Book Showcase: HOW DOES SHE KNOW by Diane M. Sylvester and Andrea Rubinowitz

Chapter 2

As Anna rummaged through her bureau drawer for a hairband, the teapot whistled, Boots purred insistently and rubbed against her ankles, and the old digital clock in front of her flipped to 8:15. To say she was frazzled was an understatement. Anna threw her hands in the air and yelled, “Help!”

Her first TV interview, and here she was, on the verge of showing up late. In her mind, she had choreographed this morning to run like clockwork: after a deep, refreshing sleep, she’d wake up early, eat breakfast, meditate, calmly gather her thoughts, and then show up at the TV studio as an engaging, self-assured author.

So far, nothing had gone to plan and she was due there in forty-five minutes. Instead of feeling rested, she was exhausted after tossing and turning most of the night. Instead of feeling self-assured, she felt riddled with self-doubt. Instead of feeling witty and articulate, she felt dull and tongue-tied.

She ran a brush through her thick, shoulder-length auburn hair as she looked in the mirror. It was the first time in as long as she could remember that she felt the need to scrutinize herself. What would the TV audience see? A tall, big-boned woman in her late fifties with deep lines etched in her face and bags under her dark brown eyes that seemed to only accentuate her fatigue.

She pulled her hair through the hairband and sized up her outfit: an outdated but barely worn eggplant-colored knee length dress; brown mid-calf boots that she polished and buffed before she went to bed to conceal their age; a colorful silk neck scarf that she found buried in the back of her closet; and an ivory-colored sweater in which she found a ticket stub from a Merrill Auditorium concert she went to on an ill-fated, one and done date over a decade ago.

Anna smoothed the front of the sweater, adjusted the scarf, and took inventory of her big hoop earrings, necklaces, and multiple bracelets. “You’re a duck out of water,” she said to her face in the mirror. “Quack, quack.”

With a raw bagel clenched in her teeth, she was halfway out the front door when she turned abruptly and ran back to the kitchen table to grab a copy of her book. The cat whipped his tail back and forth as he looked at her accusingly. She ripped off a piece of the bagel, tossed it on the floor, and patted his head. “I’m sorry, Boots. Mama’s late for her self-implosion.” A short while later, as a studio assistant did her makeup, her mother spoke to her as clearly as if she were sitting right in front of her: You’ll do fine, darling, trust me. I’m so proud of you.

Anna’s reaction to her mother’s message showed in the mirror; she saw the fatigue that clouded her eyes lift and the tension in her face dissipate.

She took a deep breath and inhaled her mother’s voice into her lungs. She felt it seep into her bloodstream and wind its way through her body. She could smell her musky sweetness, feel her hand stroking her hair and her arms wrapping around her. When she opened her eyes, all the obstacles that presented themselves in front of her that morning faded. Just like the fog that enveloped the Portland waterfront as she raced to the studio. The sun had emerged, and everything was vividly sharp and bathed in golden promise.

“How Do You Know? That’s such an appropriate title. How do you know?” the TV host asked, with a cock of her head. Anna smiled. She was ready for that question.

“You see my lips moving and you hear corresponding words coming out of my mouth, right?”

The host agreed she did.

“So you just know that I’m the one who said those words. You don’t question whether that’s the case at all, do you?” “Well, no, I’ll give you that. I mean, I can’t refute that, can I?” “You could try, but—”

The host raised a finger and cut her off. “But then, you’re alive, aren’t you?”

Anna pinched her sides playfully.

“I think I am. I didn’t feel like it this morning when I woke up, though,” she chuckled.

But the host wasn’t in a lighthearted mood.

“So you’re equating talking to the dead and having visions of events that supposedly happened many years after to a conversation between two living human beings? Pardon me for saying, but that’s kind of—well, it’s a stretch, isn’t it?” “When you present it as a logical equation like that, of course it’s a stretch. So is the concept of God when you think about it, but your TV station has Reverend Peter—I forget—” “Reverend Paulson?”

“Right, Paulson, holding a prayer service every weekday at 6:00 a.m. called Talks With God. Which, by the way, is fine with me. I watch him sometimes when I wake up. He talks about events that are recorded in the Bible that are pretty unbelievable too. The creation of our universe, Jesus’s ascension to a place called heaven, to name just a couple. Do you question those?”

The host gave Anna a tight smile and then held up Anna’s book.

“We’re talking to Anna Mavrides, a Portland resident and author of the newly released How Do You Know?, a book with startling claims about her lifelong visions and ability to communicate with the dead.”

She looked from the camera to Anna, briefly, and then back. “After the break, we’ll shift gears from talking about the fundamentals of religion to some of the more . . . well, bizarre events the author claims have happened over her lifetime. We’ll be right back.”

She nodded to the cameraman, shuffled some notes in front of her, and then leaned back in her chair and looked at Anna. “We have about three minutes,” she said matter-of-factly. “Then we’ll have a ten-minute segment. More water?” Anna had her eyes closed. She heard the host’s voice coming from a distance. Susan was her name. Susan Cook, she reminded herself. She felt a familiar tingle in a spot right between her eyes and then a buildup of pressure in her temples.

“Ms. Mavrides. Are you all right?”

Anna saw long white translucent window curtains billowing sensuously. She saw a buttery, soft light filter in through a window. She heard the whisper of a breeze and saw distant treetops sway in response. Then she heard a woman’s voice. “Tell Susan it’s her aunt Lynette. Ben is with me. We’re together and we’re fine. We miss her and we love her. Tell her not to cry. She can go on and be happy.”

Anna felt a hand grip her arm and the host’s voice, sharper now.

“Ms. Mavrides. Can you hear me? Do you need some help?” Anna opened her eyes and blinked. A trickle of sweat rolled down her neck.

“May I have a tissue, please?”

The host stepped back a pace and turned over her shoulder to the studio assistant. She came back, handed Anna a box of tissues, and then she sat back down in her chair.

“You made me a little worried there. Will you be all right to continue?”

Anna wiped her neck and forehead before looking at the host.

“I’m fine. Should I tell you now that I had a message from a relative of yours, or do you want to wait until we go back on camera?”

The host was taking a sip of water. Her arm stopped halfway, then she put the glass down.

“You what?” she asked sharply.

“I received a message from one of your relatives to give to you.”

The host rolled her eyes.

“Oh, cut it out. Is this some kind of gimmick? Part of your routine?”

Anna smiled.

“I know you’re a skeptic. Don’t worry, you’re not the first I’ve met, and definitely won’t be the last.”

“I’m trying to be open-minded and nonjudgmental. I am a journalist. That’s my job.”

“Well, okay, whatever you say. It’s pretty clear you’ve got your mind made up about me. So why not let me fall flat on my face on camera in front of everyone? Then you can be proven right.”

The host chewed on her lower lip while she looked long and hard at Anna. Then she looked at her watch and got up. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Anna nodded.

“We have ninety seconds. I’ll go talk to the producer.” Anna watched as the host huddled with the TV staff. They had an animated conversation, each glancing over at Anna. Then they broke apart and the host came back, sat down, and smoothed her skirt.

“Well, this should make for interesting live TV. I’ll call your bluff.”

Anna felt her throat constrict. She swallowed and took a deep breath. She noted the host looked combative as she shuffled her papers, as if Anna had delivered her a personal challenge. The producer pointed at the host and then at Anna. The cameraman swung the camera toward them, and Anna watched the producer count down with her fingers—three . . . two . . . one.

“This will be a first for me, and I’m sure for many in our studio. Our guest, author Anna Mavrides, told me during the break that she received a message from a family member of mine who has passed.”

She hesitated, then nodded emphatically.

“Yes, that’s what I said. She has a message for me from a family member of mine who has passed. She asked if she could reveal this on camera as a validation of her claim to be able to communicate with the dead. And I’ve agreed. Isn’t that right, Anna?”

“That’s correct.”

“I should point out that we have never met before today. And as far as I know, you don’t know anything about my family. I need to ask, have you researched my family and me prior to the show? Have you Googled my family or me?”

“No, I have not. Googling is not my thing,” Anna replied with a nervous laugh.

“Well, we’ll have to trust your word. Go ahead and share that message with me and our television audience, if you will.” Anna recited the message. Susan Cook looked shocked to the core when she heard it. Then her face crumpled and she buried it in her hands and started sobbing. In her peripheral vision, Anna saw the stunned looks of the producer, the cameraman, and the assistant. Then the producer stepped in and said that they would go to break.

Later, Anna would look back on this moment and wish it never happened. She would give back the cathartic release she felt after decades of doubt and anguish. She would give back the fame, the adulation, and the money that came with it. She would trade all that back and tell Aunt Lynette to find someone else to talk to.

But that would require a crystal ball, wouldn’t it?

Excerpt from How Does She Know by Diane M. Sylvester and Andrea Rubinowitz.
Copyright © 2023 by Diane M. Sylvester and Andrea Rubinowitz.
Reproduced with permission.
All rights reserved.