Chapter 4

When his parents left for the hospital, Nick continued looking at the plates of half-eaten pizza. He had promised to wash the dinner dishes. Instead, he picked up his mother’s glass of wine and took several swallows.

Minnie came into the kitchen and wound her way around his ankles.

“Minnie, I met a friend of yours today. Cat.” That statement made him grimace. He rubbed his temples; already they were throbbing.

Minnie was unimpressed and continued to meow and rub against him.

He brought the wineglass to the sink and put a scoop of kibble into her bowl, which she circled sinuously before crouching down to eat her food. Nick began stacking the plates, when an image of a boy with a gun appeared. He tried shaking away the vision, but the boy—about his age, wearing a uniform, looking ill at ease while holding the gun—refused to budge. Nick wasn’t an expert on rifles, but that one looked like a picture his grandfather had shown him.

The image left, and he began scraping the food into the garbage disposal and rinsed the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher.

When the dishwasher could hold no more, he started it and surveyed the remaining dishes. As much as he hated washing dishes, he didn’t want to leave a mess for his mother; she had enough on her mind with Grandma. He’d wash the rest in the sink. With a sigh, he filled the basin with hot water and soap.

As he stood at the sink, looking out the window at their now-dark backyard, Nick’s reflection showed faintly on the panes. He looked down at the sink and selected a plate to be washed, and when he looked up, a stranger stared back at him. It was his reflection, but he was the boy with the gun with a look of fear and desperation. The boy’s hair was darker, and he was leaner and had a look a soldier might have—grim determination. The eyes—they had the same eyes, and the realization jarred Nick, and he stepped back onto Minnie’s tail. He jerked when she hissed, dropping and breaking the plate.

Then another image appeared. A boy swathed in a white apron, elbow-deep in soapy water, surrounded by mounds of dishes. A boy washing endlessly, hands red from hot water and harsh soap. A boy who hated washing dishes as much as Nick did.

Nick looked away, shook off the images and the fuzziness in his brain, before kneeling down and picking up the plate pieces. Who was that person? His mother said the eyes were the windows to the soul. Cat had said the same thing. Was he looking into his soul?

He put the broken china in the garbage. When he glanced up, the strange reflection was gone, and only Nick remained.

Nick turned away from the window, preparing to leave and turn on the game, when his phone vibrated. He held his breath as he looked at the caller ID and then let it out noisily when he realized it was Emily and not a call about Grandma.

“Hey!” he answered.

“What are you doing?”

“I just finished cleaning the kitchen for my parents.”

A pause. “Really?” She sounded skeptical.

“I know.” He chuckled. “I’m a slob.” He paused. “They’re at the hospital with my grandma.”

“Oh no!” Emily gasped.

“Yeah, she had a stroke.”

“I’m so sorry, Nick! Do you need company?”

It was tempting to have Em come over, but it was almost eight thirty, and he had homework and wanted to watch some of the game. “No. It’s okay. I need to do some calculus.” And too, Emily would want to talk and ask questions during the game.

“Okay.” She sighed. “Let me know if you need me.”

That was just another of the reasons he loved her. So supportive. “I will.”

Nick turned on the game and placed his calculus book on the coffee table. He chewed his pencil and tried to do his homework, but his focus kept shifting to the images on the window and the Lions on TV. Lions were down 7–3.

He sighed, flipped his book closed, and went upstairs to finish calculus, but instead opened his laptop and switched it on. He was curious about reincarnation. The Methodist church believed there was one soul per body. They didn’t entertain the notion of souls floating freestyle in the atmosphere, waiting to be snagged by a body.

He typed in reincarnation. He couldn’t believe the amount of information about the topic. But as he scanned the text, his belief was confirmed. Reincarnation was a religious concept of Buddhism and Hinduism—Eastern religions, not Christian or Jewish faiths.

He sat back, satisfied. Cat must be a Buddhist and Nick, a Christian—as simple as that.

With a sigh, he began to work on calculus in earnest, only sneaking a peek at his phone for the football score between problems.