David Nickle - The 'Geisters

Thea nodded. “They write the story once a year.”

“Hush my darling,” said Ian. “She knows he has returned, she said, because the parrot walks on her just the way he used to. Did you hear that, Michael?”

In the kitchen, Michael shut the refrigerator door with his heel. He had four beer bottles, two in each hand. “A parrot who walked on her? Did the husband walk on her in life?”

Rickhardt appeared to consider this. “The article didn’t say. It also didn’t explain how it was that her husband was reincarnated in the body of a parrot that was hatched before he died.”

“This woman, she believe the spirit of her husband entered right into the parrot,” explained Thea, and tapped the side of her head. “She ain’t right here.”

“That’s not reincarnation,” said Rickhardt. “That’s possession.”

“Oh, best I not,” said Thea as Michael put an open beer bottle in front of her. He shrugged, slid the beer over to Rickhardt, who slid it back to her and she laughed and shook her head and sipped the beer. “Thank you Mr. Voors… Mr. Rickhardt.”

“You were bit by a parrot fish?” said Rickhardt. It took Ann a moment to realize he was asking her the question. She nodded. Bent her leg up so she could display the knee, a thick square of gauze conveying the enormity of the wound.

“The fish mistook me for coral,” she said.

Rickhardt squinted at the knee and shook his head. “That sounds farfetched. My money’s on possession.”

Tobago delivered up sunsets out of postcards every night. They used that one to set the mood for dinner: still waters, swaying palms, a flamethrower igniting the sky. As they tucked in, Ian laid bare the dual purpose of his visit. He wanted to show them the wedding video, and talk a bit of business with Michael. Either one by itself, he said, could have waited. Put together…

Michael didn’t object.

Ann found herself in the kitchen as Thea was cleaning up for the night.

“Quite a fellow,” said Thea, lifting a thumb to the saloon door leading to the dining table, “that Mr. Rickhardt. He doh eat nice.”

“I’m sorry?”

Thea smiled. “He say all sorts of things, don’t he?”

“Did he say something to offend you?”

“To offend me?” Thea laughed. “Oh no. Nothing to offend me.”

Ann opened the fridge, took out another beer and a fresh lime. “Thanks, I’ll cut it myself,” she said when Thea offered.

“He pay for your wedding, that one. Must have a lot of money.”

“He does.”

“And you don’t like him.”

Ann carved out a wedge of lime and stuffed it down the neck of the bottle. It fizzed and twisted in the amber liquid.

“You should not like him,” said Thea. “Here he is, uninvited, on your honeymoon. He pay for your wedding, think he can do that? Come here and vex you so.”

Ann took a swig of beer. It was tart and hoppy and just what she needed. “I don’t like him,” she said. “But I suspect we won’t see that much of him once we’re settled.”

You suspect that, do you?” Thea smiled, shook her head. “He flew in a plane to show you a movie of that wedding he bought you. On your honeymoon. Ah,” she said, and turned back to the dishes, “I’m overstepping. None of my business. But I will tell you something, Mrs. Voors. He’s very charming that fellow, yet he not going to leave you be. That monkey know what tree to climb.” She smiled and shook her head when Ann tried to hand her a bottle. “No thank you. Better I loll off no more.”

Ann put the second beer back in the fridge.

“You’re not overstepping,” she said to Thea, “and I won’t tell.”

“Tell if you like,” said Thea. “It don’t really matter to me.”

“You were gone awhile,” said Michael when she came back and fell into her chair. Ann smiled at Michael, then at Ian.

“Just thought I’d give you two a chance to catch up.” She raised her bottle, now half-empty, and made as if to toast.

Ian and Michael had been hunched together, talking in low tones, as Ann was talking to Thea; Ann had noted it over the saloon doors from the corner of her eye. Now Ian was leaning back, hands behind his head—Michael, arms crossed.

They both looked, she thought as she sipped the dregs of her beer, vaguely guilty.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Ian.

Ann smiled and said, “Liar.”

She’d meant to say it sweetly—but she’d had… three bottles of Ian’s beer now? That sounded right… and her ire must have leaked out. Ian and Michael shared a glance.

She tried to recover. “Nice liar, I meant. You two have business to talk about. I can leave you to it….”

Ian smiled and shook his head. “Taken care of,” he said. “And really, I wanted to show you this.” He lifted a DVD in a plain white case from the table. “What can I say? I’m an old woman. They really did a fantastic job of it. I couldn’t wait.”

Ann shook her head. “I can’t believe you flew all the way down. Couldn’t you just upload it onto YouTube? Send it by courier?”

Ian’s eyes widened and he clutched at his chest theatrically. “YouTube? A courier? Heathen! This is special stuff! You don’t just fling it on the internet, give it to some lackey. It’s a treasure!”

Ann and Michael shared a glance themselves at that.

“Why don’t we watch it,” said Michael, “right now.”

“Excellent idea,” said Ian. He looked out the open French doors. “It’s about dark enough.”

It certainly was getting dark; the sun had pretty much set—there was just a tiny line of purple at the horizon. Stars were emerging overhead. But Ann didn’t see what that had to do with watching a video and said so. Rickhardt laughed.

“You didn’t think I was going to show it to you on the TV set they’ve got here.” The TV set being an old 27-inch Toshiba that occupied a corner in the living room. “I’ve set up something special,” he said, and got up.

“What—” Ann began, but Michael put a hand on her arm.

“It’s all right,” he said, “Ian told me about it while you were in the kitchen. Speaking of which—Thea?”

“Yes?” she called from the kitchen.

“You can finish up,” he said and they stepped around the kitchen to the living room. Ian was already there, unzipping a black nylon case and pulling a laptop computer out. As he plugged it in, and pulled out what Ann recognized as a projector, Michael lifted down a framed lithograph of a tall sailing ship and set it aside. The frame left a faint outline on the white wall.

“You’re projecting it,” said Ann, “like a presentation video.”

She’d done this more times than she cared to admit in the service of Krenk & Associates.

Ian nodded. “Full cinema experience,” he said. “Nothing but the best.”

Thea popped in to say goodnight as she left, and patted Ann on the shoulder where she sat.

“Funny ideas,” she said, so only Ann could hear. “Don’t let ’im spoil things.”

And then she was gone, and Ian slid the DVD into the side of his laptop and said, “Enjoy.”

Michael set an open beer down in front of her and flicked off the lights.

And their wedding began, anew.

A black screen.

A cool, descending bass line for a few bars, and then a trumpet joined in, blowing all over the place. The screen shifted to blue—the sky, over the Rickhardt Estates winery, two weeks ago—while on the soundtrack, Louis Armstrong put the trumpet down and wondered what good melody and music was without swing.

“Did you pick the song, Ian?” asked Ann.

“Hey, be thankful,” said Ian. “Michael wanted Sinatra. ‘Love and Marriage.’ Or was it ‘The Tender Trap?’”