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“I’ll take some milk, if you have it.”
“We’ll use half-and-half. It has a fuller flavor.”
An old Kit-Cat Klock hangs on the wall, grinning mischievously, its tail swishing back and forth. Mitzi plugs an ancient Mr. Coffee machine into the wall and fills its reservoir with water. “How’s everything next door? You like the job?”
“It’s good.”
“Those parents must drive you crazy.”
“They’re fine.”
“I don’t know why that woman works, if we’re being honest. I’m sure the husband makes plenty. And you know the VA hospital doesn’t pay squat. So why not stay home? Who is she trying to impress?”
“Maybe—”
“Some women don’t want to be mothers, in my opinion. They want children, they want cute pictures to put on Facebook. But do they want the actual experience of mothering?”
“Well—”
“I’ll tell you one thing: The boy is adorable. I could gobble him up. I would babysit him for nothing, if they’d asked me nicely, if they just showed me a little common courtesy. But that’s the problem with Millenniums! They don’t have any values!”
She keeps talking while we wait for the coffee, sharing her frustrations about Whole Foods Market (overpriced), #metoo victims (whiny and entitled), and daylight saving time (never mentioned anywhere in the Constitution). I start to wonder if coming here was a mistake. I need to talk to someone, and I’m not sure if Mitzi is much of a listener. I’m developing a theory about Teddy’s drawings but I don’t want to worry Russell and I definitely can’t tell the Maxwells; they’re such devout atheists, I know they’ll never consider my ideas. Mitzi is my last best hope.
“Can you tell me more about Annie Barrett?”
This stops her short.
“Why are you asking?”
“I’m just curious.”
“No, Princess, that’s a very specific question. And forgive me for saying this but you don’t look so hot.”
I make Mitzi promise not to say anything—especially to the Maxwells—then I place Teddy’s latest artwork on the table.
“Teddy’s drawing some unusual pictures. He says he’s getting these ideas from his imaginary friend. Her name is Anya, and she visits him in his bedroom, when no one else is around.”
Mitzi examines the drawings and a shadow falls over her face. “So why are you asking about Annie Barrett?”
“Well, it’s just that the names are so similar. Anya and Annie. I know it’s normal for children to have imaginary friends. Lots of kids do. But Teddy says Anya told him to draw these pictures. A man dragging a woman through a forest. A man burying a woman’s body. And then Anya told Teddy to give these pictures to me.”
A silence settles over the kitchen—the longest silence I’ve yet experienced in Mitzi’s presence. All I can hear is Mr. Coffee gurgling and the steady swish-swish-swish of the Kit-Cat’s tail. Mitzi studies the illustrations carefully—almost like she’s trying to see through the illustrations, past the pencil marks and into the fibers of the paper. I’m not sure she fully understands what I’m driving at, so I spell it out for her:
“I know this sounds crazy, but I guess I’m wondering if Anya’s spirit is somehow bound to the property. If she’s trying to communicate using Teddy.”
Mitzi stands up, goes over to the coffeepot, and fills two mugs. With trembling hands, she carries the mugs back to the table. I pour in some cream and take a sip and it is the strongest, most bitter coffee I’ve ever tasted. But I drink it, anyway. I don’t want to insult her. I’m desperate for someone to listen to my theory and tell me I’m not crazy.
“I’ve done some reading about this,” Mitzi finally says. “Historically, children have always been more receptive to the spirit community. A child’s mind doesn’t have all the barriers we adults put up.”
“So—it’s possible?”
“Depends. Have you mentioned anything to his parents?”
“They’re atheists. They think—”
“Oh, I know, they think they’re smarter than everyone else.”
“I want to do more research before I sit down with them. Try to connect the dots. Maybe something in these pictures overlaps with Annie Barrett’s story.” I lean across the table, talking faster. Already I can feel the caffeine waking up my central nervous system. My thoughts are sharper, my pulse is quickening. I’m no longer bothered by the bitter taste and I take another sip. “According to Teddy, the man in these drawings stole Anya’s little girl. Do you know if Annie had any children?”
