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  A Fortunate Mistake

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  A Fortunate Mistake

  Dara Girard

  Published by ILORI PRESS BOOKS LLC

  www.iloripressbooks.com

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written consent of the copyright holder.

  A Fortunate Mistake

  ***

  The phone call shattered a beautiful crying fit at 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve. Marina Durosomo had gone through an entire box of tissues and blown her nose until it hurt and her red rimmed eyes were dry when the piercing of the phone invaded her quiet apartment. She wanted to ignore it, to continue to drown in her misery and the stinging critique of her now closed bakery that continued to torment her, but the insistent ringing wouldn't stop. Who could be calling her now? She didn't want to hear more bad news. She reluctantly reached for the phone, slow enough to hope that by the time she picked up, the person on the other end would hang up.

  "Hello?" she said.

  "Did I wake you?"

  Marina wiped her eyes, recognizing her mother's voice. She was good at asking questions that didn't need an answer. If she said 'yes', her mother would apologize but not really mean it. If she said 'no', her mother would ask what was wrong and she didn't want to tell her. "I'm fine."

  "You sound like you're coming down with a cold."

  "I'm fine," she repeated, tossing her empty box of tissues into the recycling bin.

  "You don't sound--"

  "Mom, what's wrong?"

  "I need you to pick up Aunty Helen."

  "Aunty who?"

  "That's her English name. You won't remember her real one. Besides, you don't know her. She's the mother of a good friend of ours."

  Because her mother had about twenty 'good friends' Marina didn't even try to make the connection. It wasn't unusual to have unexpected visitors arrive from Nigeria. They treated their family like a taxi and hotel service, but her mother and father were steeped in the tradition of hospitality and didn't want anything negative said about them back home, even though an ocean separated them. "Okay when will she be here?"

  "She's arriving at four-thirty."

  "This morning?"

  "Yes, why else would I be calling you now? You have an hour and a half to get ready and be over there."

  Her mother made it sound so sensible. "Why me?"

  "She's coming in at BWI. You're closer to the airport and I have to go to work."

  "I work too."

  Her mother's responding silence was eloquent. She used to work. She used to have a business she was proud of, but that was all over now. All because of a major recession and a business partner who'd embezzled her funds and disappeared. But no, the truth was her business hadn't failed. She had. There were other bakeries that were flourishing, but the critique had shown a light on all her fears. She just wasn't good enough. Her mother had told her the bakery was a foolish dream, that she should have tried for something more sensible. Her mother would never say 'I told you so', but she didn't have to. Now she would be chauffer to some stranger. This was her punishment. She hated the holidays. Every year they seemed to show her how far she was from the life she wanted. It highlighted another year of grasping for something out of reach.

  "What's her flight number?" Marina asked to fill the silence and resigned to her fate.

  Her mother told her.

  "Can't Wale go?"

  "I can't reach him. Hurry, I don't want her waiting there alone. And this will be good for you."

  "Good?"

  "Yes, to get out of your apartment."

  "Mom, I don't need to hear this right now. I just want to sleep."

  "You can sleep all you want after you pick her up and settle her in your place."

  "My place?"

  "Yes, we'll come and get her in the evening."

  Marina looked around her messy apartment--the carpet needed a good vacuum, she could spell her name in the dust. After her career imploded she hadn't cared about her surroundings. She didn't want a guest, she didn't want to pretend to celebrate the holidays, she wanted to disappear, but she didn't have a choice.

  "What does she look like?" Marina asked opening her closet.

  "She's tiny."

  Marina waited. When her mother didn't elaborate she rolled her eyes and sighed. "That's all? A tiny black woman?"

  "You'll find her," her mother said with impatience. "She'll be looking for you and you will find each other. You're smart." She hung up.

  Marina scowled at the phone then disconnected.

  At times she hated being a diligent daughter. She wanted to say "Let her wait." Why did this Aunty, what-was-her-name--Helga? Hettie?--have to wait until now to let them know she was arriving? So inconsiderate. She could have called them when she changed flights in Amsterdam. But Marina had learned to keep her thoughts to herself. She had no husband or children to hide behind and now she couldn't even say she had a business to run. She had no life, so she had to do as she was told.

  2

  Marina stood in the baggage claim area of Baltimore Washington International feeling like a farmer trying to find a particular blade of grass in a field. Although it wasn't as crowded as a midmorning or late afternoon flight, there were still enough people to get lost in. Marina shoved her hands in her gray wool coat and rocked on her heels. She still couldn't remember the blasted woman's name--Herma? Hilda? Helen? Yes, that was it Helen! But recalling her name was just a small victory. She had no idea how she was supposed to find this woman. Aunty Helen a woman she'd never heard of who was the grandmother of some friend's mother.

  Marina was about to give up hope and call her mother when she saw a small woman standing near the wall with a large bag. She wore a brightly colored headwrap in a pattern she'd never seen before and a well tailored dress that matched. The woman looked composed, as if standing for a portrait--her eighty some years had been kind to her. She had a certain glow that drew Marina to her. She seemed out of place. That had to be her.

  Marina made her way over to the woman, confident she'd found the elusive Aunty Helen. Although she wasn't the only one in regional clothes, she was the only one not properly dressed for the cold December weather. At least others sported long coats or gloves, but she only wore her dress, as if she expected to step out into a nice ninety degree sun.

  Marina stopped in front of her and smiled."Aunty Helen?"

  The woman smiled and her face seemed to glow.

  Marina glanced down at her one bag surprised. She'd never picked up someone with so little luggage. "Is that all that you have? Do you need me to help you get the rest?"

  She continued to smile.

  Marina inwardly groaned. "Please tell me you speak English."

  Her smile grew wider.

  She softly swore. Why hadn't her mother told her she didn't speak English? That was rare, but the woman looked past eighty so maybe she hadn't had a chance to learn. Unfortunately, her Yoruba wasn't good. She understood it better than speaking it.

  In broken Yoruba she attempted to talk to her. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at this. One?" She held up one finger. "Bag?" She pointed to the bag.

  The woman blinked and continued to smile.

  Marina glanced in the direction of the baggage area and saw that it was empty. "I'm just going to take that as a yes." She turned back to the woman. Things were starting to become a little eerie. She had the bright, trusting nature of a child."Do you have anything warm in there?" She pointed to the bag again.

  The woman blinked, but her smile faltered.

  Mari
na pointed outside then hugged herself and shivered. "Cold. You'll be cold. You need something warm." She pointed to the bag again then took the strap. "Can I see?"

  The woman released her grip confused.

  Marina kneeled and opened the bag. "Please tell me someone had the sense to pack a sweater for you." But she didn't see anything that would be warm enough. Unfortunately, the airport stores were closed. She took off her coat. She had a knit sweater underneath. "You'll have to wear this," she said wrapping it around the woman.

  Her bright smile returned and she patted Marina on the cheek. Her hand was remarkably soft and gentle.

  The kind gesture made Marina feel like crying all over again. At least someone felt that she was doing something right. Even if it was as simple as keeping them warm. "You're welcome," she said in a brusque tone. She stood. "Come on."

  3

  Aunty Helen didn't say anything on the drive to Marina's apartment. She stared out at the dark, chilly morning, looking at the bright lights of the highway and the large buildings looming on both sides of the highway. Close to her apartment, Marina stopped at an all-night grocery store and bought another box of tissues and a pair of wool gloves.

  When she got back into the car, she rubbed her hands together. "Warm enough?"

  Aunty Helen just blinked.

  Marina put the gloves in her lap. "You'll need these." She put them on her. "Better?" she said, not expecting a reply and not getting one. Instead Aunty Helen held up her hands, flexed her fingers and smiled.

  At home, Marina put Aunty Helen's bag in the hall. She wasn't tired and her guest didn't look so either. Marina mimed holding a bowl and spoon and pretended to eat. "Hungry?" she asked.

  Aunty Helen blinked.

  She mimed drinking. "Or thirsty?"

  The woman blinked again.

  Marina sighed. "I'll just give you something okay? And then you can rest on the couch until my mother picks you up and I don't know why I keep talking to you when you don't know what I'm saying."

  She put on the kettle for tea then quickly put together a meal of peanut soup she'd recently gotten from her mother.

  The woman delve into the meal and again patted her on the cheek, but this time Marina didn't feel like crying. She felt glad she'd been able to make the woman happy. She was clearing up her living room couch to give her a place to nap when her phone rang. She checked the number and sighed when she saw her brother, Wale's, number. "What do you want?"

  "To warn you. Mom's upset. You're in big trouble," he said in Yoruba.

  "I'm always in trouble," she said in kind.

  He laughed then said in English. "Your Yoruba still sucks."

  "Shut up, it's not too late for me to give you a lump of coal," she said then hung up the phone, wondering why her brother felt like teasing her. And what could her mother be upset about now? A moment later, her phone rang again. She was about to say something rude when she recognized the number.

  "Hi Mom."

  "Why didn't you pick up Aunty Helen?" she demanded.

  "What do you mean? I did." She looked at the woman sitting in her kitchen. "She's right here. You could have told me that she didn't speak English."

  "What are you going on about? She speaks perfect English. She has a degree from Oxford."

  Marina rolled her eyes, not caring where the woman received her degree, though her mother did. She was about to ask why that mattered when her mother continued.

  "She just called. Your brother had to go get her."

  Marina felt her stomach drop. "That doesn't make any sense. I have Aunty Helen right here. She's eating in my kitchen."

  "Oh my god. What have you done?"

  Marina's heart started to race and her breathing became shallow. Had she failed again? How could that be? "I did what you told me to. I picked up a woman matching Aunty Helen's vague description. I even asked her her name." Marina paused remembering the incident. She hadn't really asked her name. She'd just said "Aunty Helen?' and the woman smiled and she assumed it was her. "Wait a moment." She ran into the kitchen where the woman was cleaning up her soup with a warm slice of bread. Aunty Helen?"

  The woman looked up and smiled.

  "You are Aunty Helen?" Marina repeated to make sure.

  She continued to smile.

  Could she have the same name as the other woman?

  "Mom, she seems fine."

  "Describe her to me."

  "She's small and about eighty something. She didn't have the proper clothes for the weather and had only one bag."

  "Aunty Helen isn't over sixty."

  "Why didn't you tell me that before? You said she was the grandmother of one of your friends."

  "Not all of my friends are my age. You know that. You should have been more careful. Why are you getting irritated with me? You're the one who picked up the wrong woman. If she were an old woman I would have said Big Mummy not Aunty. Why don't you pay attention to these things? And you should have known I wouldn't send you to pick up someone who doesn't speak English."

  Marina rubbed her forehead. Listening to her mother's criticism but only hearing 'you're a failure, you're a failure, you can't do anything right.' "I don't believe this."

  "Give her the phone."

  Marina held out the phone to her. "Aunty--uh Big Mummy--my mother wants to talk."

  The woman nodded and took the phone. She responded with quick fast replies. Her voice was soft and deep, oddly soothing, but Marina couldn't decipher the meaning. The old woman then handed the phone back.

  "Why didn't you give her the phone?" her mother demanded when Marina returned to the phone.

  Marina squeezed her eyes shut. "What are you talking about? I just did."

  "Is she deaf?"

  "No. She spoke to you. I heard her. She didn't answer much, but she did speak. I didn't understand her though. It didn't sound like Yoruba. She spoke, but I didn't understand her."

  Her mother paused. "You see her? Is she still there?"

  "Yes. Where else would she be?"

  "Oh no," her mother said in a frightened tone. "I've heard of this but..."

  "What?"

  "My dear are you sure you're feeling okay? Have you been eating and sleeping properly?"

  "Yes, I'm not crazy."

  "Lack of sleep can cause hallucinations."

  "I'm not hallucinating."

  "Or it could be something worse."

  "Like what?"

  "You picked up a or bloody hell what's the English name for it? I'm not sure they have one exactly. Oh yes...witch."

  Don't be daft, she wanted to say, but bit her lip. Her parents believed in both traditional and native religions. "She's not a--I just made a mistake."

  "Maybe you should just go back to sleep. If she's still there then get rid of her as fast as you can. Take her to the police and be careful."

  4

  Marina took her new arrival to the police station. "I could really use your help," she said to the clerk at the front desk, a woman with finely shaped brows and fading lipstick. "I have an older woman here who's lost. She doesn't seem to speak English and I don't know where to put her."

  "Okay. Where is she?"

  Marina turned and nodded at the woman, whose feet barely reached the ground. "She's sitting right there."

  The clerk looked in the direction Marina gestured to and frowned. "Where?"

  "Right there," she pointed, not understanding the other woman's confusion since there was no one else there."The woman right there."

  "What woman?" the clerk said suddenly cautious, licking the rest of her faded lipstick from her mouth.

  Marina turned and saw the older woman flash a strange smile. "You don't see her?"

  "Do you need somewhere to stay?"

  "No, I'm fine."

  "Have you been drinking?"

  "No."

  "Taking anything?"

  "I'm perfectly lucid." At least I think so. Her mother's suggestion was playing with her thoughts. It couldn't be. How
could she have picked up a witch? They didn't exist. Not like this. They weren't invisible. Then why couldn't anyone else see or hear her?

  She turned to the woman. "Why are you doing this to me? At least say something."

  Her smile remained.

  "What have I done wrong to deserve this?"

  The clerk cleared her throat. "Why don't you just take a seat? I'll get someone to help you."

  Marina spun around and glared at her. "I'm not crazy."

  "Of course you're not," the clerk said in an indulgent tone.

  Marina was about to take umbrage with her tone when a man came from around the corner. He looked as if he'd had a worse night than she'd had. He hadn't shaved in a while and his tie had the crooked look of a man who just didn't care. If Marina had been in the mood she would have noticed that he was good looking, in a rugged way, but she just didn't care. She wanted to get rid of the old woman and go back to sleep. Or wake up from this nightmare, whichever was faster.

  "Idris what's the name of the local shelter?" the clerk asked.

  "It's going to be pretty full," he said. "What's that other lady here for?"

  The clerk stared at him stunned.

  Marina jumped with joy, wanting to grab his sleeve but refraining. She wasn't imagining things. "You see her too?"

  He sent her an odd look. "Of course I see her. She's sitting right there. How could I miss her?"

  The clerk shook her head. "Idris you've had a long night."

  "I know."

  "There's no one there."

  "Maybe you need a rest. It's two to one."

  "There's one way to decide this." The clerk took out her phone and took a picture. Then she grinned with triumph. "I'm right." She turned the image to them. They saw the wall and an empty chair.

  Marina turned to the woman then the image on the tiny screen. "I don't believe this."

  "There's something wrong with your camera," Idris said.

  The clerk took the phone and tucked it away. "It's Christmas Eve and it's a crazy night, weird things happen. I think you two should just go home. "

  The older woman leaped to her feet. "Yes, it's time," she said in perfect English. Then she grabbed Marina's hand and Idris's.