a portal or a window opening on something other than itself.
―Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Kate
Most people get up in the morning and get ready for work. Oh, they might have to run around and find something to wear or iron something, if they're disorganized, but that's understandable.
But not like me―I get up and wonder which hat to wear both literally and figuratively.
You see, I'm a writer and a realtor. When people ask me what I write, I tell them mysteries.
I'm not really a mystery writer but I write about mystery because I write what I know and that sort of sums up me. Everything to me is a mystery, including me.
As I pointed out before, I'm a liminal person. I stand at the threshold of life, half in and half out. Maybe that's why most of my writing lately can be classed as WIP―a work in progress, because I write what I know and at the moment...
Well, you get the point.
I use Lucas as my plumb line to measure my degree of bent from the Norm. He's obsessed with his dead wife―I'm obsessed with a dream girl. I'm always on the verge, straddling two worlds and what I see at the blue hour would make your hair curl.
The blue hour is a liminal state of time where the sun is below the horizon and its light takes on a blue shade. It's neither day nor night and that's why I'm drawn to it.
It's a time prone to hauntings when I see ghosts, apparitions of people neither alive nor dead―people like me, with a foot in two worlds.
My cell buzzes and ends my musing. I pick up to Kate Harrigan, my friend and colleague.
"Hey, Si―you need to come and pick up your dog―I've got an open-house today."
"C'mon Kate, don't call her that―her name's Mollie―she's sensitive."
She softens, "I know, I'm being a brat because I'm under pressure. I love having her, you know that."
I'm smiling, picturing her guilty face. "I know you love her. I'll be over in a half hour and bring coffee."
"And danishes too," she adds, "and maybe bagels or croissants." I can tell she's hyperventilating.
"Keep calm and carry on," I deadpan, "I'll be there before you know it."
I grab my keys and head for the SUV. It's a hair-on-fire moment for Kate and she needs me to support her. That's why I lend her Mollie for emotional support―well that, and because she likes girl time.
Mollie's a diva and being with me all the time is boring, but Kate spoils her and feeds her liver treats and basically undoes all my training by letting her run roughshod for the time she's with her.
Mind you, I miss Mollie too―she's sensitive and sees parts of reality I don't, and I don't do well when I'm alone without her. It's a long story but I'm not even sure Mollie's from this realm.
I found her when she was a pup on the Bruce Trail near my house. Someone abandoned her. That place where I found her at twilight was a kind of portal and I think she somehow crossed over from another time entirely, way back in the ancient world when people lived in caves and hunted for survival.
I could explain more, but right now, Kate seems desperate.
I grab takeout coffee, danishes, bagels and croissants from Tim Hortons. Kate's never going to eat it all―she's just feeling empty and needs something to fill it.
She'll eat the danish and the rest I'll put in plastic bags and store in her freezer. She's always there for me and today I'm there for her.
I head to Kate's place but even before I'm out of the SUV, Mollie's got two paws on the driver's door and when I open, love bombs me, burying her head in my arms and then licking my ears.
Sometimes at night when I'm in that other world, she senses it and nudges me awake. As I said, she sees things I don't, things beyond my ken and protects me.
"How do I look?" Kate asks when I come in through the mud room.
"Like a million bucks," I say, and she rolls her eyes at the lame cliche. But I'll tell you how she does look―she hurts my eyes with her beauty. I can't tell her that, but I want to because she doesn't know how truly lovely she really is.
Everything about her is understated. She spells her name in small letters. I just wish I could make her see, but then, she does the same for me and that's why we're friends.
"You're going to be at that house all day until 8 tonight?" I ask, incredulous at the prospect.
"The seller's desperate and if I don't get some action, he may go with another agent."
"You want me to drop by later and check in?"
She puts down her coffee and smiles at me affectionately, "That's really sweet, Si, but I'm a big girl―I can take care of myself."
"Don't doubt it for a minute," I reassure her, "just offering."
She shakes her head. "Can you lock up the place for me? I'm running behind. Sorry I can't chat."
"I can handle that―you get going. Give me a call if you're bored."
She waves off my concern, but I know she likes it. She knows I've got her back―no doubt about it.
Kate reminds me of Psyche in Greek mythology―she's a mortal too beautiful to be human but not quite a goddess. She's a liminal person too and like me, caught between two worlds.
She's not the girl in my dreams, but I do love her―I just don't sleep with her, but I wake up to her, like I did this morning.