Finding herself close to breaking out into tears once more, she turned to the front of the album. The first photo had been taken on the night they met, almost twenty years ago. It was snapped inside the Naval Academy auditorium, and showed Mimi decked out as Minnie Mouse, and Peter dressed as a little Dutch boy.
Somehow he had managed to see beyond her huge artificial mouse ears and erect whiskers, and as he always said, fell in love with her at first sight. Mimi was but an impressionable teenager at the time, and she found herself enchanted by the tall, dashing midshipman, who bravely limped around all evening in hand-carved wooden shoes, that were much too narrow for his wide feet.
Quickly flipping through the pages of the album now, Mimi caught brief glances of spirited Navy football games, hay rides, sailing trips on the Chesapeake Bay, and other glimpses of their whirlwind romance, that abruptly ended when the two officers knocked on her door. And now to be left with only these snapshots, and memories of a love that could never be duplicated in this lifetime.
Mimi’s grief found temporary solace when sleep finally overcame her. Without bothering even to undress, she stumbled into the bedroom and crawled beneath the comforter. She slept soundly at first, drained by sorrow and longing. Then dreams took her on another trip through her past, and she watched as Peter was commissioned, waved goodbye to him for the first time from the pier in Groton, and even enjoyed a canoe float trip with her parents, on the Buffalo river in her home state of Arkansas.
She awoke to the cold before the dawn, and stared out at the empty place on the bed beside her. Being a submariner’s wife, she was used to sleeping alone for half the months of a year. But this was different — her beloved called on a patrol from which he’d never return.
Long drained of tears, she could only lie there and moan in silence. And again it was sleep that came and rescued her from her forlorn sorrow.
The sun was well into the morning sky when the ringing telephone awoke Mimi from her slumber. She didn’t respond at first. But the ringing persisted, and to silence the incessant racket she reached out towards her nightstand and pulled the handset to her ear.
“Hello,” she mumbled.
“Mrs. Slater?” said a scratchy, high-pitched female voice with a definite Brooklyn accent.
“Is this Mrs. Peter Slater?”
“Who is this?” quizzed Mimi, still groggy from sleep.
“You don’t know me, Mrs. Slater. I’m Dr. Elizabeth, and I have a message for you from Dutch.”
This last word caught Mimi’s full attention, and she bolted upright, with the phone nestled tightly to her ear.
“Did you say, Dutch? Who is this?” “Like I said, Mrs. Slater. I’m Dr. Elizabeth, and Dutch was the name of the fellow who asked me to contact you.”
“Look, lady,” spat Mimi.
“I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but I don’t find this whole thing the least bit funny.”
“Neither do I, Mouse,” replied the caller, who sincerely added, “I don’t blame you for being suspicious, honi’d feel the same way if I was in your place. And all I can ask of you is to at least hear me out. After all, this is long distance.”
“How did you know to call me Mouse?” asked Mimi, her curiosity fully aroused.
“And who told you about Dutch?”
“Why your husband, of course. Although we didn’t communicate with each other as long as I would have liked, I believe he passed on enough information for me to convince you that I’m legit.”
“And when did you speak to him?” questioned Mimi breathlessly.
“Although the initial contact took place several days ago, our actual link wasn’t finalized until just this morning.”
“You spoke with Peter this morning!” exclaimed Mimi, her doubts all but forgotten.
“Easy does it, hon. Take a couple of deep breaths and listen closely to what I have to say. You see, I’m what you call a psychic healer. I’m a New Yorker, who just set up shop near Charleston, in my niece’s place on the Isle of Palms. If you care to check my references, just give Geraldo, Oprah, or Sally Jesse a ring.
They all know Dr. Elizabeth, as well as their millions of viewers. But that’s another story, and this is costin’ me sixty cents a minute as it is. Anyway, like I was sayin’, your husband came to me while I was in trance, and asked me to let you know that he hopes all your champagne wishes and caviar dreams come true. Do the letters C’YA” mean anything to you, hon?”
Mimi’s only reaction was startled silence, which prompted her caller to speak out quickly.
“If you’re still there, honi want you to know that I’m only passin’ this info on as a public service. I ain’t no charity, and I work solely on donations. Hon, are you there?”
“I’m … sorry,” stuttered Mimi, who finally summoned the words to express herself.
“But I can’t help but think that this is all a sick joke of some sort.”
“I understand, ho nit only natural to feel that way.
All I can tell you is to listen to your heart. And if you want to talk more, just call me for an appointment.”
Not about to let this mysterious caller hang up without getting some additional information, and with nothing to lose, Mimi allowed her instincts to guide her reply.
“Dr. Elizabeth, you’ve got to tell me more about Peter. Isle of Palms is less than an hour’s drive from here. Can I see you this afternoon?”
“Hon, I seriously doubt that I could keep you away even if I had a full schedule, which I don’t. So here’s my address and telephone number. And if you can get your kiester into gear, I’ll even throw in lunch with your reading, all for the same fifty-dollar donation.”
Mimi’s hand was excitedly shaking as she copied down the caller’s address and phone number. When she finally hung up the telephone, she had the distinct impression that the woman that she had just talked to hadn’t been real at all, but merely a figment of her imagination. And then doubt clouded her consciousness.
Surely this Dr. Elizabeth was only a slick opportunist, who had heard about the Lewis and Clark on the news, and was playing on Mimi’s grief to make a quick buck. But if that was the case, how did she know about their family gram passwords? No one knew this code but Peter and herself. And besides, the dispatches themselves were sent via the same discreet, top-secret Navy channels over which operational orders were delivered.
Overhearing such a broadcast would be all but impossible. That meant that she either somehow got a copy of the message from the censor’s office, or was indeed a psychic like she said.
Though Mimi’s rational mind cautioned her that Dr. Elizabeth was nothing but a fraud, her intuition urged her to check the woman out. On the recommendations of friends, Mimi had visited various psychics in the Charleston area several times before. In one instance, she even dragged Peter along. Though she never became an occult fanatic, she did read her horoscope everyday, and enjoyed having her tarot cards, palm, and aura read from time to time.
Much of the advice that she got from these psychics was nothing but good old-fashioned common sense, delivered with a degree of poetic imagery. Yet sometimes they hit upon personal things that were revelations, and it was in these rare moments that Mimi was a true believer.
Until Dr. Elizabeth awoke her, she had never even considered contacting one of her local psychics to learn Peter’s fate. And now that she had this opportunity practically thrown in her lap, she didn’t dare walk away from it.
With a new sense of purpose guiding her onwards, she rolled out of bed and headed straight for the shower. She then dressed herself simply in jeans and a sweater, and with a bare minimum of makeup on her face, bravely headed into the outside world.