 
### Salem's Sight

By Lyn Stanzione

Copyright 2011 Lyn Stanzione

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

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### Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About the Author

Sneak Peak from Book Two

### Chapter One

I was normal until we moved into Grandma's old house. Or maybe it started before then. It's hard to tell. Life has changed so much in the past few months, and in case you haven't guessed, not for the better.

See, it all began six months ago.

I was sort of pissed at Dad because I wanted him to teach me to drive. Nothing big, just once or twice around the parking lot at school after hours. But no. He said I'd have to wait until I actually got my permit. How lame was that?

Anyway, being in an anti-dad mood, I yanked the car door open, and plopped down in the back seat pretending I wanted to watch a DVD. Stupid, because we didn't have far to go and Dad could see right through me.

While I watched the latest horror flick for the hundredth time and brooded over how unfair life could be, Dad, who always watched what he said in front of me, dropped the F bomb.

I looked up and saw a car coming right at us, head on. Since Dad wasn't exactly into road rage, I figured the crazy in the other car was the one who had the urge to play chicken. I opened my mouth to scream. Air stopped moving through my lungs, and in that instant, I knew without question I was about to get my first real taste of unfair.

Luckily, that split second is all I remember. A crunching sound, movie-theater loud, echoed in my ears. The seatbelt cut into my stomach like the waistline of jeans two sizes to small. Then, nothing.

Dad was gone before the ambulance arrived.

And me? Except for the large gash on my head, I barely had a scratch. Or at least that's what everyone thought at the time. Just a stupid concussion that caused these blasting headaches.

I didn't realize then the headaches were going to take me from normal - to out where the buses don't run.

Strange thing is, it was only like the third time in my entire life that I got mad at my father. If I hadn't been mad... if I'd been in the front seat like I usually was... well, I don't like to think about it.

Since the accident I try to think as little as possible. Translation, keep busy. Which brings me to the project at hand. Redecorating.

I glared at the pink-flowered wallpaper and wondered what my mother had been thinking all those years ago, when she selected the hideous garden that resided on the walls of her childhood bedroom. It looked like someone puked Pepto-Bismol, coated with chunks of corn and string beans.

No wonder I couldn't adjust. It just sucked.

Having to live here sucked.

I missed my big room with my big closets in our big house. But with Dad gone and Mom going back to the workforce, we had to downsize. This meant selling our home in North Carolina and moving to Rhode Island where my mom inherited her parents' house near the ocean. Their little house.

The light above me flickered and threatened to go off. No sign of a storm. Probably just faulty wiring. The light wavered again as if taunting me, and I shivered. I reached for my sweatshirt, but as my fingertips touched the material, I realized the chill wasn't from the temperature in the room. I can't really explain it because there was nothing to back it up, but you know when the hair on the back of your neck prickles like a cat? Or it feels like someone is behind you and you turn around and no one is there? That's the way I felt, like I'd just entered Spooksville.

If I'd known how close to the truth I was, I would have gone back to North Carolina, even if I'd had to walk to get there.

I looked around the room and then back at the light fixture, not sure what I was expecting to find. The stupid bulb stayed steady for a moment then flickered again.

Why'd my mom even keep this house after Grandma died? "Extra money and a vacation home," she'd claimed. I think she just didn't want to let go of her childhood memories and her parents' house held them all. She'd rented the cottage out to college kids during the school year, and we enjoyed seaside family vacations in the 'beach house' two weeks every summer.

I never minded it then. To be honest, not much bothered me in those days. But now that I had to live here, I totally objected to this butt-ugly shack. Since it had been a rental, my parents never did much in terms of renovations. My old tree house ranked higher on the style meter.

Now I know I'm being whiny, and that's usually so not me, but with all that's happened lately, I figure no one will hold it against me. Hey, everyone's entitled once in a while.

Taking the aged wallpaper off was as easy as peeling a banana. Unfortunately, the ugly tan-colored backing stayed attached to the wall, like a reminder that change was never easy.

Sighing, I dipped the sponge in the large bowl of vinegar until it was saturated then crinkled my nose at the offensive scent. Taking wallpaper off the wall stunk in more ways than one. I lifted the sponge gingerly and began sliding it over the wall like an eraser.

My hand had only managed three or so swipes when I saw her name appear. The hair on my arms stood up straight and as the vinegar seeped through to the wall, Grandma's name became darker.

For a second my body froze, and my breath lodged midway in my throat. Then, well, let's face it; I had to breathe.

My hand shook but I dunked the sponge again in the pungent vinegar. Still shaking, I wiped the wall beneath her signature.

Nothing.

Gritting my teeth, I sponged above her name. I held my breath as little by little the words appeared like on the Maurader's Map in Harry Potter. Bold as anything like an omen were the words, "I'm watching over you."

That's when I freaked.

It didn't take two seconds to drop the sponge and run like hell. I hate to admit it, but I was screaming, "Mom!" at the top of my lungs like I was some sort of two-year-old.

A ghost nipping at my heels couldn't have moved me any faster. I bounded down the stairs and collided with my mother who'd just come around the corner from the kitchen in response to my blood-curdling shrieks.

"Mom, you've got to come upstairs. Now!" Once the words spilled out I couldn't replenish the air in my lungs. Gasping for breath and unable to speak, I grabbed her arm and pulled her in the direction of the stairs.

After two steps her feet planted firmly on the floor. "Salem, what's wrong? You're so pale, honey." She placed her hand on my forehead as if checking my temperature. Yeah, like okay, that'd make no sense if I looked pale.

But since Dad died, she uses any excuse to come into physical contact with me. I mean, she was always a "huggy" mom, but now she seems to keep touching me to make sure I'm there, and not some figment of her imagination.

She does this all the time. I mean, can you say annoying? And the closer she tries to get, the more I back away. Except for times like this, when it worked to my benefit.

"Mom, please." My voice, raspy and foreign, begged. Not my usual confident tone. I clutched her hand and tugged her toward the stairs.

"What's wrong?" she asked again, evidently recognizing that if I took her hand by choice then there had to be a real problem.

I just shook my head and practically yanked her arm out of its socket to make her follow. When we reached my room, I pushed her in first and then slid in behind her. My hand shook as I pointed at the writing on the wall.

Instead of bolting, her face went all soft. It was the same expression she used to get when Dad would bring home flowers for no reason.

Then she looked at me and started to laugh. All-out belly laughs straight from her toes. The more she looked at me the more she laughed. I scowled feeling like a little kid who'd overheard a joke but didn't get the punch line. "You find this funny?"

Mom cleared her throat and smoothed out her blouse in an attempt to compose herself. "It's just, well, you look so scared."

I stood tall and made my tone haughty and indignant. "I'm not scared. And why would it be funny if I were?"

"It wouldn't," Mom said trying to dig her way out of the hole she'd dug. "It's just, I understand why you spazzed."

"I so did not," I jumped in before she could continue. I hate it when she tries to talk like she's my age. I mean, please. Spazzed? Plus, I couldn't let her think I was scared... especially when she wasn't.

It didn't make sense. Inside my stomach flipped like a competitor at a gymnastic meet, yet Mom, who can't even keep her eyes open during a scary movie, found this real life spook fest amusing. I mean, really, she had to sleep with the light on after watching The Exorcism of Emily Rose. I didn't get it.

"Don't you find this weird? I mean, why is Grandma hanging out in my new room writing on my walls? It's a little strange don't you think? You know, given that she's dead."

Mom choked on another laugh. "That's the point, Salem. Grandma actually wrote those words years ago when I was just a kid."

I tightened my lips and knit my brows in my best thundercloud scowl expression, the one I saved for when I was really ticked. I wanted her to know I so didn't believe her. Since Dad died, Mom just wasn't as trustworthy as she'd been before, which pissed me off even more.

"Explain." I dropped the one word like it was a bomb and waited.

Mom ignored my tone and pointed to where the words hung like an accusation. "You might not have even noticed this if the backing hadn't stayed on the wall. It's the vinegar that's causing the words to come through."

I just folded my arms across my chest and stared at her exactly the way she always did when it was taking me way too long to get to the point.

It took a moment, but she caught on and speeded things up.

"When I was little I used to have nightmares. Grandpa would get mad when I'd wake Grandma in the middle of the night. I always begged and begged to sleep in their bed, which they weren't about to allow. So, before I chose this wallpaper, she wrote that on the wall for me."

I stared her down, but she didn't avert her eyes. "I'm watching over you? She wrote that on the wall?" I asked as if both Grandma and Mom were a few cards short of the proverbial deck.

Mom traced her fingers along the writing and shut her eyes. "She told me that I'd have nothing to fear because her words were always there. Even if I couldn't see them through the wallpaper, I'd know they were there and that she was watching over me." A lone tear escaped and Mom brushed her fingers across her bottom lashes.

I felt her pain flood through me, as if we were linked by something more, something even stronger than genetics. My body held her blood, her DNA, but at the moment it also held a piece of her soul and I winced at her suffering.

She sure could have used some watching over these last few months. We both could have.

For some strange reason, I looked up toward the light fixture. Instead of the flicker of corroboration I half expected, the light beamed bright and steady. Soft raindrops pattered against the window. Finally, I relaxed. Just a storm after all. Nothing weird going on in this room.

I glanced at the wall, then quickly away. Nothing weird going on in this room. Yeah, maybe if I kept telling myself that I'd believe it.

I sat down on the bed causing the mattress to squeak in protest while a coil from the old box spring jumped up and bit me in the butt. It was enough to clear my head. "Okay, so why did she sign her name? Why not just write 'Mom'?"

Mom sighed, clearly exasperated. "Salem, you put your full name on important documents to make them official, don't you?"

I nodded.

"She was doing the same thing, making a point."

Okay, from everything she told me about my grandmother, it sounded legit.

I scooted further back on the bed and another coil shot up like a missile. Direct hit.

I stood to avoid any more attacks from revenge of the old mattress, and decided to change the subject. Sort of. "When is our furniture going to get here? This bed isn't exactly comfortable."

The truth is it wasn't just about uncomfortable furniture. It was this room. This house. The whole uncomfortable place. And this niggling feeling of unease I couldn't shake.

"A few more days and all our things will be here. It'll seem more like home then."

I assessed the furnishings that had suffered abuse at the hands of college renters. "What will we do with all this stuff?"

"Salvation Army? Whatever they won't take, we can put out as trash."

I nodded. Truth was, I didn't care where the old junky furniture went as long as it went fast. My greatest fear was Mom would say we were never getting our things; that we'd have to get used to this bizarre alternate reality at Grandma's.

She put her hands on my shoulders. "Things will get better, Salem."

Yeah, right. There was as much of a chance of that happening as there was of a television star jumping out of my closet to tell me I'd just been punked.

If I were a good kid, I would have stood still while she put her arms around me and bent her head toward my forehead. But I wasn't, so I tugged away and left her hanging in mid-kiss.

Almost immediately I felt guilty, so I turned away to hide my face. I mean, allowing a mother to see guilt is like letting a Doberman smell fear. Once you do, it's over.

It actually hurt to back away though. It hurt to watch her suffer. "Your fault" my conscience screamed. A lot of her pain was my fault.

The light flickered again, this time accompanied by a loud clap of thunder. I jumped.

"It's just a storm," Mom said. I saw her hand reach out toward me, then pull back. Without another word, she turned and left the room.

Late that night, while the thunder boomed and the lightning flashed, I thought about her again. Why am I directing all my anger toward my mother?

I couldn't answer that question and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get to sleep. As if anyone could in that room.

Seriously? You try to sleep alone in a room where the walls are scraped clean, and big bold handwriting shouts, "I'm watching over you."

Yeah. That's what I thought.

I mean, it's no wonder I weirded out.

### Chapter Two

Okay, so maybe my mind had started working overtime. Call me strange, but it actually felt like I could hear my grandmother's whisper.

Yeah, I know, great. Hearing things. Let's just add that to the list. But that sound... No, impossible. She died when I was too young to be able to remember her voice.

Yet I heard the words and the sound of a voice that reverberated with familiarity.

Yeah, whack job. They have institutions for people who hear things. Knock it off, or end up a rubber room, which I have to admit, style wise would only have been a lateral move.

Maybe I was just spending too much time alone.

I clenched my eyes tight, determined to shut out everything. Just focus on sleep, your eyelids are getting heavy, just focus on sleep.

Yeah, whatever.

I pictured the counting sheep, cute and fluffy. But as they jumped over the bed, they pursed their lips like babies and gave me the raspberries. Wait 'til my Serta arrived. Then I'd banish those sheep and their attitudes. I turned over, and turned back, tossing around the bed like a ship flung about in a storm.

I'm not sure when it began to get hot. It might have been gradual, like the coming of spring. Or maybe it ignited quickly, like a barbeque grill. But the heat was definitely increasing steadily.

My skin burned and I was semi-conscious when I kicked off the blankets. I felt like I was in the center of a large orange blaze, thrashing to get out, yet not getting anywhere.

If I didn't get out, I'd die.

Somewhere deep inside a sound started around my toes and climbed higher and higher toward my throat.

The scream erupted from my mouth, sending what was left of my slumber viciously away like hot lava. Reverberations shook my soul and were loud enough to wake souls on the other side.

I sat up trembling and gasping for breath. Beads of sweat popped out on my forehead.

Then I heard the thunderous sound of the cavalry.

Mom stormed into the room making more noise than a herd of buffalo stampeding. Her arms enveloped me like a soft feather boa, smooth and comforting. "Are you okay?" she choked out. "Were you having a nightmare?"

I'll never know why she always asks the obvious. Normally it makes me mad, but not tonight. "It didn't seem like a dream."

Relieved I was no longer alone I let myself relax a little, and answered her. "I mean, I guess it was. But... it seemed so real." I tried to focus and bring it back now that my mother had made me feel pseudo safe. "I can't believe it wasn't real."

I put my head on her shoulder the way I did when I was a kid and breathed in her mom scent. It helped and my breathing began to slow, but it wasn't as reassuring as it had been when I was little. Then again, I knew she couldn't protect me from everything. Adults couldn't always protect themselves.

She rubbed her hand over my hair in a caress. "Tell me about the dream. What frightened you?"

Not exactly an easy question to answer, since the images jumbled in my head like tossed pieces of a puzzle. I gave it a shot. "I felt like the center of a fire."

"You dreamed you were in a burning building?" she asked.

"No, no building. There wasn't anything but the fire. Nothing. Just a giant flame in space... and I was in it."

Mom squeezed tighter. Silence hung awkwardly in the room, like leftover smoke from my imaginary embers. "The car didn't burn Salem. Is that what you're thinking? That the car went up in flames?"

My body stiffened and I sat back in bed pushing away from her. Now wasn't the time to talk about it. "No, Mom, really, I wasn't thinking about the accident."

Lately she linked everything that happened to the fatal collision and it was starting to get on my nerves.

"It had nothing to do with the crash," I said again, this time louder and with more force. My words only made the grooves in her forehead deepen.

Even in the dark it was easy to see she didn't buy it.

****

As soon as I heard the radio turn on, I knew my life was about to enter major suckdom.

I pulled the covers over my head and tried to pretend it wasn't happening. This was only the third morning waking to my very own pillow top comfort supreme. Only I couldn't relax because the music only meant one thing.

School.

I murmured a few expletives that my Grandy Beatrice, Dad's mom, had once crossly told my cousin were unbecoming from a lady. I could think of no reason to be ladylike. I punched the pillow then covered my head with it to try to block out what I had to face.

A new school, in a new city, where I would be the new girl – a big, fat nobody.

It had taken forever to get exactly where I wanted to be in my old hometown. Not the most popular kid on the planet, but someone who had friends. Good friends. Friends who'd always been a part of my life. I'd never even imagined life without them.

And now less than a month after I'd left, they were forgetting me. At first, they texted and emailed every day. After a few weeks I noticed time elapsed before texts would be answered and the lack of IM's made me wonder if I'd actually been taken off of certain buddy lists.

And here I was, abandoned in Sucksville. There'd be no one to talk to in study hall. Assuming this school even had a study hall. Worse, there'd be no one to have lunch with. Yup, that'd be the hardest part of the day, looking like a total loser, isolated and at the mercy of total strangers.

The classes I could get through. I always paid attention in class anyway. Well, except for the really boring stuff. Then I'd just look it up on the Internet and get the abridged version.

But lunch... all alone.... Strange, as much as I didn't like crowds these days, I didn't like being by myself either. I was alone enough inside my head. Before Dad died, that hadn't meant lonely. Sadly, now it did.

I groaned, flung the covers off, pulled myself upright, and trudged out of bed. At least I could make sure that I didn't smell and looked reasonably fashionista.

A new pair of jeans was casually draped across the top of my desk chair. An obvious plant of my mother's. Nothing too flashy, yet stylish and well fitting. They'd do.

I stood a little longer in front of the too-small closet, which was stuffed to over-capacity. The clothes were jammed so tight that every item boasted at least a wrinkle or two. Randomly, I selected a top.

Ugh. Wrong choice. I shoved it back and tried again, this time yielding better results.

Not that what I wore mattered. Who cared anyway? I didn't know anyone and didn't really want to. What was the point?

I'd learned the hard way relationships didn't last.

Surprisingly, Mom was still home when I went down to breakfast. Kent County Hospital, where she now worked, had pretty flexible hours. Or, at least the nurses could exchange shifts with others when they needed to.

Mom had actually grinned when she snagged the job. Definitely her first smile since you-know-when. She didn't think it'd be that easy to get employment, since she'd been out of the field for so long. But no one cared about that. Nurses were in demand and she had a current certificate. Welcome to the working world, Mom.

Since she started the job, she'd been out of the house before I woke up each morning. Not too surprising, but then again I didn't exactly wake up early if I didn't have to. From now on, I'd have to.

Mom looked pretty in her crisply ironed pink hospital scrubs. She wore just the smallest hint of make-up. Anyone else might not have noticed there was a problem. I did.

Mom tugged on her shirt to the point where if she yanked any harder she would've ripped it. Then she smoothed over her chin length perfectly coiffed hairdresser-blonde hair. Once perfected, never mess with the 'do. She ran her hand over it again using her fingers as a comb.

Yeah, let me translate. So not a good sign.

She stole a glance at me, and then blue eyes that mirrored my own quickly became riveted to the coffee pot. She stood there and watched it brew, as if mesmerized by the thin drips of liquid.

Okay, like I'm not exactly stupid. Eye-contact-avoidance lady might as well have been blinking neon.

Her body language screamed nervous and I knew that expression well. The old 'I'm going to give you bad news' look.

My body tensed and I started to gear up for flight, in case my first instinct, fight didn't work. I crossed my arms over my chest. My answer to everything, attack and escape. Then, on guard, I said, "Spit it out."

"Spit what out?" She tried to look innocent, but let's face it, she wasn't.

Did she really think I'd let her off the hook that easy? No way. She had to know me better than that. After all, I was her daughter. "Whatever it is you have to tell me that I'm not going to like. Let's just get it over with."

I didn't move a muscle, tense, waiting.

Mom sighed. "I don't know how you do that, but yes, I do have news you're not going to like." She paused for a second, gathering her courage. "I made an appointment for you with a doctor."

Holy crap. This was going to be ugly.

Either this would be that dreaded first visit to a gyno, or, she was going to try again to get my head shrunk. Yuck. What a choice. Kind of like being asked by your executioner if you'd rather be boiled in oil or thrown to the lions.

Now I was majorly pissed. "Why do I need a doctor? I'm not sick." I leaned against the wall for support.

"The dreams, Salem. I think it would be a good idea for you to talk to someone about your dreams and the accident. You need to get a handle on this." She sat down and took a sip of her coffee like we were talking about making a nail appointment. A new coat of polish and a psych eval.

Not if I could help it. "We've been down this road before, Mom. I saw a shrink back home. It so didn't help."

She took another sip and looked directly into my eyes. "You didn't give her a chance. You only went for two sessions."

She held my gaze in a showdown, neither one of us wanting to look away first. I expected someone to yell 'draw' at any second.

No one did.

The silence seemed to echo. We didn't need to speak the words. They'd all been said before.

Finally I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed for the door. "I'll be late for school. I'd better get going," I said.

Mom stood up quickly, crossed to the sink, and emptied the contents of her cup. "I'll drive you."

I looked longingly at the splattered remains of java dotting the sink as I strode by. What a waste of perfectly good coffee. I shook my head. "That's okay, I need to get used to the walk." I made a grand exit and slammed the door behind me.

A split second after the reverberations the door squeaked open. "You didn't have breakfast," Mom yelled after me.

I just shrugged and kept walking.

### Chapter Three

Mom's last line came back to haunt me a few hours later in science class.

There's nothing more miserable than a new school, no friends, a wrecked life, and an empty stomach.

As my belly grumbled its disdain, the girl seated next to me at the lab table held out a granola bar. "Sounds like you need this more than I do."

"Thanks," I said, as embarrassment shrank my ego to about the size of a pushpin. Just what I wanted, to be known as the stomach growler.

I expected her to turn in disgust and ignore me, but she smiled instead. A nice smile. Sincere. And pretty, too. Straight white teeth, too perfect to have been created without braces. Been there, done that, felt her pain.

"You must be new. I know just about everyone."

I cringed. New kid might be the only thing worse than stomach growler. "Yeah, just moved here from North Carolina," I said instantly wishing I hadn't brought up my home state or the memories that went with it.

"Cool. What's it like there?" She pulled a pen from her purse, lined it up against her notebook then looked at me expectantly.

How do you clarify an alternate reality? If I had months, I couldn't explain it. So I went for the obvious. "Warm. Warmer than here anyway. I'm Salem," I said, for a lack of anything better to say.

"Salem. Interesting name. Any relatives from Massachusetts?" She said it with interest like she expected me to be the long lost ancestor of someone significant.

Why would she ask that? Then it dawned on me. "Oh, the witch thing. No, actually my dad worked for a tobacco company." I laughed as I remembered the tale. "Lucky I was born female. If I'd been a boy, I would have been named Winston."

Her dark almond-shaped eyes sparkled with amusement. "We have something in common then."

What could she have in common with that? "What, you were named after cigarettes too?"

For a nanosecond she looked at me like I was a little slow. "No, but we both have strange names and stories to go with them."

Curiosity got the better of me and I had to ask. It wasn't a matter of just being polite. "So what's yours?"

"Berkley."

There was something about the way she said her name. Not snobby or uppity, but sophisticated. I came from money and knew my way around a country club, but she wasn't just worldly, she was cultured. Intellectual. "I like it. And the story?"

"Not as good as yours. My parents went to school there. They spelled my name differently, but that's the reason for it. I believe I was conceived on a reunion visit."

Definitely TMI about her parents. "Do people bug you about it?"

"Not really. Although some people say my name a million times whenever they talk to me."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. That happens to me a lot too." And I really could relate. It's weird. When you have a common name, your friends just talk to you regular. But when you have a different name, I don't know, for some reason your name constantly gets put into the conversation.

"So a tobacco company? Why come here to Rhode Island? What'd he do, switch careers?"

I didn't want to talk about my dad, so I made it short and sweet. "Sort of, he... Um, he died a few months ago and my mom thought it would be a good idea to move and get a fresh start."

Her jaw fell open and I could tell she wished she'd never asked. It took her a second to respond, but when she did, it was honest and to the point. "That sucks."

"Tell me about it." I hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but she continued.

"Your mom didn't get that it would just upset you more to move out of state?"

For some odd reason, I felt the need to defend my mom. "She really thought it was for the best. It's been hard on her too."

Saying it out loud made the fact real, which I'd so never admitted, even to myself. I liked to think I held the world record on suffering. It made it easier to stay mad at Mom.

Berkley took the stack of papers that were being passed to her, gave me one, and then handed them to the next lab table. "Well consider me the welcoming committee. I'll show you around. Anything you need to know, I'm the one to ask. Are you taking all Advanced Placement classes or just this one?"

"All AP." I hated saying it. Most college-bound kids had only some AP classes. To be in all of them meant you got labeled brainiac or nerd.

Which was ironic. I mean, I wasn't all that into school. I wanted to get good grades and I studied, but it wasn't like I had to put in a lot of extra effort. Unfortunately, being smart was the antithesis of being cool. You could be cool and be smart in an area or two, but highest honors in all AP classes without breaking a sweat could be hell on your social life.

I'd never thought about it back home because most of my friends had been my friends since we were little kids. Long before the school pigeonholed us in terms of intellectual potential.

"Good, then we'll have other classes together too. Probably most. There aren't many of us."

She didn't need to say more, I understood completely. We were brethren. Which meant time to show the sarcasm. "So the only thing weird about us is our names?"

Berkley grinned, "Looks like it."

We completed our introductory lab, chatting through it like we'd known each other forever. For the first time, I wondered if it would be possible to like it here. There was something instant with Berkley, a type of kinship I'd never felt before.

When class ended, the masses hurled through the door and Berkley and I meandered to our next class. I started to relax and feel comfortable, as if I'd fit in fine.

Then I saw him.

Or he saw me. I mean, somehow you just know when someone is staring at you. Not just looking, but staring. I glanced away from Berkley and my eyes honed in on his. My breath caught, my stomach flipped, and my heart beat double time.

Can we say seriously cute? I mean, way more than just cute. Try Adonis. A Greek god. No, a movie star. Maybe my destiny. Yeah, right, get a grip. But he was staring at me.

Unfortunately he wasn't ogling me in a 'wow, she's hot' kind of way. Instead, he gawked at me like I had two heads or something.

So much for feeling comfortable.

"Um, Berkley, who is that guy and why is he looking at me like that?" I looked down at my clothes to make sure I wasn't covered in a bizarre substance or missing an article of clothing.

"Answer to question one – senior hottie Robbie – and answer to question two – absolutely no idea." Berkley gave me the once-over to check for some catastrophe, just the way I had a moment earlier. Nothing.

We looked back to see if his face would give us a clue, but he had evaporated like a ghost. I looked in both directions, but couldn't see any sign of him.

"Is he... strange, or... " I shrugged wondering how the mere sight of me could have sent him running. I mean, really, it's not my normal affect on boys.

"No, he's cool. Used to be big man on the hockey team."

Okay, I know I'm an English geek but I instantly picked up on the past tense. "Used to be? What happened?" I turned to face her, wanting to know every detail about the hot guy whom I'd repulsed at first sight.

"Not sure. He won the championship game last season, but hasn't been on the ice since. Insists he's not going to play this year. It's kind of crazy considering he might end up with a scholarship if he stays on the team." She paused and thought a second. "It could have something to do with his mom though. She died last year. I'm pretty sure from cancer. Anyway, that's about the time he changed."

At her words, I stopped in my tracks. I couldn't help my visceral raw reaction.

When it's happening to you, it's easy to forget that it takes place everyday and affects many people. Not as unique as I thought I was. Robby, the hottie, suffered too. Death, the equal opportunity employer, treated everyone the same.

It's so easy to look at people who appear perfect and imagine they have perfect lives. My stomach clenched and Berkley's granola bar, which sat like lead, threatened to reappear. I felt guilty for carrying around so much self-pity. I was old enough to realize the world wasn't revolving around me.

"Come on," Berkley said. "We're going to be late for class. And being new might work for you, but it certainly won't for me."

****

Okay, so it felt a little strange the first time I had a friend over to my new house. In North Carolina we had a show place and I guess I never realized how proud of it I was. Everyone I knew had these big expensive homes and I never thought much about it.

So totally different now. For the first time I felt self-conscious about where I lived. Which is stupid. It's not like it's the slums or anything. Grandma's house is nice. It's just small compared to what I was used to. And not completely redecorated. Somehow, at this point in my life, it made me feel... less. Not that I needed help in that department. Since the accident, self-esteem has been one of my issues. It all related back to guilt, but then again, what didn't?

Anyway, my point is, I was a little edgy when Berkley came over for the first time, especially since I hadn't seen her house yet. I kept watching her reactions, which, to my relief, seemed totally normal. That made me think maybe her place wasn't much bigger.

She seemed at ease and strolled into my room behind me. Still nervous, I thought I'd explain why it looked such a mess.

"It's still a work in progress," I said.

She rolled her eyes like I must have thought her dim witted. "Yeah, I know, you just moved in a few weeks ago." Then she plopped down on the blue bean bag chair. The one that should have remained in North Carolina. The one that belonged to another era and another life.

"I need a new bean bag, this one's falling apart," I said almost to myself.

She nodded in understanding. "That's the problem with redecorating. Once you start, everything that isn't new looks old and out of place." She twisted her long brown hair like she was wringing it out, and then tucked it inside the back of her shirt causing a lump.

I couldn't imagine why she'd cover it up. Her hair was shampoo-commercial gorgeous. Silky, shiny, and almost to her butt.

While mine was... average, nondescript, nothing-special kind of hair. Well, that's not exactly true. It was a little past my shoulders and mostly straight. That was the average part.

The color is what most people like, although I don't like it myself. It's sort of light auburn – not light brown, not dark blonde, not red, but some strange combination that's hard to describe.

I walked over to the mirror near the window and fixed the back of my earring. With the sun shining in through the window, I had highlights of pure gold. That was the part I liked.

Still, given the option, I would have traded with Berkley in a second. Traded completely. Like I said before, she has these cool almond-shaped dark brown eyes. Mine are just plain light blue. Again a lot of people have told me they're pretty, especially boys, but like...hello... who can believe them?

And I would've killed for her easily tan-able olive complexion. Add in the fact she's a petite 5'3 while I tower over her at 5'7 and there you have us – beauty and the beast.

Okay, so maybe I'm not the beast exactly. But you know, self-esteem again. It's strange because I was overconfident before the accident, so sure of myself, so... invincible. Now my flaws seemed to stand out mocking me. Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy.

Berkley opened her backpack with a loud zip and brought me back to reality. "...sort of like a new life. It may not seem like things fit together right away but they will. You just have to go with it."

We'd been talking about redecorating. "What do you mean?" I asked wondering how much I'd missed while I zoned out.

"My parents are settled now, but when I was young we moved a few times so I know what it's like being the new kid. Sometimes it's hard at first to merge your old life into your new one. Bit of advice though, just go with it. Life changes no matter what you do."

Like, duh. "I know, but I don't have to like it."

"Just don't fight it. It'll take longer and be more painful. It's going to happen anyway."

Okay, she was a fatalist. I nodded, although I wasn't sure I bought into it. It helped that she'd moved too, though. One more thing we had in common. One more bond.

I really lucked out meeting Berkley. She had a lot of friends, but they were from many different groups. She could fit in and be accepted by any of them, but she didn't make any one of them mutually exclusive.

It was a good thing, too. It made room for me. And right now I needed her more than I needed food. Somehow, I think she realized it.

I pulled the ribbon out of my hair and yanked off the rubber band. Having it in a high pony made my scalp ache. Normally I would have used a scrunchy, but not everything is unpacked yet and that box must have been put in the basement. The ribbon had covered the ugly rubber band.

I looked at the ribbon and threw it up in the air, catching the other end as it came down. I'm not sure why I did this, except it seemed to help me unwind and relax.

"What are you going to do your research project on?" Berkley asked as she continued to gaze at the topics list we were given in class earlier in the day.

"Not sure, what looks good?" I continued to throw the ribbon in the air, watching the light blue cloth twirl, end over end, like a piece of falling sky.

I threw it up in the air again and cupped my hands awaiting its arrival.

It never came.

### Chapter Four

Suspended two to three inches from the ceiling, the ribbon dangled, teasing.

My breath caught and I stared. This couldn't be happening. That thin strip of blue couldn't just hang suspended in air.

"Berkley," I said, barely audibly.

I could tell when she looked up by her intake of breath. "Oh my God! How'd you do that?" she asked as if I'd just duplicated one of Houdini's famous illusions.

"I'm not doing anything. It's... it's just there."

Berkley dropped her notebook and leapt to her feet. If she ran, I'd have been at her heels. But she didn't. Instead, she took the few short steps needed to reach me. "Is it stuck on something? A cobweb or...?" She made a face and held her hands palm upward as if she knew what she said didn't make sense.

"Are you kidding? This room has just been painted. There aren't any cobwebs here."

"How do you explain it then?"

Explain it? I couldn't explain it. That was the problem. "I'm pretty much clueless. Look at the way it's hanging though. The shape is sort of like a candy cane."

Berkley peered up at the ribbon. "Looks more like a question mark to me."

We looked at each other then back up at the ribbon, which continued to hang motionless.

A chill ripped through me. "What do you think we're being asked?"

Berkley raised her eyebrows in a bug-eyed stare. "We? I don't think there's any 'we' here. It's your room, your ribbon, and your throw that sent it across into some other dimension. Face it, girl. This ghost's for you."

My mouth dropped open and when I recovered enough to speak, my voice squeaked. "You think it's a... ghost?" For some strange reason, that hadn't occurred to me.

My insides twisted. "Could it be my father trying to tell me something?" As I spoke my heart began to beat faster, racing along with my excitement and hopes.

I realized I wanted it to be him. More than anything I wanted there to be some signal from the other side, some sign that my father was still around and that he forgave me for giving him a hard time the day he died.

I looked over to where the writing had been on the wall. Ridiculous. There had been an explanation for that. There'd be one for this too.

When I began to feel my hopes pretty well dashed, Berkley surprised me with her answer. "Anything's possible. Not necessarily plausible, but possible. After all, you've got a piece of material dangling in mid air in your bedroom." She flipped her hair from the inside of her shirt. It cascaded around her, fanning the air and causing the ribbon to slightly twirl.

She had me there. The blue fabric wasn't exactly obeying the laws of gravity. So the ribbon's question, if there was one, remained.

"I would have been spooked if you hadn't been here," I said grateful that this time I had company. If I'd been alone, I would've booked it out of there and would probably still be running. Anyway, I felt like I owed Berkley an explanation.

Come on, just suck up the embarrassment and fill her in. I took a deep breath and felt my face heat with shame as my thoughts traced back to my flight of the chicken. "A few nights ago I ran out of here screaming like a baby because there was literally writing on the wall. Turned out to be old stuff my grandmother jotted down to ward off my mother's nightmares." I gave her a condensed version of the details.

Berkley's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Her expression bore a startling resemblance to those commercial actors who clunk their hands on their heads and realize they could've had a V-8. "This was your grandmother's house, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I'll bet it's her." Berkley glanced back to the ribbon and then around the rest of the room as if she expected my grandmother to materialize.

I frowned not following her train of thought. "I don't understand."

"Your grandmother must be behind the ribbon. She lived here; ghosts often stay where they are comfortable," she said, quickly adding, "I read that once," as if that fact gave credence to her opinion.

The thought sat taking root in my head. Berkley made it appear logical. I shook my head. Logical? What was I thinking? There was no logic to this.

"My mom won't be home for another hour or so. What should we do?" I asked wondering if we should make her race home or try to google ghostbusters.

"Document it. Have a camera?"

Once again, Berkley with a common sense answer to a less-than-common problem. "I'm not sure where my mother keeps her digital, and I haven't seen mine since the move, but I have a disposable one in my top draw. It might have one or two pictures left."

I pulled it out and snapped off one picture. Sure enough it was the last on the roll. Not the best time to run out of film, yet so day-in-the-life-of me.

"What if the angle isn't good enough?" Berkley asked. "We don't want to look like fools."

Fools? I hope she wasn't planning on submitting it to "scariest places on earth" or something because, hey, like I still have to live here. "Who are we planning on showing this to?" I stood waiting terrified of her response.

"Your mother, of course, and could I show it to my parents? Please? This is just so cool. I wouldn't mention it to anyone else though. It's too easy to get labeled strange. I mean some people would think it was awesome. But there would be others that wouldn't believe no matter what, so I think we should just keep it to ourselves."

That was a relief. She had me nervous there for a second. "Trust me Berkley, I'm not about to parade around saying, 'Hi, I'm the new girl and I have a ghost in my house. Want to come over?'"

"Good point. You don't think you can find the other camera?"

I shook my head.

"What about video? Do you have a video camera?""

Again leave it to Berkley to find the answer when my head refused to work on all its cylinders. "I know where that one is. Watch the ribbon," I said, glad I was the one leaving the room rather than the one left alone there with the phenomenon.

I could tell she didn't relish the idea of being left there either by the way she glanced at the ribbon and then at the door.

"Just hurry up, okay. You don't want it to come down before we get further evidence."

Yeah, I understood, and it had nothing to do with evidence. It was simple. Berkley was not much braver than me. Not wanting to leave her there too long, I ran toward the living room in record time, grabbed the video camera from the cabinet under the television, and headed back for my whacked out room.

Before I entered the room I hit record and got some good footage of the thing suspended in space. I didn't want to touch it, but at the same time wondered how long it would stay. "Take the camera from me and continue to film."

Handing the camera off to Berkley, I gingerly approached the ribbon once again searching for any sign that it caught on something, any reason for it to be hanging there. Needing to do something, gently I blew a soft breath on the ribbon. It moved ever so slightly, one half twirl. I blew on it again and the question mark glided around in one full circle.

Getting more daring I blew harder and... the ribbon fell. My heart fell with it.

What if it had been my father? What if it was my only chance to say I'm sorry? I'd have to pay close attention in the future. Whatever was happening was happening for a reason.

Berkley shut off the camera and handed it back to me. "Well looks like whatever or whoever was there is gone now."

She was right. The second the ribbon fell there was an empty feeling throughout the room the way it feels when your friends leave and the house is suddenly silent.

****

Berkley left about an hour later and you better believe I was cursing fate for that one. I had pleaded with her to stay, but she figure skates and wasn't about to lose her ice time and pre-paid lesson.

Less than ten minutes after that, the sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the quiet. Mom was home and I still hadn't figured out how to approach the incident in my room. 'Hey Mom, funky stuff happening in the house, better get out your holy water,' wasn't going to cut it.

We chatted casually and just when I was going to ease my way into ghosts and the possibility that there was an entity occupying the house, I noticed the flowers she had brought in with her.

"Do you want me to put these in water?" I asked as I looked at the bouquet. Wildflowers, not my mother's usual pick. Normally she preferred yellow and peach roses, but any roses would do.

"No, I'm going to run them over to your grandmother before supper."

Oh good, now Mom lost it too. I wanted to ask if she actually heard from Grandma lately or if she just wanted me to bring them to my room where her spirit had taken up residence. "Excuse me?" I asked instead, trying to sound casual like I just hadn't heard what she said.

"I want to stop by her grave." She hesitated. "Normally I just have flowers sent, but I figured since I'm here I'd just make a quick stop."

I stared at her. She might have been speaking in tongues for all the sense she made.

"It's the anniversary of her death today. I'm sure you didn't know that. I always make it a point to send wildflowers. They were her favorite."

I gripped the table for support and turned away from my mother so she wouldn't see my eyes bugging out of my head.

I mean I had thought it, and Berkley said so, but this was real. My grandmother was haunting the house. No way was it a coincidence she'd picked today to 'make contact.'

How cool was this? She was asking me a question all right. She wondered if I knew the date of her death.

Well, I did now.

Somehow telling Mom about the experience with the ribbon and showing her the video became so out of the question. I called Berkley and got her machine. By the time she called me back my mother had left for the cemetery and I was able to fill her in on the details without interruption or fear of being overheard.

Berkley said she wasn't surprised. She reminded me of her findings from the report she had to write the year before and that many sources suggested ghosts have a tendency to stay in places where they feel familiar.

That made me sad though. Because that meant my dad was still in North Carolina.

It didn't take me long to mention that little tidbit to my mother when she returned from the cemetery. The fact that she could visit her parents' graves yet my father was almost a thousand miles away – alone.

Mom pointed out that the rest of his family still lived there and that we'd continue to send flowers the way she did to her parents before we moved back here.

She understood how I felt though. It majorly sucked that he died. It sucked more that I couldn't even visit his grave.

I pouted, was grouchy during dinner, huffed through my homework, and then set off for bed a good hour earlier than usual.

****

"Sleep well last night?" My mother eyed me trying to judge my mood.

I glared at her. If there'd been one thing I hadn't done well last night, it was sleep. I'd spent a good half of the night flailing about trying to get comfortable, but the room wouldn't let me. "Must have tried to go to sleep too early. I was awake half the night."

"Want some coffee?" She poured her cup and the aroma filled the air enticing me.

"Sure. It'll help me stay awake during some of my less exciting classes," and believe me, there were more than a few of those. Let's see, how about POD, which is Problems of American Democracy where we looked at government, complained about it, but didn't look for any real solutions.

Then there was Family Studies where we learned how messed up most people's families are and we have to carry an egg around like it was a baby for a month. Hate to break it to Mrs. Donovan, but most of the kids cracked theirs within the first few days and replaced it with another. It was supposed to simulate what it was like to be a parent. Yeah, right. Can we say, failed miserably?

I looked up at my mom, my parent, as she opened the cabinet and grabbed my snowflake mug that Dad had bought me when he went on a business trip to Canada.

He was thoughtful like that. Any time he went away he'd always come back with some little trinket. He bought this mug because it was smaller and I always insisted on joining Mom and Dad when they had coffee. Mom didn't want me to, but Dad caved. I could always get him to cave.

Well, almost always.

She held it in her hand for a moment then returned it to the cabinet and replaced it with one of her mugs without uttering a sound.

Once again mixed emotions. Did it mean she thought I was finally old enough for one of her special industrial-sized mugs of caffeine, or that she just didn't want to remind me more of my father? As if I could ever forget.

I mean, how could I forget the man who made me believe the world was mine to command? I did mention he so spoiled me, right? But it wasn't about that, and it wasn't about things.

It was about how he made me feel. Like a princess. I know that sounds uber stupid, but there's no other way to explain it. When I was with Dad I felt like the most special person in the world.

Only now he was gone, so most of the time I just felt like... crap.

"Any dreams last night?" she asked drawing me back to reality.

"Some. Although it was weird. Even while I was awake I kept thinking of all my teeth falling out."

"Damn!" Mom yelped as the coffee she was pouring me spilled onto her hand. She put down the cup and stuck her hand under the cold water.

Was it something I said? Or was it just an accident? She had jumped and spilled the coffee, but I couldn't imagine why.

After I fixed my coffee, one Splenda packet and a splash of half and half, I turned on the computer, Googled dreams and scanned through the list. There it was - losing teeth – an embarrassment.

"This is odd. It says that when you dream of losing teeth, it's because you're afraid of being embarrassed."

Her shoulders relaxed. "That's a relief. Your grandmother always said when you dreamt of teeth falling out it meant death."

She didn't need to say why that thought weirded her out. I knew she was thinking the same thing I was – we'd just had our share of death and didn't need any more.

"Why'd she think that?" I asked as if I were no more than casually curious.

Mom closed her eyes as if trying to remember the past. "She used to also say dream of the dead, hear from the living."

"That's a good one to know." Sipping my coffee I debated that issue.

Mom sat down next to me at the table and half mumbled as if she were talking to herself. "They were all just ramblings."

"Ramblings? How so? You mean you didn't believe any of the things that your mother said?" Her tone changed immediately and I could tell I pissed her off.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. She was just much more superstitious than I ever was. She believed things..." My mother hesitated and I wondered what it was she'd been about to say before she thought better of it.

"What kind of things?" I probed. Mom shrugged her shoulders but I continued to stare her down until she answered.

"She was just different than other people."

"In what way?" I continued to put on the pressure. "How was she different?"

"More intuitive," I guess.

She was holding something back and I desperately needed to know what it was. "More info, please. What does that mean, more intuitive? She made better judgments?"

My mother hedged, and finally told me, deciding I wouldn't buy into it. "She thought she was kind of psychic," my mother said with a light little laugh as if she had just told a mildly amusing joke.

"My grandmother was psychic? Are you kidding me?" Well this certainly put a new light on things.

"She wasn't psychic, she just thought she had a special ability to see some things before they happened."

"What is that, you mean like clairvoyant?"

"No, not for real. She had a few dreams..."

The minute the word dreams exited her mouth, she knew it was a mistake and that I'd have my own interpretation.

She was right, I did.

### Chapter Five

This was the part of the walk home that I hated. Up to this point I had Berkley and a few others to hang with, but this was my turn off. No other kids my age graced the deserted street. Forget kids my age, I would've settled for a sign of life.

Not many houses either, that's what made it lonelier. Even the trees sporadically placed appeared too far away from each other. Large trees that bent toward the center of the road hung like umbrellas masking the sky. At a different time I would've thought the fall colors pretty. But the changing shades only reminded me the leaves would soon be falling. More death. I sulked and kicked at the fallen ones, blaming them for their fate.

As I approached the large blue Victorian I broke my stride and almost tripped over my own feet when I saw the sign on the lawn. A large cardboard sign, taped to the bottom of the mailbox. Kittens – free to good home.

It hadn't been there when I left for school this morning. Trust me; that's one thing I wouldn't have missed.

My heart began to pound and I veered off the path toward home. How many years had I asked for a pet? Mom always had a cat when she was young. She went on and on about this one cat Tabby. Yeah, like can you believe she actually stuck the cat with that name? Anyway, she would dress it up in doll clothes. How sick is that? Talk about mistreatment of animals. She had more than one cat even. No such luck for me.

Dad was allergic. Cats, dogs, anything with fur. Real convenient. I remembered my mom saying that to my aunt once when I had asked for a Great Dane puppy after seeing my friend Angela's.

Convenient or not it was true. Once one of mom's friends showed up at the house with her Shih Tzu and insisted that since it had hair rather than fur it couldn't bother Dad. Being a nice guy and an animal lover Dad crossed his fingers and let her in.

An hour later he looked like he'd been attacked by killer bees. His eyes were almost swollen shut and needless to say, she was never invited back. Especially after she had the nerve to say that Dad's allergic reaction couldn't have come from her pet. She blamed it on the shrimp cocktail. End result there – not a chance in hell for me. Call me destined to be petless.

They offered me an aquarium when I was six. I took it; I mean, it was the closest thing I was going to get to a pet. But let's be real – you can't hold them.

So when I saw the sign it was as if Dad looked down and said, okay kid, here's your chance.

I walked with determination up to the front door and knocked. An old stout woman with white hair appeared wearing an apron. An apron! Can we say like time warp to back in the day?

"Hi, I saw your sign, about the kittens." I held out my right hand, "I'm Salem."

She gripped my hand and shook it firmly. "Vera Taunton," she said in a thick syrupy voice and invited me in. Right at the edge of her kitchen was a little cordoned off area where beautiful little balls of fur frolicked. My breath caught and corny or not I made some sort of 'aww' sound.

"My Fluffy was a naughty girl and snuck out on me," she said as she picked up the longhaired Calico mom and stroked behind an ear. She turned, gently placed the cat down a few feet away in an adjoining room, and shut the door. "Now here I am with a batch of kittens."

She pointed to the litter as if I somehow could have missed them. Yeah, lady. Not on your life.

"Now what did your parents say? I hope you asked them first."

For a second I was so afraid she'd toss me out I actually thought of lying. But deep down I knew I couldn't and when I took a good look at her face, I knew she'd let me visit even if I couldn't take one home.

"Not yet, I just saw the sign. We just moved in recently, not too far down the street. I thought if I could take a peek then it might be easier to describe a specific one." I shrugged but was pretty sure she understood what I meant.

"Well go on in the pantry there and sit down with them. They're ready to go and one found a new home this morning. The sign probably won't do much good, but if they're not gone in another week I'm going to take them over to the pound. Most people looking for pets go there first. I'm just nosy and like to place them myself. That way I know they're going to people who'll be good to them."

I stepped over the gate that was blocking the pantry from the rest of the house and sat down in the middle of the old Formica floor. In spite of the fact that the flooring had lived longer than I did, it shined with a polish that had to come from hard work and constant effort.

My eyes darted from one kitten to another like nervous radar trying to determine which one to pick up first. "Do you know if they are males or females?" I asked. "That might matter to my mom."

"They were only eight weeks old yesterday so it's hard to tell and I don't want to say the wrong thing, but a vet would know. If you find one you want, take it over to the pound and if it's the wrong sex you can exchange it for another."

I looked at her as if she were crazy. That would be like giving a mother a baby in the hospital and then telling her she could exchange it if it cried too much.

"As if I could give it up once I took it." I knelt closer to the kittens and started petting them. One fluffy white one with striped paws and dark ears sauntered over, climbed on my lap and sprawled.

She chose me. Or he did. Either way I had to have this one. I picked up my purse, dug out my cell phone, and punched in Mom's number. She picked up on the second ring. Before she could even manage a hello I blurted, "There's no reason to not get a fur bearing animal now. No one in the house is allergic. I could understand while Dad was alive, but he's not now, and I think a pet would help me adjust better, sort of like a security blanket."

"Salem, please, take a breath," she cut in. "What made you think of this all of a sudden?" Mom asked.

"I mean it Mom, all my life I wanted a pet and couldn't have one because of Dad's allergies. Now he's dead and I have to live without him. I'd give up a pet in a minute to get him back, but I can't, so the least you could do is help me deal with things by letting me have a pet..."

"Okay, you can have a pet," she broke in, "but can it be a small one? Not a Great Dane? Okay? Can we talk about this? Dogs are a big responsibility. You have to walk them..."

"How about a cat?" Dead silence. I had her and I couldn't help but gloat.

"A cat would be great. We can check the paper..."

"Already found one Mom. There's a litter down the street that's old enough to be adopted and one sort of chose me." I held my breath. If there were going to be a protest, it would be now.

"Then it looks like I should stop and get kitten chow on the way home."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I squealed into the phone as I jumped up and down like an idiot. With the first bit of joy I felt since the accident, I picked up my baby and shoved the phone at Mrs. Taunton. Breathless, I gasped, "My mom."

She smiled and took the phone while I cuddled up to my fluffy bit of sanity.

I didn't register the conversation. I only knew she said yes. I felt my eyes well up and I could hear Dad's voice say, 'When God closes a door, He always opens a window.' This tiny animal was the window.

I stayed at Mrs. Taunton's for another hour and a half until my mother picked us up. I was afraid if I left it wouldn't be real. Luckily, Mrs. Taunton is a real nice lady and one who also wanted to unload her basket full of felines, hopefully without taking them to the pound.

Mom showed up with a little blue carrier and had the car packed with supplies. Dry food, wet food, bowls, litter, a litter box, a bed, and a couple of toys. Yeah, looked like maybe Mom was just as excited as I was.

It never occurred to me that Mrs. Taunton and my mom might know each other, although it should have. I was stunned to find out that not only did Vera Taunton remember my mother as a child, but she was also a friend of my grandmother.

When she said I could visit anytime, I decided to take her up on it. I wanted to know more about my grandmother, and let's face it; the best place to learn about someone is not going to be from that person's child.

If my grandmother really did have psychic ability, then her friend might have a different take on it than my mother did.

I also should have realized the kitten coup was a little too easy. When we got home my mother dropped the bomb. My nutso appointment was for the next day. She was giving me the pet and in return I would have to talk about my issues.

Issues. Interesting way to put it.

Just when I thought I had put one over on her, I find she really put one over on me. I mean, what was I going to do? Refuse? After getting the kitten? Yeah, right.

I would have agreed to anything. It didn't matter. Who minds a head shrinker when you have an animal to love?

When I thought about it later I had to laugh. My mother and I were a lot alike. I used the death card to get the kitten and she used the kitten to get me to the shrink.

Manipulative. Both of us.

****

Now some things are just easier said than done. That's how I felt when I stood outside Dr. Martin's office shuffling my feet and trying to find a way to evaporate.

Instead the hot senior, Robby, the one who had stared at me in school a few weeks ago, opened the door and walked right into me.

In order not to fall over, I grabbed at his shirt and his hands went around my waist to steady me. I had to look straight up to see his face. He was at least six feet tall and way cuter close up. I felt weak like I'd been swimming too long in the hot sun. Then I noticed the most devastatingly beautiful blue eyes in the world were once again looking at me like I had two heads.

"Whoa, um, hi," he said.

Okay not exactly the most literate of boys, but with that face who needed words.

Then it dawned on me. He was coming out of the shrink's office. Evidently he also had 'issues.' Gorgeous or not, I wasn't getting hung up on a loony tune.

"You're here to see..." he looked toward the door.

"Dr. Martin. I'd better go in or I'll miss my appointment."

He took his hands away and I opened the door wishing I could take the last few minutes back. I'd much rather be held by a lunatic than share my soul with a shrink.

I looked back and he was still standing there, only now I sensed it wasn't a two heads look, it was an 'umm' look and he was giving it to me.

Figures. A guy that good looking checking me out and he has to be missing some screws.

At least my luck is consistent.

Dr. Martin stood, walked over to me, and shook my hand. The wrong hand. The other one remained on the door and I continued to peer out at Robby who was still standing there.

Dr. Martin nodded to him then said to me, "You can shut the door and have a seat."

"Sorry, window-shopping," I said as I took a few steps then flopped down into the soft maroon leather chair opposite his desk. It was comfortable even if I wasn't. "I suppose the local nuthouse isn't the best place to go scooping out the region's hotties."

Now it was the good doctor's turn to look at me like I had a problem bigger than he anticipated. I was surprised when the corner of his mouth turned into a hint of a grin.

"First, Salem, this isn't a nuthouse and I wasn't aware my son was one of the regions hotties. I'll refrain from telling him. Wouldn't want it to go to his head."

I shrank down in the chair and prayed it'd swallow me whole while I tried to cover my face with my hands. For a girl with such good grades, I cornered the market on dumb.

I so should have been born tow-headed blond. There were times when the dim-witted things I uttered turned stupid into an art form. This was one of them.

I took a good look at the man in front of me. About six feet tall, dark hair graying at the temples, blue eyes. Yup, had I bothered to really see him when I walked in, I might have saved myself some embarrassment. Although they weren't carbon copies, there was a family resemblance I would have easily noticed if I'd bothered to look.

"Could we start over?" I asked.

"I'd like that. Now your mother says you're here at her insistence and would do just about anything to get out of counseling."

I squirmed in my seat but didn't bother to deny it. "That would be correct. This is simple. My father and I had an argument and he got killed a few minutes later. Guilt. If I had been sitting were I usually sat I would have been dead too. Guilt. I get it; I understand that there are accidents every day and some people die while others live. I get it. But it doesn't change the fact that I still miss my dad. I want him and my old life back."

"Good, understanding is half the battle, but it's not all of it. Acceptance is the rest of it, and unfortunately, that takes time."

"No offense, Doc, but I don't have a degree, and I could've figured that out on my own."

He smiled patiently as if it was part of his job, and I guess maybe it was. "Salem, some things are easier said than done."

"I was just thinking the same exact thing before I knocked on your door..."

"Then you understand, my job is long term, it's not a band-aide quick fix. You aren't here for understanding. You're a smart girl and you know the way of the world. I'm here for you to vent, for you to get your anger out so it won't bottle up inside you and explode later."

He looked past me toward the door and I turned to see if anyone was there. He had this strange sort of expression and I wondered for a moment if Robby had something bottled up inside. Stupid thought. I mean, if Dr. Martin couldn't shrink his own kid what kind of luck would he have with me?

But Robby didn't need a shrink, I did. And now he knew it. Of all the stinking luck.

"I don't like feeling crazy and that's how I feel about seeing a shr.. psychiatrist."

"If it helps, I'm only a psychologist, which means I only treat little nuts. Major psychiatric problems go downtown." He grinned at me and I knew I was going to like him in spite of his job title.

"Funny, a shrink with a sense of humor."

"Laughter keeps us sane."

"What about tears?"

A shadow crossed his face and for a split second I thought I recognized the agony of loss. "That too."

"Then I must be very mentally fit."

He nodded. "We don't need to talk about your dad yet. Let's just talk about the other things you're going through. New school, new friends..."

"New part of the country." I don't know why I slipped that in, but lately it seemed to be significant. I mean, I really felt like I'd changed worlds.

"It's a lot to deal with on top of everything else."

Okay, so he said it, not me. Now as far as I was concerned Mom was fair game. "Then why did my mother add that to my plate?" I asked not trying to hide my anger.

"Why do you think she did it?"

"Oh good, the question with a question routine." If he kept this up he'd get to see me at my worst.

"Answer?" He looked at me expectantly, like he knew I had the solution and he'd be willing to wait all day for me to spit it out.

"So we wouldn't have to drive by the spot Dad was killed every day. Because she thought I couldn't handle it." The pitch of my voice rose with each word like the sound of a teakettle when it's close to a boil.

"How was she handling it?"

"My mother?" I hadn't thought about that. Maybe it was more than just to protect me. Maybe she couldn't deal with it either.

I frowned. He got me to admit it to myself. I hadn't been handling it. It ripped my heart out every time we drove past that intersection and it wouldn't have mattered if we just moved to the next town.

We needed a fresh start, both of us.

"You're doing a lot of thinking there."

I nodded and accepted the inevitable. "So I come see you once a week and complain about whatever. So how long do we continue?"

His voice was smooth and even, no sign of emotion. "That depends."

"On what?"

"How much complaining you do." The deadpan way he spoke added humor to even the dullest things and I wondered how much like his father Robby was. Robby, oh crap.

"Please don't say anything to Robby."

"Doctor-patient privilege, remember?"

Of course he wouldn't say anything. There was actually some sort of an oath or something. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Let's see, scoping on your son, assuming since he was here he had to be a lunatic, insulting your ability, and anything else I might have done to offend you."

"None taken." He rose and I took that as my cue to go. "So same time next week?"

"I'll be here."

He reached across his rather large desk to shake my hand when I noticed there were two picture frames on his desk facing him. Even with a bend and reach I couldn't see the pictures that had to be of Robby and Doctor Martin's late wife. I know it was morbid curiosity, but I wanted to see what she looked like.

****

"Do you think Skye is a good name for her?" I asked my mother as I held up the kitten.

"We still don't know if it's a her," my mother said willing the kitten into the male gender.

"If it's a boy, we could call him Sir Shitzalot," I giggled noting the fresh piles in the litter box.

"Salem," the clipped tone of my mother's voice displayed her disapproval. "Language."

"That's not bad, and it's so true. In one twenty-four hour period this little beast has produced it's own size in crap."

Mom handed me the pooper-scooper and smiled, "You're the one who wanted the pet."

"I'm not complaining," I reassured her. "Just... amazed. Can we ask the vet if it's normal to poop this much? I mean, what if something's wrong?"

A quick trip to the pound and we were given a clean bill of health. It also deflated any hopes of having my own set of kittens. My baby was a boy. Somehow Skye no longer seemed appropriate even though it was the color of his eyes.

"Call him Skyler," Mom said. "That's a more masculine version of the name."

"Okay little Skyler, you'll have to deal with a sissy name." He meowed as if he understood and Mom and I both started laughing.

"I've got to admit, he's adorable."

"You're just glad he's a boy," I said as I picked him up and snuggled him to my face. Immediately he started purring loudly.

"We're going to do homework," I said as I walked toward the stairs.

"Let me know if he can find the answers," my mother yelled after me.

At first Skyler was content with me holding him, but then he stretched out, hopped off my lap, and curled up next to my feet while I studied.

His gentle purring suddenly stopped, replaced by a loud "Errrnw." I looked down to see his ears pinned back as his wide eyes scanned the room. In one swift movement he stood and began to circle a spot on the bed, like a child playing musical chairs. Mid-stride he stopped and slowly tipped his little head toward heaven.

He stood motionless like a little stuffed toy.

I looked at the ceiling. Nothing was there.

"Come on, Skyler. Don't freak me out."

He didn't move.

"Hey," Berkley called as she entered the room while I almost jumped out of my skin. "I couldn't wait to see your cat."

"Kitten, and he's a bit preoccupied."

"He's so cute, oh he's beautiful," Berkley sing-songed. Then she stopped short and looked up. "What's he looking at?"

We both stared at the same spot, but the human eyes couldn't make out what the cat eyes obviously saw. "I can't see anything, but he hasn't moved."

"Cats, oh wow, Salem, Cats. Don't you get it? Cats are supposed to be guides to the spirit world."

Okay, she might have had the highest GPA in the junior class, but I had to wonder why I was the one seeing a shrink.

Without so much as a twitch from his eyes, Skyler meowed. If he was talking to Grandma, I still wasn't privy to the conversation.

****

That night I had the dream again, the one where I was inside a giant flame. I wondered what Dr. Martin would think about it, but wasn't sure if I should discuss it with him or not.

Luckily for me, Skyler was there. I didn't have time to thrash about. See, he had a thing about quick movements. Evidently under the covers my feet masqueraded as toys or prey. Either way he pounced and woke me up with a few playful bites.

### Chapter Six

Whoever invented homework should die a slow and painful death. Like the school day isn't long enough. I mean, at least adults get to relax after work. That's what Mom was doing as I chipped away at my homework. She sat on the other end of the couch watching the news intently, pausing occasionally when I needed some help.

The television droned on in the background, not distracting me in the slightest. For me, the news wasn't exactly television. It was boring to the extreme, even more than homework.

Skyler sat up straight and meowed at the set. I was going to laugh and point out that he didn't enjoy the news any more than I did, when I looked up and a chill settled over my body.

Suddenly the blah, blah, blah turned into words – loud, clear, and exacting. That isn't what gave me goose bumps though.

For a second I was sucked into the giant flame displayed on the screen. A massive burning fire, no longer a part of my nightmares. But instead now a major part of someone else's.

Only now it was for real. The blaze was real. My fire hadn't been imagined. It certainly hadn't been representative in any way of the car accident I'd been in. My flame burning out of control was on the TV.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up like a cat in attack mode and goose bumps marred the flesh on my arms. Somehow the fire that was being pictured now had been in my mind before it happened.

Impossible.

"Mom?"

"What honey?" she asked without turning toward me, her eyes still riveted to the destruction she was witnessing.

"See the fire on TV?" Much to my amazement, my voice sounded much more calm than I actually was.

"Yeah," she said only half paying attention.

"That's the one that was in my dreams."

It took a second or so before my mother caught on that I meant it was the same fire and when she did she tried to dismiss it. "It was a fire like that?" She turned and looked directly at me.

"Um, no Mom. It was that exact one." I nodded frantically in the affirmative hoping she'd believe rather than question. No such luck.

"Oh come on Salem, what are you trying to say?" she asked frustration laboring in her tone.

"I saw it before it happened. Call me weird, but it's true." Okay, so I was saying the words in a calm and collected manner, but that was probably shock because inside I was shaking. Seriously shaking.

"Don't be silly, honey. One flame pretty much looks like the next."

The heat intensified and I could feel the burning of flesh. Not pain exactly. I wasn't in pain. I was detached from it, yet knew what it was like on some de-magnified level. I focused on the television, but was at the site at the same time.

"There's a person in that flame. The authorities may not know he's there yet. And it's a he, I'm almost certain." That detached voice wasn't coming from the me that was trembling inside. It was coming from somewhere else, like I was split in half or in two places at once.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I saw the fire before it happened and I know there's a person inside burning to death. I know it because I experienced it the other night. I can even feel it now." I shook my head and tried to let the feelings in. But it was too late. The man was gone.

My heart raced with debilitating fear. I shouldn't know this. There's no way to truly know this. Yet I did.

"He's already dead. I guess there's no reason to call the police. I'm not sure what I would have said, still, I would've called. But he's dead so there's no point. They'll find him." I knew that too. "It'll be on the news tomorrow."

The more I knew for certain that it was real the more frightened I became. My stomach tightened and I felt chilled to the bone. What was happening to me and how could I make it stop?

My mother just stared at me as if I just went over the edge. Or at least that's what I thought. Looking back she must have been thinking of my grandmother and how she had claimed to have the same ability.

****

My mother's birthday was coming up and this was going to be a tough one. See, Dad always bought her just the right gift. He somehow always found something that was the perfect fit. And of course, often expensive.

Dad was the bling king. The jewelry store in the center of my old town used to send him a Christmas card and a calendar every year. Dad always made sure his 'girls' sparkled. Mom's anniversary band had enough sparkle to rescue lost ships at sea. And I was the mini-bling. I had enough fourteen carat gold at fifteen to rival an Egyptian Pharaoh.

For Mom, this birthday would be blingless. And it's not so much the expensive present as the thought of someone thinking you're special enough to buy it.

This birthday would be the first one without someone who would spoil her. No parents. No husband. And what could I get that would make up for the wonderful gift she wouldn't be getting from Dad?

Nada.

But I had to try. I checked the yellow pages and luckily there was an antique store within walking distance. I figured it would be easier finding something different in a place like that than in the local mall.

My biggest surprise occurred as I walked through the opened door. Robby stood on a ladder with a dust cloth making china plates presentable. His butt wiggled slightly as he cleaned and I could have watched the show for an indefinite amount of time. Unfortunately, an elderly woman with salt and pepper hair caught me. She closed the door and when she did the bell at the top jingled causing Robby to turn.

He must have been as surprised to see me, as I was to see him, because he lilted forward and momentarily lost his balance.

The elderly woman gasped and clutched her chest with her hand. "Robby, darling, be careful. You gave me a fright."

"Sorry, I will," he said to her as he smiled at me.

"The gentleman from the garage called. Said to tell you he'd definitely have that part in before the dance."

"Thanks, Gram."

She glanced over at me and then back up to Robby. "Do you have everything here under control?"

Robby looked down at me and smiled. "Yeah. No problem."

"Good. Now I'll go back to making my Stroganoff and leave the young lady to you." She turned, winked at me and walked out.

Great, just great. First, I tell his dad his son is a hottie and now Grandma catches me red handed, and red faced I might add, checking out his butt! That's what gave me a fright.

A fright. Cool old lady word. I like the vocabulary that elderly people have. Not like parent's slang that just sounds dorky and stupid. The generation before them used words that have slipped away from modern language. That's what makes it cool.

"You wouldn't happen to be stalking me, are you?" he asked when she was out of earshot.

My jaw dropped open and I stood unintelligently catching flies. Not even able to utter a sound.

"I'm kidding." He descended the ladder and stood in front of me. "Do you like antiques? We've got some great stuff here."

I nodded and wondered if that applied to his grandmother, she certainly looked old enough to be considered an antique. But I was just being nasty because I'd been caught... well, being nasty.

To be honest she was really pleasant looking and didn't look as old as Mrs. Taunton, although I guess they were around the same age. And the cool thing about Robby's grandmother was she even had an inch or two on me and I'm not exactly short.

I wouldn't feel big and gawky next to her the way I did with my own grandmother. That would be my father's mother, Queen Bee, who was petite and would always say to my mother, "I hope she doesn't grow too tall." My mother would grumble under her breath, "I hope she's as big as an Amazon." Unfortunately, just hearing it always made me slouch in front of my grandmother. I gazed up at Robby; there'd be no reason to slouch if I were with him.

I glanced around the store hoping something would jump out at me. "Um, I'm looking for a present for my mom. I'm not really sure what I want. Just something different."

He pointed out hand painted china dishes and figurines and then some hand blown glass items. Then I saw it. Cinderella's glass slipper sparkling in the light from the window.

When I was little we used to watch the video practically every day right before Dad came home from work. I always called it 'Mommy and me' time. I remember she bought me clear plastic shoes from a toy store that came with a crown and every day I'd leave one shoe on the steps for Dad to find when he came home. He'd make like he was the prince and would search the house until he found me.

I wanted that glass slipper. It'd be a gift with meaning. But it had to be fine crystal and I was sure I'd never be able to afford it. I knew that because unlike many of the items in the store, it was behind glass.

"Which piece are you looking at?" Robby asked playing the part of salesman.

I stepped closer and put my finger on the glass and pointed to the slipper. "This one."

He grabbed a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the display case. The slipper sparkled more out of the case and as he handed it to me our hands touched briefly. My hand tingled and my belly started doing flips.

I turned the crystal over to see if there was a price tag but there wasn't. "It's pretty expensive, huh?" More than anything I hoped I was wrong.

He started to check the spot where the slipper had been then stopped. "I can get it for cost if you'd consider doing me a favor."

I stood like a mannequin trying to imagine what kind of a favor I could do for him.

"I paint," he said when I made no effort to respond. "The first time I saw you I wanted to capture your face."

And I had imagined him running from fear. "Wow, an artist." I hated myself for getting tongue-tied around him, but my IQ only lowered when he showed interest.

"I have a small studio at my house or I could bring my stuff to your house if it'd make you more comfortable." He smiled and I decided to be his model even if I couldn't get the gift at cost.

"I still don't know if I'd have enough for the slipper. I only have fifty bucks."

He looked at the tag in the case and winced. I knew I didn't have enough. "Fifty dollars it is."

"What's fifty dollars?" an older gentleman asked. It wasn't difficult to guess who this was. In spite of the fact his hair was stark white, the face was an older version of Doctor Martin. And like his son and his grandson, he stood over six feet tall. They certainly grew them big in this family.

I stood up straight and held up the slipper, then frowned when it looked like the poor man was going to collapse. He raised his eyebrows and Robby seemed uneasy.

"She's a friend of mine, Grandpa. I'm... ah... letting her pay cost and she's agreed to sit for me. I'd have to pay a model so I figure it'd equal out."

I could tell by Grandpa's expression that the cost of the slipper was more than fifty and there'd be some money coming out of Robby's pocket. Then his grandfather looked at me and his eyes twinkled and he smiled.

"Smart boy. This is one painting I can't wait to see." He clapped Robby on the back in spite of what must have been a stupid sale. "Now make an old man happy and wear the color peach when he paints you. It'll be perfect for your complexion," he said to me.

"I really shouldn't take this if it's more than fifty."

"No," both Robby and his grandfather echoed together. A bit odd but I wasn't about to complain. So I managed to snag the gift and time with Robby. Talk about a win-win situation.

Anyway, I was thrilled with my acquisition and his explanation for looking at me so weird that first day. I mean really, who wouldn't want to be selected by an artist as the perfect model?

Then of course, he mentioned the 'D' word. That would be dance. I mean, it's not like he asked me out or anything. He didn't even ask me to go with him. He just asked if I was planning on going.

I acted like I hadn't even heard anything about it, you know, being new and all. Then I felt brainless because I'd have to be blind not to know about the dance. Every hallway was littered with flyers, posters adorned the walls, and banners flew over every entrance announcing the first dance of the season. I blushed. He'd either think I was dim witted or a big fat liar.

He let it slip casually into the conversation that he was going to 'stop by' and I should 'check it out.' Now for all I knew he could be stopping by with his girlfriend and might have told me to check it out for any of a million reasons, but I hoped it was because he wanted to hang out and get to know me there.

So I left there grinning for more than one reason.

****

Okay, so maybe the best time to tell Berkley that I might be able to see the future wasn't when she had just gulped down a large amount of Dr. Pepper. She choked on it and it sprayed all over the ground like a volcanic eruption. Good thing I sidestepped or I would have worn the bulk of it and that would not have been good for my new white sweater.

We were headed home and about two blocks from school when the rest of the kids we were walking with took a left on Main, and Berkley and I grabbed a soda from the machine at the gas station. I should have timed it better, but we were finally alone and I had to get it out while I still had the courage.

And let's face it, she was the logical choice because not only was she my best friend, but Berkley had been around for the whole ghost thing and believed, so I figured it wouldn't be much of a stretch for her to believe this too. Hadn't figured in the shock factor though.

She continued to cough a bit after her ground watering so I hit her back until she caught her breath. She glared at me to stop. "So you think you're psychic?"

How the hell do you answer that? I mean it sounds sort of stupid when it's said out loud. "I'm not sure exactly but something weird is going on."

She chuckled. "Yeah, well I knew that when I met your ghost."

My shoes scuffed along the pavement as I dragged my feet like I did when I was a child. "Technically my grandmother. She may be a ghost, but she's still my grandmother."

Berkley did a little time out gesture with her hands and took a sip of the remaining soda. "Just wanted to make sure I actually got to swallow some of this. Who knows what you'll say next. There won't be a lot more now, will there?"

We started walking again, but at a slower pace so we'd have more time to talk before hitting the intersection where Berkley and I would head in different directions. "Other than the fact I share a room with my dead grandmother and seem to dream of the future, no, there's nothing else." But just so she'd understand, I filled her in on my dream of flames.

The wind kicked up and Berkley zipped up her hooded sweatshirt. "So if the fire is the only thing you have to go on, how do you know this is for real? Maybe it's just some kind of coincidence."

I gaped at her wondering where she hid the friend who believed in me. "Well, let's start with they are rather strange dreams and then it ended up on the news. I mean, it wasn't like the everyday dream and I just had a feeling in my gut. I'm not sure how, but I knew it as certainly as I knew my own name." I took a few sips of my own soda and waited for a response.

Unfortunately for me, she was taking her time. Berkley twisted her hair and tucked it beneath her hood, which now framed her face. She mulled it over for a few more seconds. "I was just playing Devil's Advocate. Obviously this is much too much of a coincidence. But do you really think you're psychic or is your grandmother just sending you the images from the other side?"

Okay, had to admit I hadn't thought about that possibility. "I don't know. Why would she show me those specific images though? It's not like I could have done anything to prevent it or to save that man. I'd understand it if I knew him, but he was a total stranger."

We were silent for a few more seconds. "Internet the sec we get home. You check prophetic dreams and I'll see what I can find out about ghosts sending information and we'll discuss the highlights later," she said as we approached the street where we had to split up.

"Yeah, I'll call you before supper." With that we waved and paced off in our separate directions.

****

Come five o'clock Mom and I were pretty much in the same position that we were in the night before, except I was paying close attention to the news this time. And this time I was only pretending to do my homework. I sat on what was normally a comfortable chair, yet I couldn't control the urge to fidget. My tense muscles ached while I waited impatiently for the inevitable to occur.

To be honest I was praying I'd be wrong and there'd be no body. I begged and begged, please just let it be some freaky kind of coincidence.

Yeah, like I really believed that.

The anchorman once again showed clips of the devastation from the chemical fire the night before and discussed possible causes. Yada, yada, yada still under investigation. There was one new development though... oh crap, here it comes. No, no, no, no... - It appeared the charred remains of a body was found near the entrance of the building.

Yup, I could have told them that. So much for breaking news. Evidently the poor bugger made a valiant effort to get out, but was overcome by smoke inhalation first. Not what I wanted to hear.

I was close to soiling my pants, but couldn't lose the opportunity to 'I told you so' my mother. I looked back to her and raised an eyebrow. She looked ashen and her glass was hanging upside down while her diet caffeine free soda spilled out all over the new plush carpet.

I went to the kitchen and ran a cloth under cold water and grabbed the Resolve spot remover. I started dabbing it up before it stained and my mother was still just sitting there like some sort of zombie when I came back.

"Believe me now?" I asked wanting to rub it in just a little bit.

She nodded mindlessly. "It isn't that I didn't believe you before. It's just I hoped you were wrong. I really hoped that you were wrong. And with all the trauma you've suffered lately. Well, you can see how it would be easy to think... Oh, hell, I just didn't want it to be true, but I should have known right away. Should have recognized the symptoms." She sighed and massaged her temples the exact way I do when my head hurts.

I didn't get it. How would she have guessed and what was so wrong with being psychic? Okay, forget the last thought. "What do you mean? How would you know anything about this?" She'd spent the past few days telling me I was imagining things and now that I had proof I wasn't, she was acting like she knew more about it than I did.

"This gift you have, well it seems to have skipped a generation. Who knows, maybe I'm just jealous," she said with a fake half-hearted laugh.

Oh yeah, knowing what it feels like to burn up in a fire is really something to be jealous of. I mean, really, who wouldn't want to experience that? Sometimes my mother acts weirder than I do. And makes less sense.

"Skipped a generation? You mean Grandma?"

"Yes, my mother, used to have strange dreams sometimes and they would always come true. She hated it because she never had a handle on them. They would never make any sense until the deed was done and then it would all fit together."

Anger started to take over. I couldn't believe my mother had fought so hard the other night, denying the possibility of something she knew was more than likely true. And she had laughed about my grandmother's dreams before, saying no one really believed in them.

I felt like one of the cartoon characters that has steam blow out of his as the anger built up. "So it's hereditary?"

"I'm not sure what it is. And in your case it seems to be different from Grandma's. Yours is much more exacting. Hers wasn't anywhere near as specific."

I just stared at her. Big, fat, hairy deal, my dreams were more exacting than Grandma's. It was still the same. I was actually psychic. Oh holy crap, did I just admit that for real?

Yup, no matter how I looked at it, I appeared to be psychic.

That is unless Grandma's ghost was sending me signals. I mean, she might not have had the psychic thing down when she was on earth. But who knows maybe she had the chance to perfect it on the other side?

Salem, think about what you're telling yourself. I couldn't help it; I'd rather have my dead grandmother imparting information than getting ghost signals and being psychic on top of that. I mean, how weird could I get? That got me thinking, why did all this start when we moved into this house?

"Mom, why didn't any of this happen before?" I asked.

"Why do you think I didn't put this together? Nothing in the past indicated that you had any talent in that area." She shook her head. "It can't be. There would have to have been something."

But there wasn't and I was.

Tough cookies, Mom.

### Chapter Seven

I didn't need this crap right now. Too much was going on, and to be honest, I wasn't exactly handling it all with finesse.

But then again there's no preparation for clairvoyance. It's not exactly like the flu – tough it out and get over it. It was more like some insidious debilitating disease that took over the body the longer it was around.

And now this.

Berkley was waiting for an answer and no words would come out.

"Earth to Salem. Didn't you hear me?" She paused for a nanosecond. "We'll be able to take driver's ed. Together." She said it like we'd just won all expense paid tickets to Disney.

I crossed my arms and my posture answered the question while my mouth remained silent. How do you tell someone what she thinks is great, makes you want to lose your lunch?

"What's the matter?"

Again I thought – hard – and continued to stand like I was made of alabaster.

"Are you breathing?"

The question did take me out of my reverie and I took in a little too much air on the next breath.

"I was kidding. Salem, what is wrong with you? Oh, wow, are you having some kind of vision or something?" The way her eyes rounded she might have been taking in a UFO.

I thought about it. Lying, that is. Yeah, sure, I'm having a vision of doom and gloom and have to avoid driver's ed. at all costs. But I couldn't do it to her so I told the truth.

"I don't want to take driver's ed. class," I said casually like I was politely declining a cookie.

She looked like I just said I was having elective brain surgery. Or maybe she looked more like I needed it. Anyway, it took another minute or so before she shut her mouth, which had been hanging open.

"You have to take the classes or you can't get your license." She said it slowly, succinctly, just in case I'd recently lost a few-hundred brain cells, and my IQ dropped like September temperatures after the sun goes down.

I nodded and shrugged. Berkley sputtered and tried to collect her thoughts.

"But everyone wants to get a license. It's every teen's dream. It's not normal to not want to drive." As if trying to convince me with the conformity issue would work.

I raised one eyebrow trying to look cool. "And I would be normal in what way?"

It wasn't her best argument, but she wasn't ready to admit defeat. "Point taken. So you're not exactly like everyone else." She said it like the differences were minor. "Big deal, your psychic."

"It is a big deal for me." I didn't know if she was downplaying the psychic thing because she changed her mind and no longer thought it was such a major concern, or if she was just doing it because I was using it in the argument.

"But it's a dumb excuse for not wanting a license. I just don't get it. A license is freedom."

Freedom for her and every other kid my age. But not for me. For me it was fear and more frightening than the visions that were taking over my life. I needed to take a stand.

"I'm not going to change my mind."

We had a stare down for a few seconds before Berkley finally turned and grabbed her purse off my dresser. "Gotta go. Think about it." She zipped out the door without looking back.

I stood there and watched her walk away. Why couldn't I tell her the truth? She would have been cool about it if I'd only told her.

****

After a steamy shower I relaxed enough to take a closer look at my homework. Math didn't come as easy to me as the rest of the subjects I took in school and AS Pre-Calculus was especially hard. If I lived through it I'd take AP Calc as a senior and be able to take a test to earn college credits.

After what seemed like an eternity I finally finished and was about to call Berkley to double check my answers when I remembered she was still mad at me.

Wasn't going to risk restarting the argument over driving. I'd have to get my mom to look at them. What a pain. She'd do out each problem to make sure the answers were right. That was probably because math wasn't her strong point either. Boy, I could have used Dad about now. Math was his forte. Too bad I hadn't inherited the math gene.

It was about fifteen minutes later when she told me there were three wrong answers - out of thirty. She pointed it out because she wondered why I singled them out with water.

The paper held three water spots. One over each of the wrong answers. Okay, like how strange was that?

It didn't take me long to figure out that the drops occurred from my wet hair as I was doing my homework.

But to have three random wet spots hit the page exactly where the only three wrong answers were? Major weird, to say the least.

Skyler rubbed along my ankle then, looked up at the ceiling and mewed. I followed his gaze. Are you up there, Grandma? I thought wondering if she aided with the math correcting.

As soon as I thought it, I realized I was probably right. She must be here trying to give me direction.

I just needed to pay attention. And ask Mom a lot more questions. Who was I kidding? If I wanted answers I wasn't going to get them from her.

At this point it wasn't that I didn't trust her or thought that she'd leave things out. It's just that kids don't always know that much about their parents. I mean, for real, we always think of our parents as just that. We rarely consider them as individuals having lives that predated us. For that reason, it's hard to imagine them young. So we don't ask. And because it's over and seeming to come from another life – they don't tell. It's not that they're secrets – just history.

Then I remembered Vera Taunton. She knew my grandmother. They had been neighbors and friends for years.

There was a good chance she might know things about Grandma that my mother didn't know or simply didn't remember. And she had said to stop by any time. Well now seemed like as good a time as any, except that it was getting dark. I'd go first thing after classes tomorrow.

The hours didn't fly fast enough, but finally I made it home from school. Determined to go digging for gold I baked a quick batch of Chocolate Chip Cookies and set off for my neighbor's house, berating myself at least a dozen times on the way for going there with an ulterior motive.

What kind of girl was I to use an innocent person for my own sick curiosity?

A desperate one.

Vera Taunton didn't get a lot of company especially at this time of day. Her friendly and genuine smile made me feel like more of a rat for fishing for information. "So what do you remember about my grandmother? She died when I was so young I don't remember that much about her."

"Marie was a lovely woman and a good neighbor." She handed me a tall glass of milk and a floral plastic coaster to put it on. "I remember she always kept an immaculate yard and grew the most beautiful flowers."

Okay, not the kind of information that I was looking for, but then again she might not just blurt out the psychic stuff right away.

"We used to play cards every now and again. Your grandfather liked to play bid Whist."

"Was Grandma good at cards? Did she always seem to know which cards to play?" I asked hoping that would give her a hint. I mean, being a psychic, I assumed she'd be good with cards. Well you know what they say about assumptions.

"Gracious, no. It used to make your grandfather crazy. No matter how many times he went over the game she never did pick the right cards to win. As a matter of fact it was the exact opposite.

Unfortunately, I could have beat around the bush for another couple of centuries and Mrs. Taunton still wouldn't have a clue. Finally I just came straight to the point. "So, did you ever hear anything about my grandmother being sort of... um... psychic?"

Nope. She hadn't heard anything about that. And I could tell by the way she laughed for five minutes and practically fell off the cat-scratched over-stuffed couch, that she wasn't exactly a believer. So I did the only thing I could think of, I changed the subject and patted Fluffy.

Well at least I made an effort. My grandmother and her 'capabilities' had everything to do with what was happening to me. But was I just getting help from the other side in the form of my grandmother's ghost? Or was I also psychic? Either way just asking the question made me a perfect candidate for Dr. Martin's couch and maybe the nearest sanitarium.

### Chapter Eight

I flicked through the channels with the remote hoping something good would suddenly appear. Normally I'd just go to the guide section and check out everything that was on first. Not in that kind of mood today. I would have been too bummed if there'd been nothing worth watching.

This way I had to watch a second or two of each program. Occasionally I'd find some new show this way. Sort of the 'don't judge a book by its cover' theory. Often the little blurbs didn't do the actual show justice. So I was a little more engrossed in the television than on the average day.

That had to be the reason I didn't hear the sound of anyone approaching. That's why it was such a shock to see Berkley materialize in my doorway like she'd just been beamed there from outer space. Then again with the way my life had been going lately, maybe she had been.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked as she stood there under the doorjamb as if she wasn't sure if she was coming in or not.

I stared her down and knew my mom ratted me out before Berkley said any more. It had been in her voice and in her expression. She had the 'that's sad, wow your life sucks even more than I had imagined' look. The one that was an iota more pity than I could stand seeing.

That look was the reason I never gave the details. I didn't want people to pity me, didn't want anyone to see how truly pathetic I really was. I mean, like who would?

I shrugged when I realized she actually was waiting for a response. "It's still too new. I don't like to talk about it."

"I get it. But you could have saved an argument if you'd just said why. I wouldn't have pushed."

I did the cool one eyebrow thing. She laughed, took off her coat as she entered the room and tossed it over the back of the desk chair along with her backpack. "Okay, maybe I would have pushed a little, but I wouldn't have made you talk about the accident. But since we're back to driver's ed., what if you only took the class, the written part? You don't have to take the driving lessons or actually go for a road test," she pleaded. "Think about it."

If it's one thing I learned early on, it's pick your battles and cut your losses. There was no reason I couldn't accommodate her with only the class part. I mean, how bad could learning the driving rules be? "Okay," I said more to shut her up than anything.

She threw her arms around me and hugged tight. "I'm sorry about the other day. And I have a peace offering," she said as she released me.

Out of her backpack she pulled a few books and what looked like a deck of cards. "These are some books on ESP. They talk about the different kinds and how to develop that psychic thing you've got going."

Yeah, great. Just what I always wanted. How to be a freak in just a few easy lessons.

"And I'd want to develop this for what reason?"

She gave me the look. Like I'd just asked her something stupid like how to spell the word dog. You know the look I mean, the one that says, how could you possibly be so dense?

"To control it. If you don't control it, then it controls you."

I grabbed the books and was really grateful Berkley was as smart as she was. She nailed it. If I understood it more, then maybe I could get it under control.

That could change everything.

"What are those?" I asked pointing to the cards, hoping they weren't some kind of Tarot cards. Like I said, I wanted to understand my abilities and all, but I had different career choices under consideration. Becoming the headliner at a carnival just didn't do it for me.

"Zenner cards. They're used specifically to test the amount of ESP you have and they can be used to increase your ability. I guess it comes from focus or something."

"Cool, thanks." I took a closer look at them. The pack consisted of twenty-five cards, five of each kind. A star, square, plus sign, circle, and three squiggly lines that looked like water.

This could be interesting. If nothing else I'd get a fix on how much 'ability' I actually had.

"Do you want to try it?" Berkley asked with so much excitement bubbled over in the pitch of her voice and I couldn't disappoint her by refusing.

By the third time we went through the entire deck I was nailing it four out of five cards. If there'd been a question before, there wasn't now.

And I have to admit; I was pretty impressed.

Berkley was more than impressed; she acted like I just came out of a bottle in a puff of smoke. Unlike her, I couldn't see how this 'gift,' as all the books called it, could in any way enhance my world.

Right now it was just a royal stinking pain in the butt.

"So, do you see anything happening at the dance tonight?" Her eyes sparkled awaiting the gossip she expected me to impart before it even happened.

"Wait." I closed my eyes briefly as if a news flash just interrupted the programming in my mind. "I do see something."

"What?" she practically squealed.

"I see you and me at the dance." I paused and stared slightly off into space as if my focus was beyond the realm of this world.

"And?" she asked as she moved closer to try to get the scoop.

"And we're dancing with..." I let it hang till her eyes looked ready to pop, "each other." I started laughing and she picked up my pillow and hummed it at me. I ducked and it sailed on by taking out the perfume, nail polish and lipsticks that had been lined up like little soldiers on my bureau. They crashed to the floor and Skyler immediately started batting a lipstick around while Berkley and I cleaned up the damage.

"Funny Salem, real funny."

"Yeah, I thought so." I grinned at her.

"I thought you might have seen yourself dancing with, oh I don't know, maybe Robby?" she said taunting me.

"Sure I've seen that. In my dreams."

Berkley's mouth fell open and took in a breath so loud it was audible. "So you have dreamed about it? It seems likely then?" It would have been better if Berkley had turned out to be psychic; she was so much more into it than I was. But then again who knows, if she had been the psychic, I might have thought it mad cool too.

I shook my head. "No, not those dreams, I meant like in my fantasies. No precognition on the hottie front." So much for having the gift of second sight.

"Well I might not be psychic, but even I see a hook up in progress there."

"You think so?" I asked, hoping she didn't see how desperate I was for a close encounter of the Robby kind.

"I'd say it's like practically a done deal."

I didn't know if she was saying it because she was my friend and she knew I wanted it, or if it was because she really believed he was as interested as I was.

Either way I had a serious case of the grins.

****

Everything I tried on looked horrible. I mean, it was a high school dance so I couldn't go over dressed, but I also didn't want to go dressed for a normal school day. If there was the remotest chance Robby would be there like he said he would, then I had to look good. Which meant I had to feel good. Which meant I needed a freaking miracle.

Most of the contents of my closet lay sprawled across my bed, a pile of definite no's strewn across my pillows. I pulled mix and match pieces and held them up to my full-length cheval mirror hoping suddenly the perfect outfit would materialize and it would turn me into a goddess.

It didn't.

With a sigh I settled for a spaghetti strap brown clingy number with beige gauzy overtop. It was prettyful and at least it was new. I could wear it with my brown flowy skirt and beaded gold heels.

When all was said and done I looked good. Not drop dead gorgeous, put me on the cover of Vogue, but hopefully nice enough to turn the head of sexy senior Robby.

The top was a little low though and I needed something, some type of necklace to bring the eye up. I was about to raid mom's jewelry case when I decided instead to ask her opinion. I know, bizarre, but what can I say?

Her head hung down, eyes focused on the sudoku puzzle in the newspaper, so she didn't notice when I entered the room. I cleared my throat and she looked up at me and dropped her pencil.

"You look beautiful, honey."

I rolled my eyes even though it was just what I wanted to hear. "I need a necklace. Nothing I have goes."

She got up and grabbed my hand as she walked by me. "Come on, let's see what I have. What about a gold chain?"

"I have a gold chain too. No, something different." I had a strange thought and I didn't know where it was coming from. For some reason I wanted a link with my grandmother. "Mom, do you have any of Grandma's jewelry?"

She stopped walking and looked at me. "Sure, I kept it all. Why?"

"Could we look at it? I don't know but..." I shook my head.

"Oh, she has a cameo, a camel colored cameo. It would look perfect with that outfit. And you loved that necklace when you were a kid. You used to always ask her to wear it."

"Maybe being here made me think of it," I said wondering if Grandma just wanted it to be worn again. Mom was right; it was perfect for the outfit.

Holding it in my hand, I ran my thumb over the cameo. I closed my eyes and just felt the piece of jewelry in my hand. A flood of ease washed over me leaving me more relaxed and comfortable than I had been in months.

Since, well, you know when.

"Turn around and let me put it on you." My mother took the necklace from me and brought it to my throat.

I lifted my hair and felt it fall against my skin after she clasped it. My neck tingled as if it had been shocked and I felt a surge of energy run through my body. Hey Grandma, ready to rock the night away?

I smiled secure that I wasn't going to be alone. The necklace, like a talisman, would protect me.

****

Amazing how the ear shattering sounds of a local DJ could actually erase the sweaty feet smell of the gym. Add a silver disco ball to subdued lighting and my pulse pounded in time with the music, excitement heightened as I looked diligently for the perfect dance partner.

I spotted Robby the second he entered the room then actively avoided him until we could accidentally run into each other, so I could pretend I hadn't known he was there all along. Stupid, I know, but it's not like I'd let him know I was scoping him out, even though I was. So I looked anywhere except where Robby happened to be.

And trust me, doing this for an extended amount of time could be considered an amazing skill. I quickly scanned the room again.

Guys hung out talking, or attaching themselves to whichever girl they were momentarily considering their personal property.

Single girls danced with their other dateless friends like I had with Berkley, flaunting assets in an attempt to draw the attention of the guys who came stag.

I clutched at my cameo invoking the powers that be to get through this ritual.

Okay, I shouldn't have been so nervous - it wasn't like it was my first dance ever. But it was my first dance here in Rhode Island and my first real shot at Robby.

Berkley had an on again off again relationship with Alex Bellis, the senior most likely to earn an advanced degree. They were both smart and their logic often got in their way as a couple. As Berkley so aptly put it, 'Why get involved when you know you'll end up going to different colleges'?

It was a little too logical for me, but I was lucky to meet her when they weren't dating because we were spending a lot of time together.

With the way Alex eyed her now though, I had a feeling they'd be on again by the end of the night.

Sure enough, he approached and asked Berkley to dance. For a second I felt lost. I mean, I know other people and could have walked over to someone and started a conversation, but when I looked around there was Robby staring at me.

We locked eyes and for a second I forgot to breathe. When he smiled, I smiled and gave a little wave, all the while wondering how stupid I looked doing it.

My heart beat louder and louder as he began to approach until the sound echoed in my ears and I was afraid he'd be able to hear it thud above the music.

Suddenly he was in front of me and I clutched my cameo for support.

The music was so loud he might as well have been attempting mime. I saw his mouth move, but didn't have a clue what he said.

I must have had some kind of duh expression on my face because he leaned close, his lips barely an inch from my ear.

"Want to dance?"

I'm not sure what made me happier, the offer or the way his breath felt upon my ear.

Incapable of uttering a response, I nodded. Robby smiled, took my hand, and led me to the dance floor.

Color me happy, the boy could dance. It was a risk getting on the dance floor with a guy without a preview first, because let's face it; a lot of guys don't realize they lack rhythm.

Not the case with Robby. The strobe lights, the music, and his movements blended perfectly.

Just when I was about to beg off because sweat threatened, the music slowed. Many exited the dance floor while other couples arrived. Robby looked into my eyes and drew me closer.

I put my hands on his shoulders and hoped my sweaty palms didn't stain his shirt, until I noticed he had only one hand secured at my waist. The other sought and tugged at my right hand.

Okay so he really knew how to dance. Rather than just swaying back and forth the way most kids did, we were really dancing. I understood what my mom meant about being able to follow a good dance partner.

Before Robby I never had a boy truly lead. It was easy to follow, the music helped me anticipate his every move, and we floated.

There were couples that were physically closer, practically molded together. I was glad for the space. It allowed our eyes to lock and remain focused. We might have been able to converse, but it wasn't necessary. Our eyes had a conversation all their own. One I'm sure neither one of us would have been able to verbalize.

When the song was over a fast beat brought the masses back to the dance floor and our hands dropped. Robby crooked his finger at me in a nonverbal 'come with me' and I followed him off the floor to the gym doors. Almost hypnotized by being in one of my fantasies, I would have followed him off a cliff.

Luckily, he only lured me out into the cool October night. We walked a few feet into the lot where pools of students congregated, standing in groups or pairs, talking and laughing.

It was quiet and bright compared to the loud music and darkness of the gym and Robby's expression changed drastically. Did I have on too much make-up? Or had he suddenly got a good look and realized I just wasn't that cute?

He had the same expression he wore the first time he saw me – weirded out.

His hand came up fast and for a second I thought he was going to hit me. Instead, he lifted my necklace and bent toward it.

Then it dawned on me, he worked with antiques. Of course he'd find a piece like this interesting. "It was my grandmother's. Do you like it?"

He gazed at it like it was a treasure and I hoped I wasn't wearing the equivalent of my college fund around my neck.

I'd lost one of my mother's diamond earrings down the drain once and we couldn't use the sink until we had a plumber come. Can you say grounded? Not because I dropped it down the drain, but because I took the earrings without permission. Anyway I learned my lesson. Don't wear expensive jewelry unless you can afford to replace it.

"It's beautiful," he said as he gently placed it back down. "Just like the wearer."

Normally flattery doesn't fluster me. But when a guy like Robby calls you beautiful, well I have to admit I could feel my face start to burn with a blush while my vocal cords refused to work.

It hadn't seemed like we were outside that long, the night passed so quickly. But before long I saw Berkley at the doorway looking for me. "Salem, you'll miss the last dance," she yelled.

Many of the people remaining outside paused in their conversations and began to move back toward the entrance to the gym.

"Let's go back then," Robby said and soon we merged with the others on the floor trying to savor the last few minutes of the dance.

Berkley had been with Alex the entire time and I'd been with Robby. Still was with Robby.

The four of us, not wanting the night to end, waited a little awkwardly for my mother to arrive. As soon as I mentioned her car was approaching, the boys put more space between us and said good night. Alex had promised Berkley a phone call in the morning and Robby managed to ask me to his house the next day.

It was a miracle.

And more than a little weird considering I had an appointment with his dad first.

### Chapter Nine

Okay, so there was like no way in the universe I was telling Robby's dad that I was the new local fortuneteller. I mean shrink or not, he seemed to like me and he was helping me out with my feelings for my dad.

What do you think he'd say if I just casually mentioned that my dreams came true?

He'd check me in to the nearest funny farm and break out the straight jacket. Not exactly high on the fashionista wardrobe.

So rather than get help on my newest and strangest problem, I just held back and went with the miracle cure.

He wasn't buying it.

"Are you sure there isn't something else that's bothering you?" he asked.

I shook my head no. If I'd allowed my voice to answer it would have so betrayed me. The pitch would have shouted – secrets, secrets, secrets. Step right up, get your big secrets here.

What is it about certain adults and their 'I know you're lying' radar? He knew and for a sec I wondered about the possibility of him being psychic.

"You know I can't help without understanding the triggers." He hesitated. "It takes time but I think you're doing a pretty good job handling your dad's death now. I'd swear though that there was something else that's getting to you."

"No, I'm cool, really. You've helped so much. And I'm trying to understand why my mother does the things she does. I know that she didn't move us here just to make me crazy. You helped me see her point of view. She really thought it would help."

He stared at me for a moment, like he was trying to look past my eyes and into my soul. "Has it?"

"In a way, I guess. I mean it's not a constant reminder anymore. And with the whole new life, well there's a lot more to focus on. I guess it helps."

"So you forgive her."

He was pushing it. If you couldn't continually blame your mother for everything that went wrong in your life... well, you'd have to... grow up.

"You know as well as I do that it was an excuse. The one I didn't forgive was myself. I shouldn't have lived if he died." Okay, there, I'd said it. Admitted out loud to the thing that ripped at my soul. I shouldn't be alive. There were times when I wholeheartedly believed it. Those were the times when darkness enveloped me and blotted out every spec of happiness I ever knew. Then there were the normal times when I was merely depressed. Sadness gripped me but I Knew it'd decrease eventually. I knew I was meant to overcome what happened, I just didn't like admitting it.

He jotted something down on his notebook and it made me anxious. "Do you believe that?"

Damn, this man had definitely taken classes in how to dialogue with questions only. I felt like I was in a skit from that old comedy show where you are only allowed to ask questions and the first one to screw up loses.

"Yes. No." And this was a trick question. "Sometimes. Part of me knows it's stupid, and the other part can't get over that if I'd been in the front seat where I belonged, I'd be dead too."

He nodded as if he was taking it in and mulling it around. Then he floored me. "What if your mom had been in the front seat?"

Now he was definitely giving me a headache. I put my hands in front of my face to block out the image and to block out the light. I'd been getting migraines since the accident and had a feeling one was coming on.

"No, I can't think about that. She wouldn't have been. He always picked me up on Tuesdays. I can't imagine how I would have gone on if Id lost them both."

Why was he doing this to me? This wasn't helping any. Oh, how my head hurt. He was giving me just enough time between the questions to consider more than I wanted to. And it was turning into a full-blown migraine.

"Don't you think that's crossed your mother's mind?

He had me again. Of course my mother thought of that. Which was probably the real reason we were here, so she could start fresh and also be too focused on everything else to think about the accident. She couldn't handle it either.

Because memories hurt right now. Scraped across exposed wounds, raw and still bleeding. I nodded; it was easier than trying to speak.

"It's called survivor's guilt, if that helps. And Salem, it's very common." He paused for a second and stared through my façade. "But I still think there is something else, something that's only been added on recently."

Okay, so I needed to throw him a bone. He wasn't stupid and if I didn't give him a problem he'd know I had something to hide. I sighed, this wasn't really a big deal to me, but hey, it was the best I could come up with.

"Do you think it's okay that I sort of, well that I'm friends with your son?" Please let him fall for it, I prayed.

Having a conversation with Doctor Martin sometimes seemed like watching a news broadcast where there were two anchors and one was in a foreign location. A question would be asked and then the reporter would stare for a second before the question seemed to register. Like there was some sort of delay. Only I knew with Doctor Martin it was because he was a muller. He'd mull over the question and then slowly, deliberately, ask a question back.

"Does that bother you? That Robby knows you're a patient?"

Yes, he was going for it. What a relief. "No, but he's asked me over later. I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable with me at your house. You know, think, oh no, there's a crazy kid in my kitchen," I said a little theatrically.

He had a smile like Robby's and it was just as charming, for an old guy.

I touched my cameo, which I'd put back on this morning and decided to go for a little more truth. "I... like Robby and I think he likes me. I know my mom will think he's great when she meets him. But you're not being introduced to some girl your son likes, he's bringing home one of your patients."

Another Doctor Martin ten-second delay. "Are you asking if I approve?"

I hung my head; I couldn't help it. I was a little afraid of what he really thought of me. I mean, there he was, the head shrinker with the fancy degree and there I was temporarily playing the emotional basket case.

His voice was smooth and soothing. "You're a lovely young lady Salem and I think you're just what Robby needs. He took his mother's death very hard. You can be a comfort to each other."

My eyes started to well a little. First, because he didn't mind I was with his son, and second, because it wasn't fair that I was feeding him a load of crap to avoid mentioning I brought a little something extra to the relationship.

He handed me a tissue. "I'm glad, really. And I'm sure he's part of the reason you're doing so well also."

"Him and Skyler, my kitten. That little ball of fluff..." I shrugged unable to find the right words.

"Pets can do wonders."

Yeah, they can point out when there's a ghost in the room, I wanted to say. But I couldn't.

****

"Wow, so you get this all to yourself?" I asked as I checked out Robby's personal space. It was amazing. He'd taken an old barn and turned it into an artist's studio. Paintings filled the wooden walls making it appear like a gallery opening was in progress. His work-space occupied the center of the large room, complete with multiple easels, a table for still life paintings, and an old kitchen island piece that housed palettes and paints.

"I'm glad you like it. Take a look around."

It was an invitation to look at his paintings and I jumped at the chance. There was a portrait of a woman that was so lifelike it almost didn't seem possible that a teenager could have produced it. "You did this?" I asked a little unsure.

He nodded. "My mom."

He didn't even need to say it. I knew by the expression of love on his face that it couldn't be of anyone else. It was the same way I looked at my dad's picture.

"My father wanted to put it in the house, but I needed to have it here. She hangs out with me when I create. I guess you could say she's my muse. Well one of them anyway."

The corner of his mouth turned up in a grin and I blushed at the implication he made. The thought of being his muse made me a little nervous and my next step sent me tripping over my backpack. Robby grabbed my arm to steady me, which only made me blush more. I took a deep breath and focused on the painting to gain my composure.

"I can see why your dad would want this. It's like a photograph, but better. And she's beautiful. You're so talented, he must be so proud of you."

Robby laughed bitterly. "Not proud enough."

Okay, so this was a new development. From the way his dad acted, he seemed proud. Robby probably just didn't see it. "Why do you say that?"

Robby looked at me like he'd said too much already. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "I want to go to Rhode Island School of Design and pursue art, but my father wants me to go to URI or any other traditional college. He'd love for me to go into medicine like him."

"Yeah, most successful dads want their children to follow in their footsteps. That's like normal."

I saw his hands ball into fists. "But I made it clear that it just wasn't happening. Since then he wants me to get a business degree or something like that. He says I don't need to know more about art, but do need something else to fall back on. He seems to think I can paint as a hobby."

It was hard to believe that Robby's dad, who had such insight into others, was completely clueless about what would be best for his own son.

Why did so many parents lose all intelligent thought when it came to their own kids?

"It's your life though. Ultimately, it's your decision. Your dad can't decide what you're going to do with the rest of your life."

He looked down at the ground and sighed. "And what about you? Do you know what you want to do when you graduate?"

Hang up a sign and tell fortunes. Nope, couldn't say that. "Um... I'm not sure. Go to college, definitely, but I'm not sure what I want to do yet. I figure half the people who go, end up changing their major anyway so I don't have to decide right away."

"Smart move."

"So are all of these yours?" I asked wanting to change the subject.

"No. Upstairs in the loft there are some paintings done by my grandfather's brother. He must be who I inherited my skills from," he said then seemed embarrassed at how boastful it sounded. "There's one painting in particular that he did... well it's the reason I wanted you to come here."

I smiled half-heartedly. And here I thought that he invited me here because he liked me. I mean it's not like I thought he was going to beg me not to date anyone else, but I thought he was at least interested.

How humiliating. "So you wanted me to come here to see a painting a relative of yours did?" I asked.

He must have sensed my discomfort. "No, that's not the only reason." He stepped a little closer and his voice softened. "I wanted to see you again."

That's all he needed to say. I'd look at a whole gallery worth of any old guy's paintings as long as I could view them with him.

"But I mean the reason I wanted you to come out here rather than meeting anywhere else was the painting. You'll understand once you see it."

He pointed toward the loft. I wasn't big on climbing thin wooden steps, but not much choice here.

"After you," he said and pointed again to the ladder.

Great. Now not only did I have to make the climb, but I'd also have his head leveled with my butt the entire way up. How flattering.

I started the ascent and when my knees reached the landing I rested them there and leaned forward into a crawl position. After inching my way further a few feet, I stood and realized how foolish I must have looked to Robby the frequent climber. He didn't crawl like a baby, but instead grabbed the handrail and walked in the way anyone with any intelligence would have.

Did I fail to mention I'm afraid of heights? I'm sure my pallor gave him a clue.

The loft had two large doors that opened out. It must have been used to pitch hay. Robby opened them and the sun blasted through. He pointed to one canvas on the wall and I walked over to it. He stayed where he was and didn't crowd me.

The painting was of a Rhode Island summer, most likely the fourth of July because the people in the painting were holding sparklers at a picnic. You could tell it was old, of a time gone by. The young women in the painting were wearing long pale peach sleeveless dresses. Possibly thin cotton or more likely chiffon.

My breath caught and I understood why he wanted me to see this. As I looked closely, so many things made sense. Like why he looked at me so oddly the first time he saw me. See, for him it wasn't really like seeing me for the first time, because there I was in the painting.

I looked more closely and my knees began to buckle. The girl in the picture who looked like me, well she was also wearing my necklace.

No wonder he was interested in it. He must have thought he entered land of the freaks when I appeared on the scene.

I looked at him hoping for an explanation. It didn't take long.

"My grandfather's brother died in the war. That's why we don't have many paintings by him. My Great-grandparents kept them and displayed some of them in their home. Being the only other child my grandfather inherited them and they graced the walls of his house too. Still do. Except for the few that are here, like this one."

He nodded at the picture of... well... me. "So how did you end up with this one?" I asked.

"I've always loved this picture. I'm not sure why, but I always have. My mother did too. When she was so sick, at the end, I asked my grandfather if we could move it into her room so she could enjoy it."

My heart was breaking for him and I knew what it cost to tell me about it. But at the same time it made me feel good that his mom enjoyed a portrait of a girl who resembled me. It somehow made me close to her.

"When she passed my grandfather let me have it and told me its story."

He brought his hand up to the girl that looked like me and let it hover over the picture. "It was war time and couples were getting married left and right. This was a painting of a group of bridesmaids celebrating at the beach after they sent a newlywed couple off on their honeymoon. They danced in a circle as the groomsmen watched. My great uncle painted this of them before he had to ship out himself."

He paused contemplating how to say his next words and the pause was so lengthy and his stare so intense I knew he'd be dropping a bomb.

"He was engaged to the girl who resembles you."

I tried to not have my eyes bug out at that interesting fact, and hoped his taste was like his great uncle's.

"She was only sixteen when he shipped out so they were too young to get married. The strange thing is every single groomsman that was paired with these bridesmaids died in the war. Every single one."

What made the whole thing even more tragic was the way the girls looked in the picture. Especially the one who looked like me. So full of joy. Love emanating from her eyes. No wonder this painting was a comfort. You could feel the love in her gaze. "What happened to her... the one who looks like me?" I asked even though I had a pretty good idea.

"She stayed in town, eventually married and settled down here."

"My grandmother?" I asked hoping he had the answer.

He gingerly took the painting off the wall and turned it around. Written on the back was 'My Marie Louise the day I proposed.'

I clutched the frame and held on tight. It was my grandmother all right. Young, happy, and in love... with someone other than my grandfather. I wondered if my mother knew.

"So if your uncle hadn't been killed in the war, we might have been related," I said, the pitch of my voice rising at the end of the sentence.

"I for one am very glad we're not."

The way he said it brought on a blush of 9.2 on the Richter scale. I was pretty glad too.

"Maybe this is some kind of cosmic justice. Like the universe decided they didn't have enough time. They didn't get a chance, so..." I wasn't sure what to say. It's not like I could say maybe we were intended for each other. That would have been stupid and extremely embarrassing.

He nodded. "Yeah, this is kind of Twilight Zone, don't you think?"

"No doubt," I said thinking about how "weird" was quickly becoming my normal.

"I have a favor to ask you."

"What kind of a favor?" I raised one eyebrow and he started laughing.

"Remember our deal about me painting you? Well, I'd like to paint a companion to this one. A type of close up of your grandmother, only it'd actually be you. I'd like to paint you in a similar outfit with your hair up and the necklace on."

I grinned and remembered he wanted me to model for him. What an awesome idea. "On one condition. I'd like to borrow this for a week or so. My mother needs to see it and she can help me with finding a dress or maybe making one. That might be the only way we can recreate it. And my mom can sew."

Robby hesitated, the battle keenly evident on his face. This painting must have meant a lot to him and that alone sent my emotions soaring.

"I promise we'll take good care of it and that you'll get it back soon."

"I know you will and it'll be worth it to do the close up. It's funny. I've wanted to attempt a close up before, but something always prevented me, like I knew the right time hadn't come."

Then I thought about the painting and Robby's dad. Let's face it, if it was in his mom's room near the end of her life then his dad would have been in contact with it a lot. "Hey, how come your dad didn't recognize me?" I asked.

"My father isn't into art. Not mine and not my uncle's. He wouldn't have noticed if his own likeness had been in the picture. That's why this was given to me and not him." He ran his hand over the frame affectionately, like greeting an old friend.

"My grandparents, now that's another story. They recognized you right away. That's one of the reasons he came into the store when you were there. My grandmother went to get him when she saw you. He remembered your grandmother and asked if you looked familiar to me when you came into the store."

I needed to sit down so I went to the only thing there was to sit on, a bench up against the wall. As soon as I sat there I saw why the painting hung where it did. With the barn windows open and the light shining in, the painting was illuminated and there was an unearthly tranquility.

This must have been the perfect place to think or just relax. And I wondered how long Robby had come up here to this spot to unwind and gaze at someone who looked like me. It was hard to take my eyes off the painting the way the light was hitting it, but I needed to look at Robby. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He laughed like it should have been obvious. "What? That I like to sit and look at a picture of your grandmother?"

It sounded sick when he put it that way.

"Now there's a great opening line. Hey, want to go out with me? And by the way I have a picture of your grandmother in my loft and I use it for inspiration."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, that would have been one bizarre pick up line. I would have thought you were stranger than... than," I'd been about to say me, but couldn't without explaining. "Stranger than anything." I finally settled for.

In spite of all the weirdness I just couldn't seem to bring myself to tell him that I inherited more than just my grandmother's looks.

Things were freaky enough as they were.

### Chapter Ten

Crack. Crack. Crack. The loud popping sound exploded in my ears and I shivered.

Bolting up in bed I grabbed my head and held it hoping it wouldn't implode. I was grateful for the darkness. Bright lights only made my headaches worse. And they'd been more frequent lately. Since my head was still foggy with sleep, I had to concentrate on the sound that woke me.

Then with an instant clarity I knew what the sound was. I'd heard it on television often enough, but it was never as real as it had been a minute ago. Never as frightening.

And I'd hear it again. That's what terrified me so much, the knowledge that even though it wasn't real yet, it would be. Slinking in my bed hoping it could somehow protect me from my own mind, I tugged the covers close around me in an attempt to stop from shivering. But it didn't help because the quivering didn't come from cold, but from dread. I didn't want this to get any clearer, didn't want that sound to turn into sight and sensation so that it would flood my mind overpowering it.

Skyler stealthily stalked over and meowed. Then he began to circle the way he did before, like a plane waiting for clearance to land, and abruptly halted right under the light. Finally he sat and fixed his eyes on the ceiling staring up at a darkened fixture.

"Anyone there?" I whispered in the dark.

Skyler meowed, chortled then moved to the crook of my arm and settled in for a cuddle. I started to pet him and not much later I began to relax. Finally my headache subsided a bit and my heart rate went back to normal.

I glanced around the room, my eyes as adjusted to the darkness as the cat's. Just because I couldn't see her didn't mean she wasn't there. Not wanting to risk the possibility she couldn't read my thoughts, I voiced them. "I'm going to need some help with this one, Gram. I don't know what I can do. It's real, isn't it? It's going to happen. Someone's going to have a gun. But where? When? I need help, Grandma." I waited motionless and listened to the silence praying for an answer.

None came.

*****

"So what do you think is going to happen?" Berkley asked. She sat at the computer looking up more information on ESP. If she kept reading everything that was out there, pretty soon she'd be the resident expert.

I shook my head. "Not sure. I know something is going to happen with a gun, but I don't know what. The gun will fire three times. That's what I heard, three gunshots. But that's all."

I started pacing hoping it would help. "The strange thing this time was I only heard the shots; I didn't see anything. That's what's so frustrating. There's no point of reference, nothing to attach any meaning to. No person. No place. No other sound but the gun."

Berkley squinted as if looking for something and began biting her lip. "Think. There must be something. You just don't remember it. Try harder."

"I have," I yelled then felt guilty. "Sorry, I don't mean to take it out on you. But I've tried so hard to focus, but there's nothing to focus on, just those damn popping sounds."

Berkley turned away from the computer to face me. "Sure it wasn't just popcorn?"

I looked down at her and made the concession that there are times when even really smart people say really dumb things. "No, believe me, I know the difference. The feeling that came with it was indescribable. Sheer terror. The kind of fear..." My voice cracked and I couldn't go on. I didn't have to. My hands came up to my head as if trying to block out a memory that was trying to take root.

"Okay, so it was just an isolated sound. Maybe there are other noises, background noises that might help you to identify a place. Let's try to focus by doing more mind exercises."

"The Zenner deck?" How in the world were the cards going to help me? It didn't matter, at that point I'd try anything.

"We'll start with that. Then move on to a few more drills that I've read about."

It was scary how good at the Zenner deck I was becoming. So after only a few tries we moved on to other exercises.

This time Berkley wanted to work on relaxation techniques. Not quite hypnotism, but in the same vein. Relax enough to let the mind focus on its own. She did them with me so it felt more like just hanging out with a friend than trying to find a shooter.

We started by taking deep breaths in through the nose then exhaling through the mouth. It's a cool activity. As we did this we focused on releasing stress in by starting at the first chakra point top of the head. We continued through all the chakra points until all stress completely dissipated.

If nothing else by the end of our 'session' I felt a lot better and was much less tense.

Still, I knew no more about the shooting.

"Okay, you can't be the only game in town."

Game? Berkley thought this was some sort of game? "What do you mean?"

"There has to be another psychic somewhere in the vicinity and maybe if we go see this person..."

"Brilliant. Berkley, you always know the right thing to do." I hugged her fiercely.

"Let's check this out online. Yahoo's yellow pages should have the info we need." A few mouse clicks later and the address of closest local fortuneteller was being placed into Mapquest. Seconds later we had step by step directions.

It wouldn't be a short walk, so we decided to take our bikes. I mean, it's not like I was going to ask my parental unit for a ride. Hey Mom, I want to check out the local competition and see if I can get some help solving a crime. Oh yeah, that would go over big.

By the time we got there we were both a little winded because Tower Hill Road definitely had the word 'hill' in it for a reason. It's one rise after another like the bumps on a roller coaster. Walking it isn't bad, but biking up the inclines is just short of masochistic.

We should have turned around the second we laid eyes on Madame Charlotte's humble abode. The neon light in the window was of a palm. A marquis that looked older than me was somehow attached to the porch, which had been peeling paint for at least the past few years.

Madame Charlotte either wasn't getting much business or she wasn't psychic enough to put what she was making to good use.

The steps creaked as we walked up, but it didn't alert the people inside to the fact that they had guests. The doorbell had a piece of cardboard taped over it so I knocked loudly on the edge of the screen.

A woman in her mid to late twenties came to the door and solemnly ushered us in. The inside of the house needed as much TLC as the outside did.

The entranceway had dingy white walls that not only needed to be repainted, but could have used washing. There were dirt marks and fingerprints that looked like they'd been there for years. The floor had old mop streaks covered with a layer of dirt, which crunched under our feet as we made our way inside.

Berkley and I both looked at the woman who didn't seem much cleaner than the house, and expected her to slither off to another room to get Madame Charlotte.

She didn't.

Instead, she guided us into what should have been the living room and pointed to a long table. She motioned to the chairs indicating we should sit. At this point I was wondering if she was mute, but who knows maybe she thought it added to the mystique?

Then she gave us a sheet of paper with rates and suddenly I felt a little speechless myself. Okay, so this was going to cost. The cheapest thing on the list was the short palm reading (as opposed to the long one) –fifteen minutes for fifteen dollars.

Berkley looked at me and shrugged, evidently she lost her voice too.

"So ladies, are you both wanting to know about your futures?" Charlotte asked.

I was a little surprised to actually hear her voice, I'm not sure what I had expected, but the high-pitched squeaky sound that came from her body seemed incongruous and did nothing for her credibility.

Berkley and I looked at each other again, each waiting for the other to speak. Finally, I figured since it was my problem, I'd have to be the one to present it. "Um... It's not so much the whole future we're interested in. Actually we need help with a question."

"Say no more," she said theatrically with a wide arm gesture. "You're here for the same reason any woman comes here. You want to know about Mr. Right," and she smiled as if she had us dead on.

Berkley made a face and I used all the focus I had to impart what we were really there for.

She didn't get the message.

It took all of about three seconds to realize that Madame Charlotte should have been called Madame Charlatan.

Once again Berkley to the rescue. "Can we keep a copy of these rates? We were really only here to see if we could buy a reading for a birthday present." Madame Charlotte smiled and went toward the table that held the rates and reached into a drawer for a gift certificate.

"But we don't have the money with us today. We'll be back though, that is if we can get a card."

Madame Charlotte stared like she didn't believe it at first, but since we didn't have money to spend today she picked up a card and handed it to Berkley. "Sure, I can make out a gift certificate any time you want."

"Great, we'll be back some time next week." Berkley and I both jumped up and made a beeline for the door.

"Still think it was a brilliant idea?" she asked when we were outside and out of earshot.

I laughed. "Well it would have been if she had actually been psychic. I wonder how many people claim to be psychics that aren't and how many really are and hide the fact?"

There were probably more situations like that then not. I mean, I so didn't want anyone to know, but I'd seen kids in the past pretend that they had special powers.

"Good question. Not one we're likely to find the answer to though. Think we should look for another?"

There wasn't any point. We didn't need to go on a psychic seeking wild goose chase.

"No. I'll just have to see what happens the next time I dream."

I rubbed the cameo that I was starting to wear all the time and the word 'focus' echoed through my head.

"Berkley, what did you just say?" I asked knowing full well that the voice hadn't been hers.

"I asked if you wanted to see another psychic and you said no."

"You didn't say anything after that?"

She flung her leg over the side of her bike and half sat on the seat while her other foot rested firmly on the ground. She seemed to think about it before it dawned on her that if I hadn't heard her, then I must have heard someone else.

"No. Why? Did you hear something after that? Because if you did, then you'll have moved beyond the dream state. You heard the popping in your sleep. You're not sleeping now." The excitement in her voice was tangible.

I didn't want to encourage it though. Who knows what I thought I heard. Maybe it was just my conscious. So I lied. I was getting good at it. "No, I didn't hear anything else. I just thought you said something and I missed it."

She looked at me like I was losing it. More than likely I was.

### Chapter Eleven

I can't even explain my mother's reaction to the portrait of my grandmother. There were so many stages – first it was shock. I'm not sure why, because I told her about the painting before she saw it. I mean, unlike me, at least she had a heads up.

Then her eyes began to fill up and she went through the mushy stage thinking about her mom, young and vibrant in the portrait – and now gone. She wiped her eyes and gained control over her emotions, then began to look at the portrait more critically.

This I especially watched, being a bit prejudiced in Robby's favor. I mean, it might have been his great-uncle that painted it, but Robby's paintings were the exact same style and just as good, so I knew if she liked this one, she'd enjoy Robby's work too.

"I never realized how much you look like my mother."

I'd been hoping for gushing compliments on the painting. "Weird, isn't it?"

My mom glanced back to me. "I always thought you resembled me a little more than your dad, but you look much more like Grandma than you do me."

"You never noticed it before? You must have seen pictures of your mom when she was young." I mean, hello, how could she not have known?

"Sure, but none of them were exactly... I don't know. It's hard to explain. In this painting at the exact age that you are now... it's just closer of a resemblance than I've ever seen. Maybe it's the painting rather than an old black and white faded photo. It's so life-like." She admired the painting a few more seconds. "Any chance he'd be willing to sell this?"

I knew she'd want it. I wanted it myself. But I also knew what it meant to Robby. "Not a chance. But maybe we can talk him into making a copy."

I told her the history behind the photo and was surprised to see she didn't know all Gram's secrets. So much for the tight relationship she swore they had.

Then I felt guilty for thinking that. I'm sure they were close. It's probably just not the thing that comes up in everyday conversation. Especially since that part of Grandma's life had been over for a long time.

Then I thought about my mom and dad. "Mom, you didn't have any long forgotten fiancé before Dad, did you?"

She took her hands and messed up my hair the way you'd do with a child. "No, I was never actually engaged, but I had a few steady relationships before your dad." She smiled and I wondered for a second who she was thinking of.

"Once I met him, I didn't have eyes for anyone else. It was the same for your dad, except he was seeing someone else at the time. And it was fairly serious, at least on her part. He broke it off after he met me."

"That's harsh. I feel bad for the girl."

"Don't. Last I heard she went on to become a doctor, married a plastic surgeon or something and still looks like she's twenty."

We laughed but I knew from her expression that wasn't the only reason she considered the woman lucky. Her husband wasn't dead. I knew my mom didn't care about looking younger or having a big money career. She just wanted her husband back and that was the one thing she couldn't have.

I changed the subject. "Wait until Robby does the portrait. Can you imagine seeing them side-by-side? He's awesome Mom."

"Hmm... He's awesome or his painting is?"

Leave it to my mother to notice semantics. I couldn't help it. I actually felt myself blush. "Both."

"Come on, spill it girl. Tell me all about him," she said as she sort of elbowed me in the arm.

"You'll find out soon enough. He's coming over after supper tomorrow to do some quick sketches. I figured it'd be a chance for the two of you to meet and then you'll have some sort of idea how long it will take to create a dress like the one in the picture."

I felt guilty saying it like that. Not, 'Will you make a dress for me?' I'd just stated it like she'd put aside everything she had to do and make a dress because she knew how and because I wanted one. The strange thing is I not only knew she'd do it, but also knew she wouldn't complain about it either.

That's just how Mom was. She wanted to be involved and got souped whenever I let her.

"We could go to the fabric store tonight. I should be able to get a similar pattern for a bridesmaid dress. It looks pretty simple. The tough part will be trying to find fabric similar in shade and texture."

My mother hadn't looked this excited since she had to sew my little lamb costume for the first grade play. But if I had to be honest, I was keyed-up too. There was a link being formed between my mother, my grandmother, and myself. The project bound the three of us together tighter than we'd ever been before. Strange, since my grandmother was dead and all.

****

The night Robby came over I changed my outfit three times and still wasn't happy with what I had on. Stupid really. Robby had seen me at school and would know that I was wearing something different. Nothing like saying 'I'm trying to impress you.'

And of course there was the other reason – he was only sketching my head and neck – my outfit had nothing to do with these sketches, which were just for him to get angles and expressions.

I'd never been sketched before so I really didn't know what it entailed and didn't much care. I only knew he was coming to my house and wouldn't be taking his eyes off me. Now let's face it, how could it get much better than that?

While I was trying on every outfit in the closet my mother was going on a cleaning rampage. You'd have thought the house was going to be inspected. It was weird because she normally didn't go this spastic about meeting a potential boyfriend. If anything, she was usually the one to do the inspecting.

When the doorbell finally rang there was enough nervous energy to make the first few minutes a little uncomfortable. Robby calmed us both with the same reassuring voice his father used with his patients. I wonder if he learned that from his dad? Or was it just inherent and inherited? Either way, ten minutes in and that awkward newness evaporated, and we were all relaxed with each other.

Robby looked around for the best light and settled his easel down near the large picture window in the living room. There was tract lighting overhead and he had me turn it to the highest setting.

Mom fixed my hair the way Grandma had worn it all those years ago in the painting. Rob tilted my head into the position he desired then stepped behind the easel.

It was a little like playing peek-a-boo. Every so often I'd catch sight of his eyes peeking to the side of the sketchpad then they'd disappear behind it. I'd wait, anxiously, almost breathlessly until his eyes peered back at me again.

I have to admit it was a little uncomfortable knowing I was being more than just looked at. I was being studied.

He scrutinized the curve of my neck, the lines of my face. Analyzed my features so that he knew them better than I did myself. Another connection built between Robby and me. A kind of intimacy I'd never felt with any other boy.

Instinctively, I brought my hand up to touch the necklace and felt an odd sort of peace.

"Eh, um, don't change the pose, - although," he stopped and thought for a second. "I like that one."

He said the words softly and they surrounded me like a caress. Stepping back he turned the page on the sketchpad and started another. Quickly, intently his arms flailed and I could hear his breath. It was as if he needed to hurry or I'd disappear from view.

A few minutes later he turned the page again and started another sketch of the same pose. He did a series of quick five-minute sketches telling me to turn my head this way and that and suddenly stopped like the wind had been let out of his sails.

"I think that's enough to get started with," he said as my mother walked into the room. She must have been hovering around nearby, most likely with her ear plastered to the wall just waiting for the right moment.

She walked directly to the easel and gasped. "Robby, it's beautiful."

"I'd say realistic, but I'd be patting myself on the back."

"Very realistic," my mom said as I walked over to get a glimpse of the preliminaries.

You know those defining moments? This was one of them. When I looked at the sketch I saw myself as Robby saw me and as my mother saw me, and for the first time in my life I felt - beautiful.

Not spoiled little daddy's girl pretty or having a good hair day attractive, but nice person on the inside beautiful emanating out. There was something about the sketch that showed character and I wondered if I could live up to their image of me.

*****

Finding a similar pattern to the one in the painting was almost too simple. It seems bridesmaid's dresses haven't changed that much over the years. Or at least the classic ones haven't. As my mother predicted, the material was another matter.

Luckily, it was as important to my mom to get it accurate as it was to me. Which meant we tried fabric shop after fabric shop, and finally traveled to an exclusive place not far from Boston.

We ended up making a day of it and did a little shopping in Fanuel Hall. By the time we made the trek home our energy levels were low, but we were both so excited to get the dress made that we went ahead anyway.

Midnight approached and I was so anxious I could barely stand it. I watched on as my mother slowly, patiently created a masterpiece.

I didn't want to rush her or bug her so that she'd end up making a mistake, but it was making me crazy just standing there. Finally, when I thought I couldn't take it any longer, she finished the dress.

She held it up and we were both barely breathing. Perfect. It was a perfect match. "Try it on." She shoved the dress at me and fled. "I'm going to get the camera. I want a picture of you in the dress standing next to the painting."

"Good idea." I gingerly draped the dress over the back of the chair and stripped down to my underwear right there in the family room.

No alterations of any kind would need to be made. It even felt perfect on. I grabbed my white scrunchy and pulled my hair high on top of my head. I'd have to take some time with it for the portrait, but for now at least it was up and out of the way.

My mother stopped in her tracks in the doorway. "Wow." Her hand shot up to her chest and she seemed at a loss for words.

"I need a mirror." I headed for my bedroom in close to a run. When I finally saw my reflection, the woman in the painting came to life.

My grandmother might as well have been standing there as I was. The camera flash brought me back to reality.

"Come back downstairs so I can get a picture in front of the painting. You look - amazing."

For once I didn't make a face or get aggravated because she was complimenting me. Instead, I just followed her down the stairs, took my place next to the painting, and then let her fire at will.

After about a zillion pictures, I reluctantly eased off the dress and thanked my mother with the tightest hug since the acquisition of Skyler.

It felt good for us to be on the same side again. Exhaustion enveloped me and I was certain I'd be dead to the world as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

*****

I bristled instinctively. Darkness surrounded me. I tried to adjust my eyes, focus so the uncomfortable sensation would ease. An icy cold encapsulated my body and the heaviness pulled me down. Was I outside? Was I dreaming? What was going on? Think, damn it, think. It didn't matter if it was real or not. Something was wrong.

The edginess became stronger and I knew I couldn't face this alone. I needed my mother. A fog seemed to clear and I searched the house room to room. Where was she? Why couldn't I find her?

I heard myself calling her name as if from a distance, first questioning, then a little louder in a panic.

Materializing like some sort of hologram, she turned and looked startled. While the seconds slowly ticked away, that haunting expression seemed frozen in time, squishing the life out of my heart. Then I heard the gun as I knew I would. Pop, pop, pop. Three shots just like before, only now I could see what was happening.

When the third shot fired, my mom's body jerked backward as if she had been lifted off the floor. Then she fell into the abyss, the eternal darkness. I lunged for her, desperately trying to reach her, but her image slipped away before my anguished cry ended.

### Chapter Twelve

I jumped up in my bed unable to catch my breath. Just a dream. Nothing to be afraid of. But it wasn't and I knew it.

It would happen.

My mother would be shot.

I saw it.

I'd been building a wall between my mother and myself since my father died. It hadn't been intentional. It just happened. And now I was going to lose her too. Only now there would be more guilt because we didn't simply have a quarrel. I pushed her away.

All the time that we should have been getting closer together, comforting each other after the accident, I'd been pushing her away instead.

I began to sob uncontrollably stuffing my face in my pillow so she wouldn't hear. I was practically suffocating to keep the sound down.

If she heard me she'd be in the room in a flash to find out what was wrong. So I'd have to be quiet. I couldn't let her find out. Not yet anyway. Not until I knew more. Not until I knew what I could do about it. And besides, how could I describe what I saw? I mean, really, how do you tell your mom you just watched her die?

I curled up in the fetal position and smothered my anguish. While I shed muffled tears my mind focused on the beyond and I beckoned to the one person who might be able to give me some insight.

"Grandma, please," I begged. "Help me. There has to be a way to help. Please, help me."

"Stop it." The voice was loud and clear. It didn't matter if no one else could hear it. I could. I could hear it as well as if she were physically there. I sat up and looked around my empty room.

It wasn't an admonishment, but a plea. She wasn't mad at me, she was as afraid as I was, and was seeking my help. "Stop it. You can stop it, Salem."

Awake. I pinched myself to make certain. Yup, it was Grandma all right. But what could I do? Could it be possible? Could I somehow change what was supposed to happen? How much was free will as opposed to destiny?

I had to find out. I would focus, research, study, and do anything that I had to so that I could find the answers I needed.

"How?" I whispered truly expecting a response this time. Surely she'd know what to do and would answer. Skyler broke the silence with a chortle then looked away from the ceiling.

Looks like Grandma had left the building.

*****

Now I'm not the sort of girl who wakes up looking perfect. Not even on my best day. And well, after sleeping for all of about two minutes you could say it wasn't even close to my best day. That was apparent the second Mom got a good look at me.

Have you ever had a truly hideous apparel moment? Like your white jeans got stained because your teacher didn't believe you really had to go to the lav, then got all offended when you mentioned your period. Or worse, you sat in chocolate and it looked like you crapped yourself. At moments like that, even your best friends would say 'eww'.

That was the way my mother looked at me when she walked into the room.

"Good Lord, Salem, you look like hell. Good thing Robby isn't painting you today."

And she was right. I bore no resemblance to my grandmother at the moment. In fact, my sallow complexion and sunken eyes made me look more like a relative of Frankenstein. But still, it wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear. "Thanks, Mom. It's nice to know you think I'm attractive," I said with the usual sarcasm.

My mother made a face at me. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I think you're beautiful - normally." She smiled at her own bit of sarcasm. "Didn't you get any sleep last night? The bags under your eyes..." She stopped mid-sentence the speculation clear on her face.

I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to tell anyone. If I could keep it to myself maybe it would go away.

Yeah, right. That'd happen.

She poured a mug of coffee quietly and handed it to me. "You'll definitely need this." Well if not complimentary at least she was perceptive.

I took the mug from her and sat down at the kitchen table with my head hung low, dipping my chin occasionally so my lips could steal a sip. That's how bad it was. I didn't even have the energy to lift the mug to my mouth. My head continued to hang like the baby dolls with the plastic heads and the cloth necks.

But I didn't need to lift my head to know she was staring. I'd have to say something. If I didn't she'd know something was up and would start digging. And she'd never stop until she hit oil.

I said the only thing I could think of. "Up late last night studying for a test. Then must've been overtired 'cause I couldn't sleep." I put my head down on the table and shut my eyes. As long as I didn't look directly at her I might be able to pull it off.

I could feel her eyes like lasers boring a hole through the top of my head. "You didn't say anything about a test last night when I was working on the dress."

Oh, good. We were about to enter the questioning phase. I grimaced. This would be tricky. There were times when I was sure Mom should be in charge of the interrogation room for the police department.

"Sort of forgot about it because of the dress... checked my backpack before I went to bed and there it was in my agenda, study for science. Why do teachers give tests on Mondays? It's a stupid day to have a test. Everyone forgets during the weekend." There was nothing like a tirade to knock someone off track.

It worked. "I thought you hated it when teachers gave tests on Friday? Then you'd end up staying up late every Thursday studying for a bunch of tests."

"You got me there. I pretty much hate tests on any day, but the worst are Monday and Friday. And for the reason we just discussed." I mumbled the end of that sentence due to a wide open-mouthed yawn.

Mom put a bowl in front of me and I reached for one of the boxes of cereal in the center of the table.

But of course, it couldn't be that easy. "And it's going to be that difficult of a test that you had to study half the night?"

"It was past my bedtime when I took off the dress," I mumbled. "It's not like me to blow off a test. You know that. I just forgot and by the time I remembered..."

"You're right, Salem. It's not like you. Not like you at all." There was something in the way she said it that made me feel I wasn't off the hook yet.

I could feel her eyes on me so I poured some milk in the bowl and started shoveling.

"How do you eat that chocolate cereal?" she asked. And it wasn't the first time she asked it. Mom and I had completely different tastes when it came to cereal. She liked things that were healthy and she always put some kind of fresh fruit in it. I was like my dad. Nothing like a great big sugar high with a sweet crunchy taste.

To be honest though, since I was focusing on avoiding the truth, the cereal was tasteless. I shrugged. "You know me and Coco Puffs."

"I sure do."

Oh not good, not good. Her tone shouted danger so I kept my eyes lowered and my spoon going.

"So why are you eating my Raisin Bran?"

I swallowed hard and ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth. How the hell could I have missed that taste? My eyes opened wide first glancing at the bowl and then to the box closest to me. She was right; in my nervousness I reached for the wrong box and was placidly eating a cereal I had always proclaimed to hate.

Man, I was really screwed.

"What's up, Salem?" she asked. I could feel her eyes locked on mine like a target. Ten, nine, eight,...

"Nothing, really." I wriggled in my seat like a fish against a net. Captured. No daring escape possible.

"No lies. Did you have a bad dream?"

I dropped the spoon down in the bowl with a plunk and some of the milk flew over the edge, escaping easier than I'd be able to. I put my left hand over my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at Mom. "Yeah," I whispered. "It was the worst."

She came up behind me and started stroking my hair. "You should have woken me up, honey."

My eyes started watering and I held back for as long as I could, until finally a sob broke forth and suddenly I was all out crying and not able to stop.

My mother put her arms around my shoulders and gently kissed the top of my head. "Let it out, baby. You need to let it out. You've kept everything bottled up since the accident."

I stopped crying and pulled away. I just stared at her for a moment until it dawned on me. She thought I had dreamt of the accident. Of the past.

"What's wrong, honey? What's the matter? You know I can't help you unless you talk about it."

I got up from the chair and threw my arms around her. I didn't matter that she kept harping on the past. It didn't matter that she wasn't there in the car with me when I needed her most. I had to stop blaming her. If she had been there, then she'd be dead too. And I couldn't handle that.

I didn't want to tell her, but it was the only way. I had to start being honest no matter what. Then maybe she'd be honest with me too. Like the way we were before.

"It wasn't the accident," I sobbed. "What I saw was the future." This had to work. Maybe if she knew what was coming she'd be more aware and we'd be able to prevent it.

"Like the fire? Is something else like that going to happen in town? Another fire?"

So innocent. She didn't have the nightmare filling her head the way it was filling mine. "No Mom, it's a shooting," The words oozed out but mingled with my sobs so I wasn't sure she'd heard me.

Her body stiffened and I watched her fear solidify. "At school? Did you see this happening at school?" She was afraid for the wrong reasons and for the wrong people. So typical Mom, once again afraid for me. Now I wasn't so sure my telling her would do any good.

"I don't know where or when. I only know... it's you, Mom. I saw you get shot." As soon as the words emerged I completely fell into fits of sobs.

For some strange reason she seemed to relax. I couldn't though.

"Oh, Salem, no honey, that's not the future you're seeing. Don't be afraid. It's normal when you lose one parent to be afraid of losing the other. I know because I've been there. When my father died..." She shook her head like she'd just gained some great insight.

"My relationship with my mother changed after my father died. At first it was sort of the way you and I have been dancing around each other. We suffered apart rather than together. Then she came down with the flu and she seemed so sick I was sure I was going to lose her too. After that we were closer than ever. Now I know you've had some strange experiences lately, but what you had last night was just a bad dream."

"But you're not psychic, Mom. That's the difference. My sure is really sure. It's not just a feeling." I held on to her tighter hoping she'd believe me.

If only that were true. What I wouldn't give for it to be nothing more than a child's nightmare. "I do believe you are psychic, obviously you've proved that. But not every bad dream is a premonition. And it's normal for you to have dreams like that one now. Trust me."

There wasn't any convincing her so I composed myself the best I could. "Just promise to be extra careful, okay?"

"I will if you will." She held up her little finger and we pinky promised. We hadn't done that since I was a little kid and it was the closest we'd been in a long, long time.

She thought it was a harmless dream. Only a dream and a vision were two entirely different things. I knew the distinction between them now. Knew it with a certainty.

It was like looking at a math problem on a state test, the kind of problem you hadn't learned yet. You knew there was a solution, but didn't know how to go about figuring it out. Only this was one problem I had to find an answer to. I had to find a way to save her. I just had to.

*****

To make matters worse drivers' education classes started after school. Berkley and I sat together and she was so thrilled to be there, I didn't have the heart to tell her that my heart was breaking.

She knew I wasn't into it, but more than likely figured it had to have something to do with my dad's death.

They ended the class with a short film on accidents. I could feel my stomach turning. This was too much. This was the reason I didn't want to do this. I closed my eyes and hoped the instructor wouldn't notice with the lights shut off.

When it ended Berkley whispered, "You okay?" as the lights came back on.

Then the instructor did the unthinkable.

"Anyone here ever been in an accident?" he asked, looking around the room for volunteers.

A few people raised their hands. One blonde girl described a fender-bender focusing on the sound. She talked about the tires squealing, the metal crunching.

Then a tough-looking guy described flipping over the hood of a car when he hit it with his dirt bike. As he spoke of it I felt my body begin to fly then the abrupt halt of the seat belt cutting in to me. "Daddy?" My own voice echoed in my memory. Terror grasped hold and increased as the silence stretched.

"It was awesome," the wannabe thug said with an 'I'm so cool' laugh jerking me out of my reverie.

I wanted to hit him in the face for being so stupid and callous. He was making a mockery of the film, the class, of... of... Before I knew what I was doing I stood up fists balled at my sides.

"I was in an accident last year. We were hit by a drunk driver and my dad was killed instantly." The words came out in a rush and I took in a big gulp of air at the end of it.

A hush stilled the room as I stood there recognizing feelings I'd never admitted to having. "Getting into a car is such a common everyday thing that you don't think about it. You take it for granted when you step into a car that you'll be stepping out of it the same way."

I stopped and took a long breath in through the nose. "I didn't get to step out though, I had to be pulled out. The door was smashed in so they had to use the jaws of life. I thought it would break me in half and I thought I was going to..." My voice cracked and I stopped for a second to compose myself.

"I'd never really known what it was like to be scared before. Not really. I mean, you have a nightmare when you're a little kid, you see a scary movie. But it's not real fear. Real fear..." I shook my head because I wasn't sure how to describe it.

"I'd been calling to my dad but he didn't answer. I knew it was bad, but I kept hoping. While I was conscious I hoped. I kept thinking if he could hear me he'd hang on but it was so hard to focus."

The class remained riveted and I couldn't seem to stop. It was like vomiting when you have the stomach flu, when you just keep heaving until there's nothing left. Dr. Martin would have been proud.

"The sound of the sirens was the loudest thing I've ever heard in my life. I didn't know I had a concussion, but my head was splitting and I thought I was going to hurl. The noise was so, so loud and then I heard one of the paramedics say softly, 'The driver's gone.' That was how I found out my dad was dead."

I saw it in their faces. What I had said left a bigger impact than the stupid fake film they showed. It looked like there was a purpose to me being there in the class after all. As much as the teacher felt bad for me, you could see at the same time he was thrilled the message hit home. Cars weren't toys and even if you were careful, there was still danger involved.

Mr. 'it was awesome' lost his grin and said, "I'm sorry" out loud.

I nodded to him. "It's okay, I didn't mean to spill like this. I've sort of been holding it in." And it was true. It might have been a weird place for it to happen, but it had to come out. I had to actually say the words. I'd skated around it with Dr. Martin, but hadn't actually discussed the accident in detail.

"Thank you so much for sharing your experience, Salem. I'm sure it must have been difficult," our instructor Mr. Ordway said.

I sat down and looked back to Berkley. Tears were running down her face. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "I think it actually helped," I whispered to her. "Really, I'm fine."

Okay, so now the entire school would know and I'd have to deal with the pity thing, but the fact was it happened and nothing would ever erase that. I was different because of it. I'd lost my spoiled little girl innocence and grew up a little bit earlier than I would have.

But ultimately, that's what it's all about. Facing facts. Learning that there is no perfect time, that adults don't have it easier, and that you'd gladly stay young if you could get back the illusion that Daddy could keep you safe.

If my little oration made some of them a little more aware when they started driving, all the better. I still didn't think I'd ever be able to get behind the wheel myself, but I was glad I took the class.

### Chapter Thirteen

There'd been whispers and some finger pointing after the driving class, but for the most part it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Somehow we managed to get through the whole session and go on with business as usual. A few of the more grisly minded who heard the story second hand came right out and asked me about it. I gave them the same pat answers I gave after the accident and pulled back my hair to one side to show the remnants of my little scar.

I was like the female Harry Potter. The girl who lived.

Stupid really the way people reacted when they realized everyone else in an accident bought it but you. And to be honest, there are times when I wonder if my living hadn't been so accidental. Like maybe there was a purpose.

It wasn't on my mind at the moment though. I was just waiting for Berkley, watching out my bedroom window when I saw her mom's car drive up.

The surprising thing was Berkley got out the driver's side. Well that settled that question. I wondered when she'd get her permit, but I figured it'd take longer to set up an appointment.

Berkley's mom stepped out of the passenger's side and shakily walked around the car. Even from the window it was obvious she wasn't as confident in her daughter's driving skills as Berkley was.

Berkley gave her mother a big hug as she handed off the keys and ran toward the house like a kid. Her mom slipped in the car and was still sitting there when Berkley burst into the room shrieking, "I did it."

"I saw you drive up. Good job, I didn't even know it wasn't your mom until I saw you get out of the car."

She flopped down on the crummy old beanbag chair and stretched out her arms and legs while her head hung back. "I don't get it. I drove really slowly, but the car could have been in neutral for all she noticed. She was still terrified."

She lifted her head so she could see me while she spoke. "I don't get it because I know she trusts me and she knows how responsible I am."

I couldn't believe she still didn't comprehend. Berkley was smarter than that. She should have understood it was the other guy her mother was afraid of. But for some reason she didn't, so I changed the subject.

"So, was it difficult? The road test, I mean." As I said it I tried to imagine getting in the driver's side and turning the key. My stomach lunged just thinking about it.

"I did well. Really well. The guy that took me out said I was very conscientious." She smiled but it was fleeting and replaced by a look I knew too well. She looked down toward my bedspread and started picking at a piece of lint. "I'm sorry, Salem. I never should have forced you to take that class."

"It's okay, really." She'd apologized a million times since that first class and I kept trying to reassure her without getting into a big drawn out discussion, but it looked like the only way she'd stop was if we actually talked it out.

"No, it's not," she interrupted. "I understood about the accident. I knew you lost your dad, but still, it wasn't real until you started talking in class. I felt sick listening to the details of what happened, so I can't imagine how you live with it day to day." Her eyes filled with liquid guilt.

"A lot of people you know lost someone they love. People die every day." And it was the truth. I hadn't cornered the market on loss.

"It's not the same as when it's an accident and you're in the car with them when it happens."

She was right in one way but wrong in another. I mean each situation is different, but in each case you still end up losing someone you love. "Maybe. I'm not sure. Who's to say it's any better to watch a parent suffer for months just to watch them wither away." Death sucked no matter how it happened.

"Are you talking about Robby?" She sat up a bit, alert, watching my reactions.

"Sure. Him and everyone else in the same situation. I mean it doesn't matter how it happens. Gone is gone and there's always regrets no matter what."

And that was the point. There was no preparing for death. Robby might have had a head's up, but he was no more prepared for the finality of it than I was.

"I guess so. I just feel crappy that I pushed you to take the class."

I could help her here and it made me feel good. "I'm actually glad you did. In a strange sort of way it was healing. My shrink was thrilled." And he had been. Proud that is. He considered it a breakthrough.

And it was. I'd been blaming myself for living. Deep down I knew I hadn't caused the accident, the drunk that hit us had. I hadn't done anything wrong.

Except push my mother away after it happened.

That was the only thing I was going to need to come to terms with. It's not that I wanted to hurt her. I didn't. It's just Dad was always in the middle with his 'girls' on either side. Maybe I just felt like Mom was trying to fill his space. And it bugged me.

I mean, I love her – but as Mom. I don't want her to try to be Dad too. That's a space she shouldn't try to fill. But since I recognized it, I was determined to be more thoughtful of her feelings.

Berkley wrinkled her nose and I could tell she was rating the shrink 'eww' factor. "That must be tough seeing Robby's dad like that."

Talk about an understatement. Having a shrink at all managed to make the top ten list of why my life bites. But then add in the fact that he's Robby's dad. I mean, really. How many shrinks have the added pleasure of a patient dating one of their children? Not many, I'm sure.

"Sort of. Okay, so it's freaky weird. But I like him and he's pretty cool. I just haven't told him any of my extra problems," I said making little quotation mark gestures with my fingers around the word extra.

"You haven't told him that you're psychic?" Berkley acted like I was going into a confessional and leaving out my biggest sin.

"Um, hello, I'm dating his son. I mean I want help dealing with the accident. That's normal. But my other issues, well..." How do you tell a shrink, someone with access to the psycho ward that you're the girl with something extra?

"He's a professional," she said like I'd somehow missed something important.

That was one of the few problems with Berkley; she was a little too absorbed with titles and degrees. More knowledge didn't always help the situation. That depended on the type of information the individual had.

"Salem, he's a professional," she said again like I missed it the first time.

Oh sure, like that mattered. It only made the situation worse. "He's a doctor, you know, medical,... science, not likely to believe in fortune tellers." I had thought this was a no brainer.

"But so much of what you're dealing with really centers around your psychic dreams," she persisted. "What's the matter? You look strange." She stood up and walked over to the window where I was standing and looked out.

"I am strange. That's the point." As my biggest advocate she was about to protest but I kept talking. "And I haven't had a chance to tell you the latest."

I paused to get up the courage to say it out loud. Berkley waited patiently while my vocal cords mustered up the strength. "Remember the sound? You thought it might be popcorn. Well it's not. It's my mom. I saw her get shot."

Berkley's jaw dropped open and hung, her incredulity oozing out into the air. "Omigod, omigod, omigod! What are you going to do? Have you told her?"

For all the good it did. She didn't get that my mother refused to acknowledge her daughter wasn't traditionally normal. Well that wasn't true. She did believe the psychic part, just not when it applied to her. "Yeah, I told her but she still doesn't believe me. She thinks I'm just afraid I'll lose her too."

Berkley glanced away in contemplation then twirled a strand of hair around and around until I thought she'd pull it out. I kept quiet while she worked out her conclusion. "Could she be right?" she finally asked.

Thanks for the vote of confidence. I hadn't anticipated her siding with my mother. Don't you just love it when your own friends question you? "No. She's not right about this."

"I hoped for your sake there was something to what your mother said. So not even the remotest possibility?"

She wanted me to be wrong. Hell, I wanted me to be wrong. I shook my head. "No. I know the difference between a regular dream and one of my sightings."

In spite of the seriousness of the conversation the corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk. "Sighting? It sounds like you're talking about Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster."

I had to laugh. Only Berkley would point out how crazy the other things sounded while at the same time believing in ghosts and psychics.

"I might as well be since I can't get a handle on it. But I'm not sure what else to call it and that's what it reminds me of. I see a picture in my head, kind of a digital camera shot. Sometimes it's a still and others there's a few seconds of movement like in video. Then other times it's more of a slide show, only fast."

And that's what it was like. A little bit different every time, making it that much more difficult to master.

Twirling that same piece of hair into a death grip, Berkley finally announced, "You need to tell Robby's dad."

No, now if there was one thing I didn't need, it was that. "I can't."

Unfortunately, when she thinks she's right, Berkley can be a bit of a bulldog. "You need to. Maybe he can help."

"Sure. Help send me to an institution. Um, I'm not exactly dying to find out how electric shock therapy feels." As much as I liked Robby's dad and respected him I also knew it wasn't in his nature to believe in my type of ability. He was one hundred percent science.

She closed in on me and stood only about a foot away, her eyes imploring, looking directly into my mine. "So bring the video camera."

She lost me there for a minute. What could the video camera have to do with my ability?

"Show him the hair ribbon hanging in space. Tell him about your grandmother. You've got to try."

I almost laughed out loud. Yeah, right. Talk about making an impression. "Great, tell him not only that I'm psychic, but I hear dead people? Think about it Berkley."

I put my hands up to my head and started to massage my temples as I paced. They were starting to throb. She was right though. I had to do something; I just wasn't sure Dr. Martin was the answer.

****

I stood outside the door with my finger raised and perched above the bell. Sooner or later I'd have to press it. But then I needed to decide about my dilemma before I entered the house. Who to tell? Robby? Dr. Martin? Or the other choice – tell no one. Figure out my problems on my own. That was probably the best thing I could do. I was still debating the issue – eeny, meeny, miny, moe – when the door opened.

"Dr. Martin." There was no question about it. He caught me standing there like a brainless idiot.

"Hi, come on in. Robby's upstairs." He stepped out of the way for me to enter. "Hold on, I'll call him."

My intellect went out the window and instinct took over. I needed help and I needed an adult on my side. Well, a live one anyway. The dead ones didn't always answer when you called. "No, wait. I do want to see him, but I was hoping I could talk to you first. I know it's not a scheduled appointment..."

"You can talk to me any time." He placed his hand on my shoulder more dad-like than shrink-like. It gave me a small dose of courage and I thought I might actually be able to get through my outing.

He smiled reassuringly. "I thought I'd hear from you and I think I know what's bothering you."

This was going to be interesting. If he could guess this one then he was even more psychic than I was.

"You'll be expected to take the road test now that the course is completed. And you should, even though I know you don't want to."

Okay, random, and so way off base. No psychic ability on his part. "I can't. That's something I just can't do."

He ran his hand through his hair and traces of gray became more visible. "You didn't think you could take the class and look how well that turned out." He smiled again, the 'you can do it' kind of smile that's supposed to give confidence.

It didn't. I cursed my luck. How could we have ended up having this conversation when there were other more important issues that needed to be addressed? "This is different."

"I know. This will be much more difficult to conquer, but eventually you must. If you don't it'll ruin your life."

If I don't get some help now my life will be ruined anyway. Fear, like an army of ants at a picnic, started nipping at me until my composure was completely gone. "I hate being in cars with anyone. But the thought of being in control..."

"That's understandable and you might not ever enjoy it. But what if you have to? You can't spend your entire life not driving. What about when you're older and have children? What if you had to take one of them to the doctor's office? Are you going to rely on someone else? Take a taxi?"

Okay, so the guy did make sense. I mean, I'm not exactly stupid, I did understand what being a non-driver would mean to an adult. I could feel the tears start to well in the back of my eyes. It's not like I'd ever be up for this debate, but I was so not up for it now.

"You can't let it control you. Take the test, Salem. Just because you have your license doesn't mean you have to drive. It just means you can when you decide to. Just a few minutes behind the wheel and you'll have that option."

Just when I was about to lose it Robby rounded the corner of the room. "Salem." His smile froze as he looked at his dad and me.

"I was just talking to your dad." Yup, state the obvious. Sometimes I was so like my mother.

"Seems a little intense in here," he said as he frowned at his father. Oh great, now he'd be mad at his dad. And he shouldn't be, this was doctor-patient business.

"I was trying to convince Salem to take the road test and get her license."

"I'm sure she will when she's ready," he argued. Oh yeah, he was so itching for a fight with his dad. This wasn't all about me, but I wasn't helping their relationship at all.

I quickly changed the subject. "So are you going to paint me or what? I've got my dress," I said as I pointed to the plastic zip-up clothing sheath draped over the table.

Robby picked it up and handed it to me.

"Bathroom is down the hall to the left," Dr. Martin said.

Robby rolled his eyes since it certainly wasn't the first time I'd been at his house. Maybe he just had the need to say something that didn't have anything to do with what we were arguing about.

My mama didn't raise no fool. I high-tailed it down the hall so fast my feet barely touched the floor. Then I locked myself in the bathroom so I could change and think while I was doing it. Well, that certainly didn't go as planned. I anticipated problems, but I never thought we wouldn't even get to the topic.

I put on the dress and zipped it as high as I could. I'd need Robby to zip the last bit at the top. Then I used a large barrette and pinned it in the back of my hair so that most of it was held up off my neck but long tendrils hung down while smaller ones cascaded around my face.

I looked like her. A lot like her. There would be no way to know the two portraits were of two different people. I took one last look and a deep breath before walking out of the bathroom.

Robby had already gone out to the studio so I hitched up the bottom of my dress so it wouldn't get dirty and held my backpack with my other clothes in it over my shoulder.

Robby turned toward me when I opened the door and the look on his face was unbelievable. If I didn't know better I'd have thought that some movie star or celebrity had just walked in.

But then again, I forgot, today I was the muse.

He set me up where he wanted me, zipped up the top of my dress, and finished setting up his paints. Then he went to his Ipod in the corner of the room and rather than the music he normally played when we were out, classical music filled the air.

At first I was surprised, but not when he started painting. He didn't speak and there was an intensity, a focus in his expression that demanded quiet like a test taking sign.

It didn't matter though; I was comfortable, almost taken away by the moment. Peace. Contentment.

At least for the first few minutes.

I'm not sure when things began to change it was that subtle. One second I was perfectly content and life was good. Then the next... I began to feel edgy, nervous.

The light from the sun that had been so welcome and charming a few minutes ago started to flick past my eyes and cause shadows. Images immerged until the room wasn't there as it had been, but instead what I saw was entirely inside my head.

I could vaguely hear Robby as if in a distant echo. "Salem, is the sun in your eyes?"

When I realized he had asked me the same question more than once I finally answered. "Um, no, sorry I just sort of dazed out there for a moment."

I needed to stay focused. This wasn't the time or the place to have to admit to Robby that I wasn't the ordinary teen.

He went back into artist mode and his focus was on the portrait. That didn't mean I could retreat back into my own subconscious. I needed to keep my head in the present. If I didn't Robby would know something was up.

I tried. I really did. But the thing about being psychic is you can't always control it. Who am I kidding? I couldn't ever control it. This was a first for me. Usually I only had visions in my sleep. I mean I could recall them after I'd had them, but they never materialized while I was awake before. Not a new image anyway.

And this was new.

The sun didn't feel warming at all. If anything there was a chill deep down to the bone. Then I felt like I was drifting away - further and further away from my body until I was afraid I'd never be able to get back.

My head ached. It started with the old vision of the gun. It kept coming back as much as I was trying to send it away.

But then the gun turned into a hand holding a gun and then an arm was attached to the hand and suddenly I saw the whole of him holding the gun outstretched and pop, pop, pop, off it went.

Then just as suddenly the image went away and hard as I tried to get it back it wouldn't come.

When I realized it was fruitless I also realized where I was and that Robby was just standing there with his paintbrush dangling at his side.

I could tell he had been trying to get my attention and that he knew I had been somewhere else.

"Are you okay?" he asked when he knew I was back in the land of the real.

"No, not really. I'm not feeling that great."

"That's obvious. You were practically hyperventilating and your eyes - they were staring out into space like you saw something. What was happening, Salem? Were you remembering the accident? Is that what my father's pushing has done?" The bitterness in his voice couldn't be masked.

"No, it's nothing like that and your father has been a help. A great help. I'm dealing with things because of him, and because of you."

"Well it didn't look like it a minute ago. It didn't look like you were dealing at all."

I was about to speak when my grandmother screeching, "Stop him," reverberated through my brain. Okay, now not only was I seeing images, but hearing a dead woman at the same time. And while I was awake.

Things were so not getting better.

I had to get out of there, had to get home to talk to my mother. "Look Robby, I can't explain, but I feel like I have to get home right now. I'm sure this doesn't make any sense, but I won't feel right until I get there. Can we please do this some other time? I really need to talk to my mom."

He brought the brush over to the sink and rinsed it along with his hands. I started to try to unzip the dress but couldn't reach the top. "Stop him," I heard my grandmother scream again.

"Robby, please help me unzip this."

He stared at me for a second and didn't seem to take a breath. "Aren't you going to change in the bathroom?" His voice cracked mid-sentence as if he thought I planned on putting on a show.

"No, I don't have time. Help me," I urged. "Just get the top of this zipper then turn around."

He did as I asked then I slipped the dress off while he had his back to me.

I looked up as the dress pooled to the floor and caught him looking at me in the glass of the window. "You're peeking," I yelled as I hopped into my jeans and yanked my sweatshirt over my head.

"I didn't mean to." He lowered his gaze to the floor. "It was an accident. I didn't realize, and then there you were and it was hard not to... and... and... sorry."

If I hadn't been so worried it would have been laughable. But for my grandmother to be this insistent, then things must have reached critical mass.

"It's okay, Robby. I'm sure you didn't do it on purpose." I yanked on my sneakers without unlacing them. "Let's get going though."

"Do you mind me driving or would you rather my dad give us a lift?"

That's just what I needed. Robby was going to find out more than I wanted him to know. And as much as I'd considered it earlier, I realized I didn't need his dad knowing too. "I'll be fine with you."

"Great," he said but looked like he didn't mean it. "My car is, well... a little on the old side."

It didn't appear old to me. In fact I'd guess only a few years old. "The car that you've been driving?"

He looked a little sheepish. "Um, that would be my grandmother's. She lets me use it when mine isn't running."

The way he said it hinted that it was the majority of the time.

"No problem, as long as it runs," I said as we hustled out of the studio.

He was being kind. It wasn't so much that it looked old, because it didn't look that bad, from the outside anyway, but when he turned the key it made sounds that shouldn't have come from any vehicle that was still on the road.

A loud groan of protest was followed by coughs and sputtering. The vehicle anguished out a moan of pain as it backed out of the driveway.

I tightened my seatbelt and prayed. Literally.

### Chapter Fourteen

It was a classic car. A GTO. The 'goat' Robby called it. Maybe because it was stubborn and had attitude. But he should have called it 'current pop star' because there was more shaking going on than in a music video.

It would have bothered me on a normal day, a normal ride. But I was shaking to begin with and it had nothing to do with Robby's car.

My hands clutched the sides of the seat and the cold leather upholstery iced hands that were already frozen with fear.

Knock, clang, bang. It was the exhaust or some other melancholy piece of equipment begging for a much needed retirement.

But the sound, so close to that of a gun. The time was getting near and I knew it. Knew it as well as I knew my own name.

I had to stop it from happening.

As we approached Tower Hill Road Robby's vehicle started to vehemently protest.

I could tell his foot was flat on the gas pedal as the car choked and bucked its way slowly up the incline like the little engine that could.

When we reached the top and leveled off I realized I'd been holding my breath and let it out in a rush of air.

"Are you sure this car's safe to have on the road?"

"It sounds worse than it is, but we're still fixing it up. It's the one thing my dad and I have in common."

"I don't get it," I said momentarily distracted. "Your dad's a great guy. Why is it so hard for the two of you to get along?"

"It's complicated. I stopped being the model son when my mom got sick. I traded being the star athlete for the quiet of being an artist."

He couldn't be serious. I mean, we're talking shrink here. "And that bothered him?"

"He skipped two grades so was always too young to play on the school teams." Robby shrugged. "It was like when I was out there playing, he got to play too. I spoiled that for him. He just won't admit it. But what are you talking about? Your relationship with your mom hasn't exactly been perfect lately."

That's all it took to bring me back to the sense of doom I'd been feeling for the past hour.

As soon as we pulled into the driveway my tension increased. Her car wasn't there. I ran to the garage but knew better. She only parked there at night when she knew she wasn't going out again.

My breathing became more labored as I ran toward the house and the whole thing felt like it was happening in slow motion. My keys fumbled in my hands and fell to the ground.

Robby picked them up. "Which one is it? I'll open the door."

I pointed to the right key and as soon as the door was open I pushed past him into the kitchen. "Mom," I yelled as I ran around the house desperate to find someone I knew wasn't there.

By the time Robby caught up to me I was screaming for her. "Salem, it's obvious she's not here," he said trying to calm me. Why don't you call her cell?"

"Cell phone. That's right, I can call her on her cell." Smart. Sensible. I threw my arms around him and kissed him quick. "Thank you, thank you." I pulled back leaving him hanging forward, lips anticipating more.

"No problem," he said looking at me as if I had a major one.

Okay, obviously not the time for a first kiss and not the kind of kiss that dreams are made of. But it happened. Past tense. I'd just have to deal with that later.

I grabbed the phone and punched in the numbers of her cell as Robby stood obviously still contemplating the kiss. "Mom, thank God. Where are you?"

"In the mall parking lot. I'm coming home now. Everything okay?"

She sounded light years away. I mean if we have the technology to have cell phones in the first place, why are they scratchy sounding half the time? But it was better than okay now that I'd heard her voice. Couldn't let her know that though or she wouldn't come straight home.

"No, it's not. I had another vision. Only this time I was awake. It's bad, Mom."

"Salem, maybe you should talk to Dr. Martin," resounded into the phone even scratchier than before.

"Stop it. I'm not hallucinating. You know it's real. And it has nothing to do with being afraid of losing you. I know the difference."

"Salem..."

Okay. Time to pull out the big guns. "And Grandma yelled to me."

Dead air. Tick. Tick. Tick. "W-What?"

I looked up and saw Robby's jaw dragging along the floor. But at this point it didn't matter.

"Grandma's telling me to hurry and to stop him from shooting you. She's...she's helping me."

"Salem, I'm in the car, I'm fine, and I'll be home soon. And there's no one here with me. Damn, the battery is getting low."

"Mom?" I heard the warning beeps on her phone and cursed her for never remembering to charge her phone. I couldn't lose her, I just couldn't.

"Damn, it's going to...."

The line went dead. "Mom," I screamed three or four times once again knowing she wasn't there.

I threw the phone toward the wall. Okay, so not one of my most mature moments. Robby caught it mid-flight and placed it in the receiver as I started to cry. With a catch like that maybe he should have considered the baseball team.

He put his arms around me and drew me close. "Um," he half whispered in my ear, "Did I hear you tell your mom that you..." he paused not able to finish the sentence.

"I hear one of your favorite dead women while images of the future flashes before my eyes. Yup, you got it."

"Are you serious?" He half laughed then realized I was.

"No, I'm kidding." I scowled and tried to pull away from him, but he held me firm.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He said it so simply like 'why didn't you tell me you were going to be late?' Like it was something normal.

"Would you have believed me or just signed me up for extra sessions with your dad? Do you believe me now?" I said before he could answer the first question.

He pushed me back a bit so I could see his face while his hands held my shoulders firm. "Yeah. Yeah, I believe you. Now why don't you tell me the details?"

"I'm psychic."

"I sort of figured that out. So you're like your grandmother in more than just looks?" Okay, so now it was my turn to be shocked. Of all the things Robby could have said, that was the one thing I never would have guessed. And he said it like it was common knowledge.

"You... How did you know that?"

He looked at me like it should have been obvious. "My grandparents knew her, remember?"

"And your dad, does he know any of this?" He glanced away making me glad I hadn't info dumped on his father earlier in the doorway.

"He won't be as easy a sell. He's much more skeptical. But my grandfather said your grandmother knew his brother wasn't coming back from the war. She showed up at their house crying the day my great uncle was killed. They tried to console her and tell her everything was all right. Thing was they found out a week later and sure enough he died when she said he did."

I fell forward and hugged him tighter. "I'm not sure if the accident started all this or just being in this house, but once it started... I just can't seem to shut it off. I had a vision of the mill fire, and then I knew they'd find a body."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No, I didn't understand it until it was too late to help. But now," I couldn't go on. The tears were falling freely down my face.

"What is it that you see happening now?"

"Oh Robby, my mom is going to be shot. I know it, but I don't know how to stop it. My grandmother... I know this sounds crazy, but I heard my grandmother while you were painting."

He gave me a half smile and nudged my chin with his hand. "Did she say anything about me? About what a great guy I am?"

I punched him in the arm, but it did help lighten the mood a bit.

"Seriously Robby. She told me to hurry and it's making me scared. Like I won't be able to stop it in time. Can you believe I not only have visions, but I also hear ghosts?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yeah, I can. Don't forget my mother died in my house. I know it's not the same as you, but sometimes I just sort of... feel her there. I just know it. So yeah, I believe you."

My heart soared. No doubt about it I was crazy for the dude.

Skyler started meowing and prancing around our feet. Then he stopped and looked up at the ceiling. Eyes fixated, focused.

"Find her!" echoed through my brain so loudly I looked at Robby to see if he had heard.

Skyler bolted out of the room and headed for the bathroom with me at his heels. I stopped short and Robby bumped into me with a force that sent me sprawling on the bathroom floor.

"Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"No problem," I said as he lifted me from the tile floor. My knees throbbed and it took me a moment to notice Skyler perched at the trash mewling.

"What does he want?" Robby asked.

"Probably looking for Q-Tips. He loves those."

Robby saw the box on the counter to the left of the sink and took one out to try to tempt him.

"You have to use it." I so did not want to explain Skyler's little fetish.

"Use it?" He said it like he was trying to figure out what you'd use a Q-Tip for.

I rubbed my knee and tried to figure out why I'd run after Skyler. "It's the ear wax he likes."

"That's just gross." He handed me the unused Q-Tip and I put it on the sink.

"Yeah, I know. He's always pulling them out of the trash."

Skyler mewed again and pulled a yellow post it out of the garbage instead and started chewing on it.

"Looks like he likes paper too."

"Not usually, unless you roll it in a ball. Then he bats it around," I said as I picked it up and looked at it. A 'to do' list of my mother's. Must have fallen out of her purse. Either that or it had a little help from my grandmother.

Right after the mall she had 'Lil General. That meant she wasn't coming straight home. Then it made sense. There would be no reason for anyone to shoot my mother unless she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. The convenience store. And there had been a string of robberies throughout the state.

I really didn't have much time.

"'Lil General, Robby. We have to get to 'Lil General. It's going to happen there."

"Are you sure?"

I stopped and concentrated as hard as I could. My grandmother's voice came through, "It's not her time, Salem. Hurry, please."

"Yup, and Grandma thinks so too," I said as I pushed him to get going.

"You hear from her recently?"

"Yeah, just a second ago." He was wasting time and we couldn't afford it.

"And she wants you to go to the convenience store. Anything in particular she wants?"

"She's going to the convenience store."

I saw the light bulb go on. "Your mother?"

"No, my grandmother, she's craving chocolate."

Robby stared for a second before he realized I was being sarcastic. "Right, funny."

The last few words distorted and were warbled. Then I heard him.

"Give me your money," he said to the attendant. Only it wasn't Robby's voice. It was the shooter. Deep, edgy, tense. I hadn't heard the voice before, but it was there now and I knew no matter how much time went by, I'd never forget it.

Then I saw the gun, the arm, the body, the face. Dirty. Unkempt. He had beard stubble that only meant he hadn't shaved in the past few days. His greasy hair limply wisped over thinning spots on top of his head. The lines in his jaw were tight with hatred. And eyes- cold hard eyes devoid of any mercy. He was a man on the edge, a man who couldn't think of the people he victimized, but only of the money he wanted.

Then I saw my mother.

The shock in her eyes. The second of recognition when she knew what was going to happen because she'd already heard it from me.

Not fear. Not exactly. I knew she was thinking of what would become of me.

And I panicked. What would I do if I couldn't prevent it?

"Come on, Robby. We need to leave now. There's no more time to waste."

### Chapter Fifteen

The 'Lil General convenience store was only about seven minutes away. In a normal car, that is. In Robby's, however, it took a bit longer.

At one point I wanted to get out and run figuring I'd get there faster. There was no telling how much time we had to intervene. I eyed my cell phone wondering if I should call information for the store's number. But then what would I say? You're about to get robbed? Oh yeah, that'd go over well.

"I wish you could get this car moving."

Robby winced. "I'm trying, Salem, but it's a little temperamental."

Talk about an understatement. But he was trying his best. I shouldn't have been taking it out on him, but time was getting short.

Finally the store was in sight. I strained my eyes to see the small parking area to detect my mother's car, but we were still too far away. Seconds seemed like hours. There were a few cars in front of us and I willed them to move faster while we still had the green.

This time it wasn't the fault of Robby's relic. We were stuck behind Methuselah. This woman had to hold the Guinness World Record for oldest woman alive. Or at least oldest woman still driving. The white hair on the lady in front of us barely fringed the top of the seat. Then she moved her head a little to the right and it disappeared altogether behind the headrest.

It's almost winter lady, go to Florida with the rest of the people your age, I thought then hated myself for thinking it. I wasn't one of those anti-old people, so I was ashamed the thought had even entered my mind. Normally, I'm fairly patient.

Just not today.

"Damn," Robby and I said simultaneously as the light turned red. But now we were close enough to see. I scanned the lot again and was relieved when Mom's car wasn't there.

My relief didn't last long. From the corner of my eye I saw a car approaching. Fear crept up my body slow and steady like a spider until with sudden clarity you no longer presume, but instead know it's there.

Same make, same model, same color. The vehicle stopped and I watched with horror as Mom exited the car and headed for her destiny.

Just as I was about to jump out of the car and make a run for her, the light changed.

"Don't do it," Robby said eyeing my hand on the door handle. "It'll take you longer to run over there. And... this is a bad intersection."

I could've outrun the car in front of us on one of my worst days. And with the way Robby's car was running, the geriatric in front of us might've beaten it in a race. But he was right. It would be tricky to run out in traffic.

"What do we do when we get there?" Robby asked. The car jerked and started to move.

"Get her out of there," I said and then gasped as my worst fears came true. There he was – the shooter - shuffling into the store.

I internally pleaded with my grandmother to help.

She must have heard and used her powers from the beyond because a patrol car was pulling into Dunkin Donuts at the same time we were pulling into the lot at 'Lil General two stores down.

"Salem?" He didn't need to ask the question. Robby saw the man walk into the store and knew from my expression.

"Police. Oh yeah, thank you Grandma," I said aloud. "Robby, go get the cop and tell him you saw a man enter the store with a gun."

"But... I didn't. What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not. Please, Robby. Tell him it looked like he had a gun, please."

"You come with me. You can't go in there alone. Or you tell the cop, I'll get your mother."

"Stop arguing. This isn't the time to act macho. She'll come instantly with me. You'd have to explain and there isn't time," I said as I jumped out of the car and ran for the door before he even put it in park.

I tugged on the door. Nothing. Had the gunman locked it? Too frightened to think clearly I stepped back and was ready to start kicking it in when I saw the word push.

The door opened in.

I entered the store and glanced around. The set-up made it impossible to automatically see either my mother or the perpetrator. There was a small group at the checkout counter gabbing as their endless items were rung up.

The shooter stood only a few feet away. He leaned against the magazine rack with his back to the counter. The bastard coolly thumbed through a magazine. Waiting them out.

He didn't see me enter. I snuck past and down the aisle in search of my mother. It felt as if there were a thousand aisles rather than just a few. Like I was in a bad dream where I was running and running toward a door to safety, only the door never came any closer. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, my heart pumping wildly.

Then there she was, crouched on the floor looking through cans of cat food frowning. I could have told her they didn't have any kitten chow here. We'd have to go to the market for that. If only she'd asked. If only...

I didn't want to make a lot of noise so I bent down beside her and placed my finger in front of my mouth. "Shhh," I whispered.

Before she could say anything I placed my finger in front of her mouth as a warning not to say anything. Then I mouthed, "The shooter is here. In the front of the store."

She looked like she was about to give me an argument when my eyes began to tear up. She could tell, if nothing else, she had to humor me.

I held out my hand and she placed hers in mine. Slowly, we both stood. She placed the things she had planned on buying on the shelf. Quietly we began our trek toward the front of the store.

We needed to get out while the others were still being rung up. By then the cop would be there or close enough and he'd only have to think of saving the sales clerk. A gust of air hit. My eyes zeroed in on the open door. My body froze and I watched with horror as my hope walked out with all of their bags.

It wasn't fair. We were half way there. Half way to freedom. But half way wasn't good enough. The criminal pulled out his gun and stuck it in the face of the attendant. "Open the register and give me everything inside."

We were half way to hell.

"Anything you want, man, just don't shoot. It ain't my money. I got a family." The attendant was breathing hard and although it was hard to see for sure, it appeared beads of sweat had formed over his brow. The poor slob looked like he'd already wet himself and was ready to collapse.

As soon as the gunman turned to leave he would see us. We had to try to make it to the door and escape before that happened. Once outside we could run toward the police car. But it would be risky.

I pointed toward the door and my mother shook her head and stepped back toward the aisle. Her fingers slid from mine. The loss was so severe I panicked. I took another step toward the door and again motioned frantically for her to follow. Didn't she realize we'd be cornered here? After all he did have a gun. And if he did shoot the attendant like he did in the latest robbery, then he would certainly look through the aisles to make sure he left no witnesses.

There wasn't enough time to debate the issue. I continued toward the door hoping she'd follow. But as luck would have it, mine ran out.

Just as I was closing in on the prize, the man turned. Gun in one hand, a bag of money in the other. We locked eyes and I stopped breathing.

I didn't want to die. As much as I complained about how much my life sucked and how unfair it was, I really wasn't ready for it to end. A million things flooded my mind. Every significant event from riding my first two-wheeler to my dad's death flashed before my eyes. Somehow, in that split second, I had time to consider them all.

"Salem," Mom yelled. My head jerked toward her. Damn it. She wanted him to hear her voice so he'd focus on her instead.

My heart beat double time. She wanted me to run. As if I could leave her. My stomach clenched. I knew what was coming next. No, no, this couldn't be happening.

The madman swiveled toward the sound of her voice, his arm outstretched, gun jerking back as it fired.

Pop, pop, pop.

Everything happened in tandem. The impact pushed her back as the door burst open. The policeman fired at the gunman. The clerk covered his head and dropped down to hide behind the counter. The gunman shrieked as his weapon sailed out of his hand like a Frisbee and clattered to the floor.

Familiar arms circled my waist and tackled. "I told you to stay outside," the officer yelled to Robby. "Now don't anyone move." He slapped handcuffs on the criminal and shoved him down on the floor.

My mother hadn't made a sound. The familiar silence sliced through me tearing out my heart. Wildly, I tried to move, but Robby had me pinned. I screamed louder and louder not even realizing that I was the one making the sound.

Robby pulled me close, rocking me in his arms and trying to turn my face away from my mother. She was lying face down in the aisle crumpled and contorted. A small pool of blood was beginning to form. It inched its way down the lilting floor like it was trying to reach me.

No, no, dear God. This can't be happening. Not again. I can't lose another parent. My head ached. My heart shattered.

I tried again to make a break for it, but Robby just held tighter. "Wait, Salem." His voice cracked and he paused. "Let him check her injuries first."

Who was he kidding? I knew Rob thought she was dead as well I as did.

"He'll know what to do. If you touch her you could make things worse."

Intellectually, I knew Robby was right. But let's face it, when a family member is shot right in front of your eyes, you don't exactly think straight.

Emotion ruled, swatting intellect like a fly. Tears dripped down my face. My body trembled like enveloped in ice. My shrill yelling stopped and a deep mournful wail erupted from the center of my soul. I had let my mother down, let my grandmother down too. I was too late.

### Chapter Sixteen

The headstone, a pitch-black onyx, like a moonless night, encompassed my spirit. It drew me in away from the rest of the world and I cautiously continued my approach. When I was close enough to touch it my legs gave out and I sank to the ground.

For a second I thought about what lie beneath, but couldn't keep my thoughts there. I couldn't face that – the remains. Bones.

Nothing but bones. The person no longer resided with the remains. If nothing else, that much I learned from my grandmother.

The spirit soared away from the body and maintained contact with the physical world, even if most of the people left behind were unaware of it.

Not me. I had assurances.

My breath had been labored sounding like an asthmatic in desperate need of an inhaler. I needed to calm down and face the stone in front of me. I reached out and splayed my hand across the smooth dark stone and the cold instantly penetrated the layers of my skin.

It was like the cold of death could somehow reach through the stone, and creep into the living.

I had been allowing myself to be a sacrifice from the accident, stifling myself, preventing my development from guilt and fear. No more. From this day forward things would change. They had to.

I leaned forward and embraced the stone, hugged the temple. That's all it was. A place. A place to go to remember. But I didn't need to go there to remember and to love. The love would always be inside me. That was the key to surviving grief – not letting go of the memories. Keeping the love as alive as it had been while the person was still living.

I heard the soft footsteps approach telling me it was time to go. A gentle hand on my shoulder said more than any words could. I looked up and nodded.

"I'm ready, Mom." I put my hand in hers and the mere contact calmed me.

She looked at the stone wistfully. "We can come back periodically, but he'll always be as close as our hearts. Love doesn't just stop."

"I know that now and I know it wasn't my fault he died. I'm just glad I didn't lose you too. I don't think I could have handled that." And deep down I knew I wouldn't have. I would have remained stagnant, crippled from self-imposed guilt.

Mom hugged me and I leaned in welcoming her warmth. "Good thing I have a daughter that's psychic."

"It's not like I stopped you from getting shot."

"No, but it could have been a lot worse than a shot in the arm. At least it was only superficial. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."

But we did know. She would have died. Somehow through my grandmother and who knows what else, I was able to control my psychic ability and get to my mom in time. That helped erase the guilt I had over surviving when my dad didn't.

It gave me courage.

"Are you sure you're ready, license girl?"

I'd made it through a five-minute road test. Now I needed to conquer the reality of driving every day. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Mom unzipped her worn-out so-last-season Prada purse and fumbled for a few seconds searching for the keys. When she found them she held them out in the open palm of her chapped hand.

I reached for them, my fingers lingering a second before I picked them up. I took a deep breath and gathered my strength. "So am I driving all the way to the airport?"

"Only if you want to. Let's see how you feel. If you're ready for the highway, go for it. If not, there's no shame in pulling over at Kandy Korner. It's only one block before the interstate entrance ramp." Mom slid into the passenger seat and I plopped down on the driver's side. We sat silently for a second. "Or we could stop there anyway," Mom said. "A little chocolate courage couldn't hurt."

"Chocolate peanut butter fudge?"

"You read my mind." Mom raised her eyebrows and I laughed at her little joke. "Are you anxious to get home?" she asked changing the subject.

Home. Here we were back in North Carolina where I'd spent most of my life and the second she said home I envisioned Rhode Island.

"As anxious as you are, although staying with Grandy Bee isn't making me as crazy as it is you."

She countered with a phony laugh and gently slapped at my arm.

"Yeah, I'm ready to get back. I miss Skyler. Do you think Robby is taking good care of him?"

"Would you have allowed him to cat-sit if you thought he wouldn't do a good job?"

I fastened my seatbelt and turned the key while she was speaking. "No, I wouldn't have."

"So in other words, you also miss Robby?"

I grinned as I put the car in drive and slowly stepped on the gas. "Guess so. Um, now that I'm driving, when do you think I'll get my own car, used of course."

"You've been driving now all of fifteen seconds."

Okay, so it was worth a try. Without taking my eyes off the road I continued, "Hmmm, I don't know. I sort of had this vision of this really great car..."

She looked at me intently, gauging my face and then recognized the lie for what it was. "Oh honey, that wasn't a vision. It was a fantasy."

Even being psychic couldn't undermine that mom radar. Some things never changed.

### About the Author

Lyn Stanzione has a BA in Secondary Education from Arizona State University and an MA in English from the University of Rhode Island. She works full time teaching writing.

A student once complained about the length of an assignment to which Lyn replied with her normal catch phrase, "You could write a book about that." His reply, "Why don't you," changed her life. By the end of the school year Lyn completed her first work of fiction and joined Rhode Island Romance Writers. She now cannot imagine a life without the characters that are her constant companions.

Lyn resides in Rhode Island with her two wonderful teenage children and two crazy cats.

### Sneak peek at book two of the Salem's Sight Series, Salem's Sacrifice

Chapter One

I have to admit I was a little surprised when my shrink called and practically begged for me to meet with him. I mean, at this point we were down to only occasional visits. But you're probably wondering why I see a shrink at all.

Well, it started after the car accident last year that killed my dad and left me psychic. Yup, that's me, the girl most likely to end up telling fortunes in a carnival. Only my ability works in a sort of funky way. And I still haven't confided the psychic part to my shrink. See, he also happens to be my boyfriend's father and since he seems to like me and is also a nonbeliever, I just sort of decided to leave that little bit out.

It's not lying. Much. I mean, everyone's entitled to a little bit of privacy.

As a matter of fact only a few people know about my 'ability' because hey, who wants to be known as the local freak? Mostly, people think of psychics as people who can see the future. And I can, well... sort of. But like I said, in a funky sort of way.

I guess what I mean is, I can't control it, or maybe it's better to say I can't control it enough. I can't just look at someone or hold their hand like they do in the movies, and have all this stuff shoot into my head.

For the most part, images drift into my dreams and take over like giant cumulus clouds blocking out the blue of the sky. Or that's how it started anyway. I'd wake up and know the dream I had was going to happen for real, unless I did something to stop it.

That's what happened when I saw this creep shoot my mom. I knew it would turn out to be real so I had to focus on the images. After a while they started to pop up like computer instant messages even when I was awake. Finally, luckily, I realized it was a robbery in a convenience store and consequently managed to save the day before I ended up an orphan.

But in the past few weeks, it was like the computer in my mind lost it's Internet access and I was hoping that maybe the images were just gone away. Just like my grandmother did. Well, not that I wanted _her_ to go away, but since she was a ghost and hanging out my room it was sort of the right thing to do. I missed her though.

Grandma was psychic too. When she was alive that is, although technically I guess you could say she's still psychic, but other than me, who does she talk to? And maybe the things she knows now, she knows because she's dead. I mean, maybe all dead people know what's going to happen next.

Anyway, few people knew about Grandma's ability and Mom never really believed her, so she had a tough time admitting it when it turned out I was also a freak.

But like I said, my shrink didn't know and since it wasn't really necessary, I wasn't about to drop the bomb. We had dealt with my real issue, which was my dad's death. And anyone living through that kind of car accident could use a shrink just to have someone to vent to. And I liked talking to Robby's dad, so I don't know why this visit was making me nervous.

I peddled faster then slowed almost to a stop when I hit Main Street. Talk about instant loss of momentum. In spite of the fact it was still fall, Christmas items were already being put out in the store windows. I felt my heart clench. This would be the first Christmas without my dad. It's weird but you think you're cured, that you're healed and you're living a normal life, and then you see a stupid Christmas tree and Bam! You're emotionally beat up. Bruised and suffering all over again.

And this time it wasn't because I blamed myself. At least I was pretty much cured of that. I just missed my dad. And I knew, really knew the hard way, what dead really meant.

The strange thing was I knew Doctor Martin could relate because his wife, Robby's mom, died from cancer last year and this would be their first Christmas without her too.

In a way it felt good that my shrink would be there for me if things got tough. I just wished Robby felt the same way. I mean, I know Robby loves his dad, but they haven't exactly been close since Mrs. Martin died. From the things Robby says you'd swear it was all his dad's fault their not close, but some part of me says that it's at least partly, if not mostly Robby's.

That's how it was with my mom before the great save. I pushed her away, but that's so totally history. We've been uber close lately and I know we'll get through Christmas. It stinks to have to think of it that way. Get _through_ Christmas – like it was a chore. It should be the best time of the year. And maybe it would be again... someday. Just not this year.

All these thoughts were racing through my head as I eased along the road to his office, which also happened to be next to his house. Normally, I'd let Robby know if I was seeing his dad and I'd stop by after, but instinctively, I knew this wouldn't be a good time. I dropped my bike on the side of the path and headed for the door.

It opened before I even had a chance to knock, which completely weirded me out, because that only meant one thing. He'd been watching for me. He smiled that same reassuring smile he always did. The one that usually made me feel better.

It didn't today.

Then I felt it. The slight shiver. The hair on my arms lifting straight up. Holy crap, if I needed Grandma then this really wasn't going to be good. But there wasn't a sound from the other side and it wasn't like Grandma to be quiet.

Dr. Martin held the door open and stepped out of the way for me to enter. He glanced at me quickly, but didn't hold my gaze. That was odd. Usually he looked right at you, deep into your eyes so you wouldn't hold anything back. He'd lock on and those eyes would suck the truth out of you. Well, most of it anyway.

Not today.

In fact, he was looking everywhere _but_ into my eyes, which made me even more uneasy. He seemed guilty. You know the look. The kind you get when you're trying to hide whatever it is that you've done that you don't want your parents to know about, so you look down a lot, and it's _that_ look that eventually clues them into your misconduct.

Anyway, that's when it hit me. Maybe this wasn't about me. Maybe there was another reason for him to call. I looked directly at him, eyes unwavering. Once again he glanced at me and then his eyes went quickly back down to the floor.

Oh yeah, major guilt on his part. I crossed my arms and stood there waiting.

He stepped behind his desk like he was using it for cover and sat down. "Have a seat, Salem."

I sat down on the maroon leather chair that I'd become so used to and remained silent.

"Um, Salem, you must be wondering why I asked you here on such short notice, when we weren't scheduled for an appointment."

He snuck a look and I have to admit the pained expression made me feel pity. I wanted to let him off the hook. I mean, the guy had helped me out a lot with my dad's death, and he was Robby's father.

"This visit doesn't really have anything to do with me, does it?" I asked. "I mean, I'm not here to discuss any of _my_ issues, right?"

He laughed lightly and looked directly at me. "You _are_ very perceptive."

"So, if it's not about me, then I'd have to guess that it has something to do with Robby."

"Right again."

"But it doesn't have to do with me and Robby. I mean, you're not upset that he's dating me too much or anything like that." I sat up straight and my voice went up an octave and ended with a little squeak. Losing Robby was just _so_ what I didn't need right now. I knew we were spending a lot of time together and to be honest I thought my mother would have something to say soon. My stomach flipped and I prayed for it to be something else, _anything_ else.

It worked. Unfortunately, I learned the phrase 'watch what you wish for'.

"No, of course not. I'm just worried about Robby." He folded his hands and went back to looking at them. "I know I shouldn't be talking to you about this but,..." He shook his head. "There's no one else. I had you come here so Robby wouldn't suspect anything."

Oh great. He wanted me to keep this from Robby. I couldn't believe it. Not of him. Outside of my dad, Dr. Martin had all the qualities a good adult man should have. And I admired the good doctor. So I was confused by what he was saying, what he was asking. "Dr. Martin. I don't want to keep secrets from Robby."

"And I wouldn't want you to, but... I need your help. Right now I think you might be the only person who _can_ help Robby. He won't listen to me at all." Doctor Martin leaned back in his chair. It squeaked and tipped back like it was going to fall over, like the entire balance of his life had tipped and lost its equilibrium. "He's going to throw his entire future away because he's angry at me."

I shifted in my chair. Oh this was _so_ not going to be fun. How do you tell a dad to butt out of his son's life? Well, best to spit it out quickly. "I'm sorry, Dr. Martin but you need to look at a key word you used there. _His_ future. Don't you think he's entitled to decide what he wants?" I held my breath hoping I hadn't stepped over the line.

"I'm not trying to dictate his future. I just don't want him to give up his dream and waste his talent because he can't forgive me."

I was a little confused but didn't have the cohones to ask what needed forgiving. "Becoming an artist _is_ his dream and he's very talented."

"Is that what you think this is all about? His wanting to continue to paint?"

"Isn't it?" I asked wondering what part of the conversation I'd missed.

He laughed again only this time it was full of bitterness. He wiped his hand over his face as if trying to dust away pain. "I'm not trying to prevent Robby from developing his artistic talent. But he's good even without any classes. I do, however, want him to go to a traditional school, maybe have a double major. A business degree wouldn't hurt. A least something else to fall back on. Not that I don't think he's talented enough."

"But he wants to go to Rhode Island School of Design and RISD is a great art school."

Dr. Martin looked at me like he couldn't believe I could be that dense. "It's not about the art. He only decided to go there to spite me."

Now it was my turn to stare at him. How could this man that I looked up to be such a... baby? "Do you actually hear what you're saying?"

He slammed his hand down on the desk and his voice became louder. "Yes and I'm serious. He only wants to go there so he won't have to play hockey. So that no one will be able to change his mind or talk him into going back."

I couldn't believe it. Hockey? This whole conversation was leading up to this? "Oh no. That's why I'm here? You want me to talk him into playing hockey again?" I gave him my best 'Are you shitting me?' look. "That was your dream, not his."

"No, Salem. That's not true. You haven't known Robby that long." I began to baulk but before I could make more than a sound he held up his hand. "Not really. You didn't know him before his mother died."

I sighed. He had me there. Could Robby have been that different?

"You've never seen him on the ice. He was born to it and has a talent very few possess. He could get a full college scholarship to the University of Vermont. A scout approached me last year. He couldn't make an offer yet, but he made it very clear he intended to this year. To be honest, he could go pro. He's _that_ good. And he loves..." He must have thought better of what he was about to say because he changed tense. "He loved it."

Dr. Martin put both hands over his eyes and rested his head in the palms of his hands. I'd never seen him look so frustrated or so... beaten.

It seemed like he was just making excuses. Somehow I had to make him see that his dream wasn't Robby's. "I don't understand. If he loved it that much..."

"His mother died the night of the championship game and he blames me for making him go."

I blew out a gust of air as if I'd been punched. Now things were starting to make sense. Although Robby respected his father, I knew they didn't get along and it was hard to understand because Dr. Martin always seemed like such a nice guy.

"I think it'll be easier if you just tell me the whole thing so that I can understand."

He sat back and adjusted in his seat. It was easy to see he wasn't going to be able to get comfortable. "We knew that Lisa, my wife, had only a little time left. It was getting harder and harder for her to remain focused and increasingly more difficult for her to talk. Robby's team had made it to the championship. There was one last game." He pulled at the graying bits at his temples like he was trying to find a way to reverse the decision.

"Why would you make him go when it was that close to the end?"

"It was her last request _. She_ wanted him to go." Anguish oozed from him like soap from a sponge.

I shut my eyes and tried to take it all in. "You know Robby thinks you want him to play because you wanted to play and couldn't."

A pitiful half-hearted laugh escaped him. "I was never that big on hockey. I'd hoped he'd be into baseball, which is the game I really love. But Lisa skated and had him on the ice as soon as he could walk. Hockey was their thing and I just sort of got added on. He was a natural from such an early age... well, it was hard not to get caught up in it."

Call me slow but it still didn't make sense to me. "Why would she send him away if she knew it was close to the end? Do you think she thought she'd make it through the game, or do you think she didn't want him to see her die?"

Dr. Martin hesitated pondering my question. "I think she knew she wouldn't last the night, but she also knew how important the game was. And she knew there'd be a scout there. Right to the end, she thought only of his future."

I couldn't imagine my wonderful artist slapping a puck around a rink, but Dr. Martin was right. There was a whole world of Robby I hadn't seen. The pre-death Robby. And for the first time I wondered what it would have been like if we met a year ago before both our lives changed forever. But I needed to focus on the now. "Doesn't Robby know this?"

"He won't talk to me about it at all. I told him she wanted him to go, but he believes I just wanted that last night with her to myself."

I have to admit I was stunned. For a few minutes we both just sat there. I couldn't help it. I mean, what could I do to change any of this? I wasn't sure what to say.

Then he continued, "The problem now is hockey season is coming up and Robby still hasn't set foot on the ice. His teammates have practiced and called and he avoids them. He no longer even associates with boys who were his best buddies. He's become a loner. If it wasn't for meeting you..." Doctor Martin shook his head again. "Salem, Robby needs more help than you did, but he refuses to meet with a professional. I thought I'd be able to handle it, but it doesn't work because Robby knows my tricks and I'm a big part of his problem."

"How do I come into this?"

"Robby is tying his mother's death to hockey and as long as he boycotts skating, he in effect denies Lisa's death. He needs to get back on to the ice to heal. Even if he doesn't go pro, even if he doesn't play college hockey, he needs to get back on the ice this year, this season. If he turns away from it after that, then it'll be for a different reason."

It made sense. I should have known from the beginning he'd only have Robby's best interest at heart. But still, how could I help fix this? "Again, how am I going to get him to play hockey?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "Do you skate?"

Was he serious? I mean, he didn't really think that Robby and I were going to slap around a puck. "Um, Roller skate. We didn't even have an ice skating rink near us in North Carolina. Well, I'm sure there was one somewhere in the state, but not in my town."

"Impossible, this is impossible." The defeat in his voice made my heart ache. I had to find a way to help them both.

"Wait, maybe... I might have an idea. My friend Berkley. She's a figure skater. Maybe if I enlisted her. She could teach me, and maybe I could get Robby to take us there or to pick us up. It'd be a start anyway."

"We need to get to work right away. I've told his coach to be patient, but there's not much time left. They were planning on him being the captain this year. But now it's too late. That can't happen now and the team captain isn't that happy with Robby. They've had captain's practice since the start of the school year. It's okay for Rob to miss those, but once they start their regular practices he'd have to be there or he wouldn't be able to play in the games."

"What's the difference? Between the two types of practice, I mean."

"There's only so much time any team can practice before the games. With a coach on the ice, that is. So the only way to get around it is what's called a captain's practice. There the captain of the team gets the members together on the ice without the coach or anyone that's paid to help the team. Salem, Robby's running out of time. We've got to move fast."

Great. Let's add a ticking clock. That'll surely take some of the pressure off. "I don't know how fast I can work, but I'll see if I can help. Do you mind if I talk to Berkley about this?"

"Are you sure she won't say anything to Robby?" He was so intense. Like he was talking about trusting someone with international security.

"She's my besty, it's her job to keep my secrets. Anyway, I don't have to go into all the details if you don't want me to."

"I trust you, so I'll go with your judgment on this. Just remember, he won't be too happy if he knows you're helping me. Call me at the office with any information, questions, anything." Doctor Martin stood up like he did at the end of any session. "And Salem, thanks."

He trusted me. With his son. Wow. I suddenly felt uber important. "Anything for Robby. And for you too," I said as I stood and walked around the side of the desk to give Dr. Martin a needed hug. I felt the unexpected shiver again as I did it. And I didn't think it was a shiver from cold. But like I said, Grandma was being quiet.

A gust of wind suddenly burst through the open window and the picture of Robby's mom teetered on his desk. It wobbled for a few seconds before it fell face up on his desk for me to see. Her smile, warm and sunny, spoke volumes. I wasn't exactly sure what I was being told, but I had no doubt I was being sent a message.

