for the health of the children and the food they ate, as she said, or she may have been slightly embarrassed that Rita, who was also Mexican, was not preparing any of her country’s more traditional dishes. I got the sense of both from her.
“I’ve been trying to tell her,” the female ghost said, nodding toward Rita, “but she won’t listen!”
I asked Rita if this meant anything to her, and she seemed ashamed to speak. Finally, she admitted that the food Betty and Bob wanted her to make was very simple, just meat and potatoes.
“There are no colors in the food!” the ghost cried. “No colors!”
“Colors?” I asked. “Do you mean colors, like vegetables?”
“Yes! Of course!” she agreed. “Those kids would be much healthier if they ate better! I gave her the recipes!”
That was when Rita remembered the dreams. She had actually dreamed two recipes, one for Spanish corn and one for Spanish zucchini. She’d also found some of the ingredients pulled out on the counter, like a tomato one day and a zucchini the next—items she hadn’t even purchased or brought into the house!
Well, I could tell this conversation was not pleasing Betty, who clearly could do no wrong, especially when it came to picking the right foods for her family. She must have suspected it was some plot cooked up between me and the nanny to make her look dumb—at least that’s what the expression on her face said. So I made it seem like a big joke, to calm her fears.
“Why don’t we get these recipes?” I suggested to Betty with a wink. “Then she said she’d cross over and leave you alone.”
Betty seemed unsure, so I winked again. The ghost was standing behind me, so she didn’t see it.
“Okay,” Betty finally agreed, still not sure if she was in on the joke or the butt of it.
I don’t know if Rita was ever allowed to make the dishes, but Betty and Bob did refer me to several other people, so apparently their nights were easier after I’d helped the two spirits cross over, if nothing else.
Spanish Corn
2 cups canned corn
¼ teaspoon sugar
2 tablespoons chopped green peppers
1 egg, well beaten
2 tablespoons chopped pimientos
½ cup cracker crumbs
1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
½ cup milk
1 tablespoon salt
2 tablespoons melted butter
Combine ingredients and pour into a buttered baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes. Serve in baking dish.
Spanish Zucchini
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound small sliced unpeeled zucchini
1 can tomato paste
½ cup boiling water
1 4-ounce container pimiento cheese
Salt and pepper to taste
Simmer onion and garlic in oil until tender. Add zucchini; cover and cook until tender. Add tomato paste, water, and cheese. Season to taste. Cook slowly for 5 minutes. Serves 6–8.
STIR-FRIED SUGAR SNAP PEAS
EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE a story comes along that reminds me what I’m dealing with. I know it sounds odd, but when you can see and talk to ghosts every day, like I can, you sort of forget sometimes what that really means: It means these people lived and died. It means they left loved ones behind. I know they say police detectives get calloused to the crimes they witness day in and day out, so it shouldn’t be surprising that I’ve developed a certain amount of detachment. Just like with the police, it’s a coping mechanism. But every now and again there is a story that still hits me, even when I retell it decades later. This is one of those stories.
When I was about 22, I was referred to a man, Tim, who had married a Japanese woman, Kim. This would have been the late 1960s, and back then I wasn’t on TV or the radio, and no one wrote about me in newspaper or magazines. If you’d heard of me, it was because someone you knew had met me. And if you called me, it was because you were honestly at your wit’s end, not because you were curious or skeptical.
Tim called me because he was worried about his kids. He heard them late at night, when they should have been sleeping, talking to their mother. They’d laugh and giggle, pause as if listening, then reply. It was his wife who told him who it was they were talking to, because they were speaking to their mother in Japanese. Their mother, Mia, was Kim’s sister, and she was dead.
Tim and Kim were in the process of adopting the children. They’d come to the U.S. with their parents and their baby sibling to visit their Aunt Kim, but on the way from the airport they were in a terrible car accident. Their parents and the baby were killed, leaving them in the care of an aunt and uncle they’d never met in a country they’d never seen before.
When I got to the house I knew there was a ghost there, but it wasn’t with us. Tim told me what had happened and that Kim was convinced it was her sister. They were both also adamant that she had to go.
“The kids aren’t adjusting. They’d never met us before, and now they just wait to see their mother at night,” he explained. “I know it sounds horrible, but if they’re going to stay with us, they have to get used to us. They won’t even eat our food—they want their mother to cook for them.”
The kids were upstairs sleeping, so I went up to see their room, and sure enough, there was Mia. One of the things I don’t understand about my ability, but that I am certainly thankful for, is that I can understand ghosts when they speak to me, no matter what language they speak in, and they can understand me.
“Mia?” I checked. She nodded and sort of half-smiled. “Can you come downstairs with me?” She nodded again and followed me.
When we got downstairs, I asked her why she was here.
“My husband took the baby into the White Light after the crash,” she said. “We agreed that I’d stay behind and watch over the other two.” It was all I could do not to start crying at that point, but I kept my composure.
“Do you want Tim and Kim to have the children?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Very much. They can’t go back to Japan. We wanted to move to America anyway.”
“Mia, you aren’t helping them, though. They need to get used to how things are now. They can’t do that with you here. And you just sap their energy when you’re around—that makes them sick.”
“I know,” she agreed sadly. “But I just can’t leave my babies.”
“I
