Prelude

With the exception of a gentle hissing sound generated by the surf, the beachfront was quiet. Not a single individual could be seen in either direction. Inside her home, Tracy was doing sit ups in the living room, trying to maintain the good physical conditioning she had worked so hard at before the accident. Liszt’s Spanish Rhapsody played softly through the stereo system.

It had been three weeks since Tracy returned from New York after her contractual agreement with Gilhorn Press was completed. Still slightly lightheaded from such an intoxicating experience, she felt as though the whole business of becoming a published writer was something akin to the arrival of a butterfly after a simple uninspiring little caterpillar morphs into a beautiful winged creature within a few transitional moments, lifting itself into the air, free of its former constraining, earthly bonds.

Then there was Franco. Mr. de Grasse. How was she going to handle the emotional turmoil that had been escalating since encountering the first man to ever stir anything within her other than professional interest? They had spoken by phone several times. All business. Yet, intuitively, Tracy felt the attraction was mutual if not openly expressed. Naturally there were, as expected, solid reservations. This was a completely new experience, and might she not be reading into it more than was actually there? Concentrating as best she could on her workout, she was able to assuage the situation somewhat, although she did rather enjoy her newfound feelings and despite the anxiety it created, she let her thoughts have total freedom to roam where they would.

She was beginning to break a sweat, straining to raise her torso from the floor, hands locked behind her head to touch elbows alternately to the left, then the right knee, which was still partially under in a cast that enclosed the lower portion of the leg. Her cane leaned against a nearby wicker basket.

“Say, I am really impressed.” The voice of Brogan had the effect of a gunshot. Tracy’s body jerked as though electrified. She let out a shrill cry. She took in as much of the room as possible but did not attempt to turn. She leaned back, her hands on the floor behind her. She would have screamed out in anger and frustration except she was so happy hearing his voice again. As calmly as she could manage she said, “So, you decided to come back.”

“Did you miss me?”

“You know, it wasn’t very nice of you to go away without saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry, but it would not have been the same anymore. You wouldn’t have understood.”

“Really? And you think I understand now?” She turned her head in both directions. “Would you mind coming around here where I can see you?”

There was no response. Tracy mumbled and reached for her cane. With its help she got to her feet. She gave the room the once over. There was no one else there. “Oh, come on, Brogan . . . stop with the games. Brogan?” “I’m still here, Tracy.” Tracy felt a chill run up her arms. “Don’t do this young man. I am not in the mood for any shenanigans. Where are you hiding?” “I’m right here. You just can’t see me.” Tracy made her way to the couch. “Okay, I’m prepared for anything after what I’ve been through these past few months. I am beyond being surprised. You say that seeing you wouldn’t be the same anymore, right? Maybe you’d like to explain that, huh fella?” “There’s no reason for our relationship any longer.” “Oh? Well, sorry, I don’t find that much of an answer.” “Tracy, I’ll be going in a few minutes . . . I can’t stay.” Tracy stared at the ceiling. “You know, you’ve played games with my life for some time now, and I will be eternally grateful for what you did for me, and the great times we had. You changed my life, and I know you know that. I wish I knew why and what for, but maybe it’s not something I need to understand. If there was a need to know, you would have told me, right?” Brogan did not answer. Tracy slumped. “Okay, Brogan, I hate talking to somebody I can’t see.” “I’m sorry.” “Yeah, sure. You come into my life, and for whatever incomprehensible reason you totally manipulate me.” She pats her stomach. “Look at this! I’m in better shape than I’ve ever been in my whole life. Plus, I’m going to sell a zillion kids’ books and probably end up rich and famous. On top of that I’m in a pleasantly confused state of happiness, and you know what? It’s all your fault.” She sighed heavily. “Come on, Brogan, you can’t leave me again, you little imp.” “I have no choice, Tracy.” “Then why show up here if only to do another one of your disappearing acts?” “Because I have to make certain you understand the reason for our relationship.” Tracy laughed loudly. “Oh, now wouldn’t that be nice. All this, oh so mysterious coming and going has a reasonable explanation? This I want to hear.” “No need for sarcasm.” “Excuse me? Like this is all perfectly normal and I just need to be brought on board as to the particulars? Like I’ve been too stupid to realize what’s been going on is no big deal and I’ve somehow been too dense to get it?” “Okay,” said Brogan, “I accept your frustration, but there was no choice for me to enter your life when and how I did. Believe me when I tell you this: your immortal soul was in jeopardy, and there are special events in your life that would have been compromised had we never had our time together.” Tracy’s scowl softened. She looked at the floor and spoke softly. “Brogan, you sound different somehow. Your manner of speaking is not like the twelve-year-old I knew. You sound, well, mature—like an adult actually.” “All living things transition.” “Uh huh. And in your case you transitioned from a kid to an adult overnight. Well, almost overnight. Look, I need to know something. I had the occasion to meet a certain Father Sebastian Bertelli and—” “Yes, I know.” Tracy shrugged her shoulders. “So, it’s true; you did to him what you did to me.” “Not exactly.” “Yeah, yeah, but it was you. At least I know this good priest did not somehow find out about you and me and play me. So, tell me, are you going to ever appear to me or to the priest again or is this your final boarding for the bizarre express?” “You will never see me again. My job here is over.” “Whoa, your job? Oh fine. So somebody put you up to this?” Suddenly Tracy straightened her back, her eyes wide. “Ohhhhhh boy!” The conversation with Father Bertelli flashed through her mind. “Brogan, my little friend, I think a few scales just fell from my eyes. There are bunches of questions that need to be answered. But you’re not going to supply them, are you?” “You always were very perceptive.” “Yeah, right. So, that’s it. I get no hint of what’s coming down the pike? Or, where I go from here? Or, are you leaving a plan, a map, a compass? I don’t know . . . are you going to tell me what to do now? Do you realize, you little scamp, how dear you became to my existence. With you gone for good, I’m not sure I can remain very stable. Very sure of myself.” “You have nothing to worry about, Tracy. Trust me, you are not the same person you were back in April.” “Yeah, well, I know that April’s not for dying but—” “Nor any other month, and you know it, so get a grip, Tracy Geraldine Carmichael. You’re almost there.” “What do you mean, almost there? I’m not Sherlock Holmes. Where is ‘almost there?’ ” “So long Tracy, my very dear friend.” “Hey, wait a minute, don’t go, Brogan.” “God loves you.” There was a soft whistling sound and then silence. She knew he had gone. That she was neither saddened nor feeling rejected surprised her. Instead there was a feeling of relief, a pleasurable anticipation of whatever Brogan’s final appearance meant, albeit an invisible one. She had never before experienced such an inner peace and contentment. “Oh, you rascal,” she said softly, “Is it true? Can you possibly be what Padre thinks you are?”