Unseen

           Lila stared at the Dutch apple pancake deflating in the skillet. The front door slammed as a small hiss of air escaped from her culinary masterpiece.

           This morning she’d made a point of getting up early enough to make her specialty. But it wasn’t enough. The kids had emerged from their grottoes and followed their father out the door without a glance at her. She’d hoped their favorite might have coaxed them into forgiving her craziness. But no, they were in high school now. She suspected they wouldn’t have forgiven her even if she had been the perfect mom. And her husband, Thomas? Lila struggled to remember why they weren’t speaking this time. Oh, yeah. It was because he ignored her.

           Lila closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She couldn’t afford to let her blood pressure go up. The neurologist had warned her about this after the last mini stroke. She should have died then, she thought, dumping the pancake in the trash. Lila then began scrubbing the skillet with vigor.

           She spent the next hour tidying up even though she knew everything would wind up back where it was. Lila stopped in front of the bay window, hugging herself. She could barely see her reflection in the glass, overlying the sunny yard outside. The yard beckoned and she walked to the front door then froze, fear rising in her chest. She’d been like this for months. Ever since the last stroke. Agoraphobia, the doctor said.

           “I can’t take it anymore!” she yelled then stomped back into the kitchen. Maybe she should try the car again.

           As Lila rummaged around in the bowl of odds and ends on the counter for her keys, the glint of a knife caught her eye. No, not yet. She wasn’t ready to test that theory.

           The garage door slid up on squeaky hinges, letting in shafts of light. One of the boys had left his soccer gear on her car, which was surprisingly dusty. She’d have to take it to the carwash again—

           Lila sucked in a deep breath. It was always like this. She’d be going about her life and then she’d remember the oddness. No! I will NOT think about it!

           She hopped in the car and inserted the key. Please, start. Please, please, please! Holding her breath, she turned the key. This time, it didn’t even turn over.

           She pounded the steering wheel with her fists. Days of pent-up frustration poured out of her in streams of tears. She stopped only when her hands throbbed. Lila had hoped driving would circumvent the panic that enfolded her whenever she tried to leave.

           She looked up at her blurred reflection in the rearview mirror. Enough was enough. Today she would walk right out into that sunshine. She stepped out of the car, marched to the front of the garage, turned aside, and picked up the sports gear instead. Just going to put this away, she thought, humming to herself. When she reached the bin, she threw the stuff into it, then flung herself sideways, out into the oblong of sun on the concrete.

           Stars exploded behind her eyelids and her entire body ached as she hit the ground. Lila lay there feeling the sun on her skin. No doubt the neighbors would think she was weird.

           Well, they already think I’m crazy, Lila thought. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself up, turning to the side, dry heaving a bit. She stayed like that, wobbling on her hands and knees, battling the panic, scared she'd pass out any second.

           She blinked in the harsh sun. Once she could stand, she limped over to a tree and looked back at the house. Lila looked up and down the street. Now where to? She felt wavering threads of fear knotting together in her stomach. Not that again. She began walking. She had to keep moving.

           Soon, Lila found herself at the park they used to frequent when the boys were kids. She meandered over to the swings and sat down. What now?

           The sun was bearable, but the shadows, darker under a nearby cluster of trees, began to unnerve her. Every time she gazed into their depths, her skin prickled. As if something were watching her. Lila shivered and got up, exiting the park from the other side, nearest the road.

           She wandered for hours until she found herself in front of a small corner market. She rarely came here, preferring the upscale supermarket near the boys’ high school.

           Lila pushed the door and went in. An elderly man sat at the register on a high stool, tapping his fingers on the counter. When he cleared his throat, she stopped, expecting a greeting but he said nothing. His gaze slid past her to a clock on the wall.

           Apparently, she was invisible here, too. Lila began wandering up and down the aisles examining one thing after another. She heard strains of opera coming from the back. A faint whiff of delicious food permeated the air. It was peaceful just being here. Away from home.

           The peace broke with a harsh jangling as a teenage boy burst through the door, rushing past her into the back.

           “I’m sorry, Yayo! I missed the bus. Band went over and…” The teenager’s speech muffled as he went further into the back though he kept talking. Lila suppressed a smile when the man at the counter rolled his eyes. This boy was about the age of Evan, her oldest. Evan, who was likely trudging up the stairs at home right now, making a colossal mess as he shed his things on the way.

           The boy returned, flashing a smile at them while tying on an apron.

           “I’m going to Tito’s. I’ll be back in an hour,” the old man said, shuffling out from behind the counter. “Restock the coolers, Mariano. All of them this time, eh?”

           “Yes, Yayo,” Mariano nodded, put his phone on the counter, and began searching for a place to plug it in.

           Lila, gazing past the departing Yayo, shivered at the lengthening shadows outside. Overcome by a sudden urge to get home before darkness fell, she slipped of her stool and out the door. The boy at the counter, absorbed in his phone, didn’t move a muscle as the door shut behind her.

           The next morning, Lila stretched and prepared herself for another day of tedium. Then she sat up, remembering. A toilet flushed in their bathroom.

           “Thomas? Guess what? I went outside yesterday. I walked to the park, the one we used to take the kids to, remember? Then I stopped at the bodega on the corner of Fifth and Hearst." She stopped, waiting for a response. “Thomas, did you hear me?”

           The sound of the shower killed the words on her lips. She would not get upset. Today, she’d make cinnamon monkey bread. Extra gooey. Lila jumped out of bed, dressed, and then poked her head in Evan and Jorge’s rooms, yelling, “Get up, sleepyheads!” as their alarms went off. Grumbling followed her down the stairs.

           An hour later, Lila was humming while she peeked in the oven. She heard Thomas’ heavy tread coming downstairs and turned to watch him. The bags under his eyes, the lines etched deeper around his eyes. His unruly hair which had grayed so much, though it still spiked up in a cute way. Lila sighed. She couldn’t even remember what they’d been fighting about.     “Hey, honey, I’m making--"

           “Hurry up, boys! You’re late!” he yelled back up the stairs, cutting her off.

           Lila huffed and returned to the kitchen, throwing the mitt from her hand onto the counter. Why did she even bother!

           Two pairs of feet cavalcaded down the stairs in a mad rush just as she opened the oven.

           “Hey, be careful, Jorge!” she said, avoiding hitting him with the bundt pan. He grabbed a juice from the fridge and spun back into the hallway in silence.

           “Guys, wait! I made breakfast!” she said, running after him. The door slammed shut before she could reach it.

           Lila walked back into the kitchen, sat down and put her head in her hands. The cinnamon monkey bread turned out onto her best platter sat on the table in front of her, steam rising in a shaft of golden light. It smelled heavenly. Her shoulders heaved, silent sobs engulfing her until her breath grew ragged. Nothing she did mattered. Nothing.

           Lila wiped her nose on a kitchen towel and glanced at the table. She jumped up, finding this picture of domestic tranquility utterly false and shoved the platter off the table. The jug of milk, glasses, plates, and cutlery all followed it. Lila stood there, shaking.

           In the silence she could hear the eternal ticking of his grandmother’s monstrosity of a clock. It drove her nuts. It had always driven her nuts. “Well, no more!” she said, walking into the hallway and shoving it over. Glass tinkled sharply and wood cracked with a very permanent sound.

           When Lila returned to the kitchen, she surveyed the mess on the floor and frowned. She still couldn’t understand what was happening. Nothing she did lasted. Even insane things, like when she set the kitchen on fire last week.

           By the time her family got home, it would all be miraculously restored to exactly the way it was when they left. As if she’d never been there.

           Lila grabbed the now spotless bundt pan and put it back in the cupboard, more from habit than anything. The ticking of the hated inheritance came from the hallway again. At least it made a fantastic clanging noise when it fell. That’s when she remembered that she could leave. So she did.

           A few weeks later, Lila was sitting on a bench in front of the corner market, enjoying a cappuccino. This was her new routine. Leave the house. Walk to the bodega. Make coffee. Get home before dark. It hadn’t been easy, getting rid of the fear that assaulted her every time she left, but she managed.

           Lila looked down at her hands, noticing how normal they looked despite everything. She quelled the inevitable nerves that came with thinking about such things. It was easier here in the bright sunlight, away from home.

           She was dead. It was the only explanation. Her inability to do anything permanent. To use electronics. Her invisibility.

           A tear slid down her face. She was lonely. Her sparse Catholic upbringing hadn’t prepared her for this limbo or whatever it was.

           Lila jumped up, startled. Without meaning to, she’d been staring at the trees in the park down the street. The one she now avoided on her daily walks. Someone was there, in the shadows, staring back at her. A barely visible shape, slightly darker than its surroundings.

           A prickle of fear ran down her spine and she retreated into the market. Several minutes of walking back and forth calmed her. She had plenty of time before dusk. In the meantime, she listened to Yayo and his wife’s good-natured argument. She watched the great grandbaby play when Mariano’s sister visited. And she enjoyed looking over Mariano’s shoulder while he watched movies on the phone he wasn’t supposed to have at the register.

           Today, he was watching Romancing the Stone. An old favorite of hers. She was laughing, enjoying the movie, when she realized Mariano was staring at her. She straightened up and stepped backwards. His eyes followed her.

           “Can you see me?” Lila asked. Mariano nodded his head up and down.

           “You can hear me?” she whispered. He nodded again.

           Lila stood there, quite unable to speak. Then she blushed, embarrassed, and asked, “How long have you been watching me?”

           He shrugged. “Every day, I see you come in here, but you don’t buy anything. So I decided to pay attention. The door never opens when you come and go and one day it occurred to me that you aren’t…like the rest of us,” Mariano said.

           “What do you mean? I use the door every time…,” Lila said, then stopped. It never did jingle when she came and went.

           “Are you a ghost?” he asked, his fingers playing with the crucifix around his neck.

           “I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m not bad.”

           They stared at each other.

           “Pinch me,” she said, putting her arm down on the counter in front of him.

           He tried then shrugged. “I can’t. I can see your arm, but there isn’t anything to pinch.”

           Lila frowned. “Have you ever seen anyone else? Like me?”

           “No,” he answered. They looked at each other, silent. Mariano picked up his phone. “You want to finish the movie?”

           “Sure. It’s a good one, right?” she asked, with a tiny smile.

           “Yeah,” he said, smiling back.

           Over the next several weeks, Lila and Mariano bonded over movies and mutual boredom. Lila suspected she still made him nervous, and she didn’t want to wear out her welcome, so she skipped a day here and there.

           One blustery spring day, Lila found Mariano looking for her. He brimmed with excitement but had to wait until Yayo left for Tito’s before he could share his news.

           “Lila, I did some research on the internet. And I talked to a friend of my grandmother’s, too. A brujeria. You don’t have to stay. There’s a way out,” he said.

           “What?” Lila asked, breathless. “How?”

           “Find a house of Worship. Church, temple, mosque. Anything dedicated to God.”

           Why had she never thought of going to church? Not even once? She looked at Mariano, and asked, “And then what?”

           “Messengers of the light often hang out in holy places. Ask them and they’ll help you. The brujeria agreed.”

           “I just go up to one of these messengers and ask for help. That’s it?” Lila stepped back. It seemed too easy. “This friend of your grandmother’s, she’s, um, a good witch, right?”

           “Oh, yes. Don’t worry. The messengers are angels. But there is one thing,” Mariano said.

           “What?” she answered.

           “She said you should stay out of the shadows,” he said. “I don’t know why.”

           Lila had gone a few shades paler. “I’m pretty sure I do.”

           The next week, Lila found herself standing at the bottom of the attic stairs which led to Evan’s bedroom. Someone was up there. But Thomas and the boys were on spring break. Lila chewed her lip. Could it be one of his friends? Thomas would never have allowed that.

           And the attic was full of shadows. She had dreaded them even before the warning from Mariano’s wise woman. Lila turned and left it for another day. Or never, she thought. She could see what lurked in the shadows now.

           Mid-morning, Lila headed towards the market. Mariano wouldn’t get there till late, but she could sit outside. On the way, she took a detour past Saint Borromeo’s Cathedral.

           The shining figure on the roof was still there. It smiled at her, stretching its wings and her heart filled with joy. Lila waved, then turned with difficulty and continued on her way. The kid had been right. But was she being stupid?  

           What if, one day, the shining figure was gone? But she couldn’t leave yet. There was something she still had to do. Someone she had to help.

           When she arrived at the market, she was surprised to see Mariano sitting at the counter, shredding a piece of paper. His phone was nowhere in sight. Her maternal instincts kicked in immediately. “Mariano, what’s wrong?”

           He looked up, his eyes teary. “They let us out early. One of my classmates died.”

           “That's awful! What happened?”

           “Car accident. His family was coming back from skiing and skidded off the mountain.”

           “I’m so sorry to hear that. Was he a good friend of yours?”

           “No. But I knew him. We were in a few classes together. I just saw him last week. His family had such a bad year, you know? First, his mother died of an aneurysm. And now he’s gone. It doesn’t seem fair. Evan was a really good guy and—”

           Lila’s breath caught in her throat. “Evan? Did you say Evan?”

           “Yeah. Evan Walsh. Do you know him?”

           Lila clutched the counter, unable to breathe, her heart in a vice. A million thoughts tumbled through her brain. Mariano’s voice came from far away asking if she was alright.

           “No, no, no! This cannot be,” she mumbled over and over, her mind spinning. Then through the haze, a light. A thought formed, took hold and clarity filled her.

           Lila stood up and looked at Mariano. “It’s ok. Evan is my son. He's going to be ok.”

           Mariano looked at her, speechless.

           “It’s ok,” she said, patting his hand, though he couldn’t feel it. “It really is. This is why I stayed.” She smiled at him. “Thank you, Mariano. Thank you for being my friend in a world that was dead to me. Goodbye and good luck. May your life always be blessed.”

           “Goodbye, Ms. Lila,” Mariano replied.

           As she sprinted home, Lila thought of something and veered towards Saint Borromeo’s Cathedral. The shining figure had moved to the front steps. She stopped, caught her breath then yelled towards it, “I’ll be right back. Please, wait.”

           The figure smiled beatifically and nodded.

           With that assurance, Lila ran home, flew up the stairs and came to an abrupt stop at the attic door. What if she was wrong?

           She stretched out her hand and turned the knob, whispering, “Evan?” Silence greeted her. She stepped further into the room. “Evan?”

           Then she heard a voice from the bed and her heart both broke and soared at once:

           “Mom?”