like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. She was beginning to feel calmer, more settled, perhaps even receptive. She let her hand relax in Zoltan’s. “Why my right hand? Why not my left?”
Zoltan said, “I’ve learned the right hand carries more latent energy than the left. Odd but true, at least in my experience. Good. I want you to think about what your grandfather said to you that day the photograph was taken, think about what you were feeling in that moment. Now picture the man in the photograph. Tell me about him.”
“Before the strokes and the coma, he was in Congress, always on the go, always busy with his political maneuvering against the incumbent majority. I remember that day he was happy. A bill I think he’d authored had passed.” She paused a moment. “As for the letter, it’s the last one he wrote me. It was chatty, nothing serious. Grandfather rarely emailed me; he preferred to write his letters to me in longhand.”
“Now, lightly touch the fingers of your left hand to the photograph. Let them rest on your grandfather’s face. Excellent. Close your eyes, picture his face in your mind, and simply speak to him as if he were sitting beside you on the sofa. It’s all right if you think this is nothing more than a silly exercise, but indulge me, please.”
Rebekah didn’t resist. She was feeling too relaxed. Zoltan poured her another cup of tea from the carafe on the coffee table. Rebekah drank, savored the rich, smooth taste, and did as Zoltan said. Oddly, she saw her grandmother’s face, cold and aloof, not her grandfather’s. Gemma had been a séance junkie all her life, something that made Rebekah’s mom roll her eyes. Grandmother was talking to dead people? No, her mother had said, talking to the dead was crazy, meant for the gullible. Rebekah wondered if her grandmother had tried to contact her husband since his death. Why would she? To gloat that he was dead and she wasn’t?
Zoltan said again, “Rebekah? Please speak to your grandfather. Picture him here with you. Speak what’s in your heart. Be welcoming.”
Rebekah said, her voice clear, “Grandfather, I remember you when you were well and happy before you fell into a coma. I loved you so much and I knew you loved me. Everyone called me your little confidante, and it was true. You trusted me with all the stories you called your secret adventures, even when I was a kid. Do you know I kept my promise to you never to tell anyone the stories, not even my mother, certainly not my grandmother? They were always only between us. You made me feel very special.” Her voice caught. “I miss you, Grandfather. I think of you every day and pray you’re at peace.” She knew, objectively, when he’d fallen into the coma, his life was over, though his body held on. She knew she should have been relieved when his body finally let go, but the reality of his actual death still broke her. She swiped away a tear, swallowed. “Zoltan said you want to speak to me. If you can hear me, I hope you can come—through.” Her voice fell off. She felt a bit silly, but oddly, it didn’t overly concern her.
The draperies continued to flutter in the breeze, the fire stayed sullen. The lamplight, however, seemed to dim, then brighten, and dim again. Zoltan’s face was now in shadow. She said in the same gentle voice, each word slow and smooth, “Keep talking to him, Rebekah. I can feel a presence hovering close, and it’s familiar.”
Rebekah didn’t feel anything different. Well, except for the dimmed lamplight. Zoltan’s right hand held Rebekah’s, and her left hand lay palm up on her lap. Rebekah knew she should feel like an idiot, but she didn’t. She felt relaxed, curious to see what