Spirit Talk: (Book One of The Fiona Series) Read online

  “Has anyone like that ever approached you before?” Fiona asked.

  “No, never.” Mary reached up and ran the tissue in her hand over her mouth. She pulled her sweater more tightly around her shoulders and patted Fiona’s arm as she passed. “If you don’t mind putting everything away, dear girl? I can’t keep my eyes open another minute.”

  “I will, Grandma,” Fiona said. “Goodnight.” The light under her grandmother’s door went out and she sat on the couch and stared at Martin Bankston’s business card. After a long minute, she lifted it up and examined it. It read simply: “Martin Bankston” followed by a telephone number; no address and no company name. Her fingers closed tightly around the edges and she pulled, as if to tear the card in half, but then she stopped. Instead, she dropped the card into the pocket of her sweater. She still had dishes to do and leftover pot roast to put in the fridge.

  Chapter 12

  The morning after Martin’s visit, Fiona and her grandmother sat in the sunny kitchen and lingered over their tea. The chair was still positioned under the doorknob, but the sense of menace had lifted. It was impossible to feel afraid in the cheery room in the light of day.

  “Do you think he’ll come back?” Fiona asked. She’d made toast and was spreading hers with marmalade. Tiny slivers of orange peel flecked the gelatinous surface of the marmalade and shimmered in the sunlight, which slanted onto them from the lace curtained window. Fiona’s new favorite meal was buttered toast with marmalade. The box of cereal she’d bought was growing stale on top of the refrigerator. Grandma Mary had said that cereal was what farmers used to fatten cattle.

  Mary sighed. “Yes, he’ll be back, probably when he thinks we might be desperate for money.”

  “You sound like you’re stating a fact. Have you seen something?” Fiona asked, pausing with her toast halfway to her mouth.

  “This time, it’s just a knowing. People like that are pretty transparent. Plus, they know that people will do a lot if the price is right.” Mary had taken a slice of toast, but it sat on her plate untouched. Fiona noticed that her grandmother’s appetite had grown even smaller since the coughing fits began. Fiona now knew not to suggest that her grandmother go to the doctor. “People my age go to doctors to die,” she’d say. “I’m not ready.”

  Fiona didn’t understand the logic, but she’d discovered that her grandmother’s beliefs were set in stone. Fiona couldn’t bear the thought of Mary falling ill, but she didn’t dare insist too forcefully. She was still the grandchild and Mary the adult, even though it sometimes felt to Fiona that they were peers. Mary certainly treated her like an adult.

  “I felt like he could read my mind,” she mused. “There was something strange about his eyes, like he could see inside me.” Fiona remembered Martin’s pasty complexion. His white skin in the candlelight was bluish.

  “I got that feeling too,” Mary agreed. “When he said ‘the people I work for,’ it might have been a cover. He might be a psychic they originally studied, and now they use his abilities to recruit other psychics. He’s probably really good at detecting if someone’s a fraud or not.” Grandma Mary cocked her head at Fiona. “When you heard the woman say his name, did she sound sad, or frightened?”

  “Both. The sound she was making was awful. She was in agony and terrified.” Fiona shivered at the memory. “And then he seemed afraid, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he really did fall apart for a second there. I wonder if the woman was someone from his past or if it was someone from the ‘facility?’” Fiona and her grandmother met eyes across the table. Fiona didn’t know what Martin’s story was, but she instinctively felt that it was somewhat sinister.

  “Let’s try and forget about that man and hope he never comes back,” Fiona exclaimed. She looked at the clock. “I’m going to run to the Golden Goose and get a new notebook. We can have leftover pot roast tonight, and we never had any of the coconut cake.” She regarded her grandmother almost shyly. “I stayed up late last night with the cards and I want to get serious about memorizing them. I thought I’d start writing down what I learn from you.”

  “Excellent idea.” Mary smiled. She was examining the sports section of the newspaper and specifically the horse racing section. She made fake bets and kept track of the money she would have won if she’d placed the bets, and it was a large sum. “Is it because you’re psychic?” Fiona had asked.

  “No,” Mary had laughed, “it’s because I study the horses’ stats religiously.”

  Now, Mary folded the newspaper and smoothed it flat. “We’ll start today whenever the shop is empty. I’ll bring the deck downstairs with us.” She took a sip of tea, then said, thoughtfully, “It’s so nice having you here. I’m so glad we have this chance to make up for lost time.”

  Fiona felt tears well in her eyes. “I feel the same way,” she said softly. “I wish it had happened sooner, but we’ll make up for lost time.” The clock ticked and the women sat quietly. After a moment, Fiona stood and put her cup, saucer, and plate in the sink and began to rinse them.

  “Take some money,” Mary offered. “There’s cash in the cookie tin in the freezer.”

  Fiona laughed. Leave it to Mary to find a good hiding place. “Thanks, Grandma. I still have some money. I wish I could get a job, but no one seems to be hiring. The Maple Moose has more waitresses than they need. The souvenir shops aren’t hiring. I was going to ask at the library today. Maybe I could get my mom’s old job,” she said wistfully. I would be so happy to work in a library, she thought. She pictured herself pushing her cart through the quiet stacks as she carefully re-shelved books.

  “Don’t worry,” Mary reassured. “The help you’re giving me is priceless. I won’t have to drag groceries up the stairs anymore or cook, and you’re crocheting dresses like a madwoman.”

  “Thanks,” Fiona laughed, again feeling tearful and very relieved. It was good to know she was helping her grandmother.

  *****

  At the Golden Goose, she found a black notebook. Perfect, she thought. A witch’s notebook should be black. She examined it while she stood in line and imagined filling the pages with all her grandmother’s knowledge of the cards. Fiona wanted to effortlessly reel off the meanings for the clients the way Mary did, never pausing or hesitating. She wanted to become a pro. She wanted to become a witch.

  She began to carry her notebook, a pen, and the deck of cards with her everywhere in a canvas bag. When the shop was empty of customers, she went through the cards one by one and got Mary to explain each prophetic meaning. Fiona then painstakingly wrote every word in her notebook. Mary also instructed her to add any of her own meanings, especially ones that popped into Fiona’s head. Fiona paused every time an unsummoned image flashed in her head and wrote it down: a bright cardinal, a teacher at a chalkboard, a lighthouse on a stark beach, an apple pie, a book of matches, a brown paper bag. Whether or not the images were significant didn’t matter; she wrote down anything and everything.

  Fiona used her colored pencils to sketch little drawings in the margins. She drew whatever she saw in her head. The notebook grew fuller and more colorful every day. Some nights, she would sit in bed and draw picture after picture. She thought about her life so far and turned her emotions and memories into tiny art. Although Grandma Mary owned a small black and white television, they rarely turned it on. Nights, when there were no clients, grandmother and granddaughter sat reading or, in Fiona’s case, drawing in companionable silence.

  During meals, she would ask Mary to quiz her on the meanings of the cards; sometimes she’d repeat Mary’s definition if she had it memorized, and sometimes she would just say what she thought the card meant. Mary would then beam at her and say, “Excellent. You’re letting the cards speak to you. Keep that up.”

  “They really do sometimes, Grandma!” Fiona enthused. “I think I love the Six of Hearts the most. It makes me feel inexplicably happy when I look at it. It makes me feel like I used to feel on summer nights when me and Ann would roller
skate up and down our driveway.”

  “I know what you mean.” Mary sighed in agreement. “That card makes me think of campfires in autumn. Or sitting on a dock in the summer at night. What about the Ace of Spades?”

  Fiona frowned. “It scares the crap out of me.” Any spade, especially the Ace or the Ten, gave her an uneasy feeling. “It makes me feel afraid, like when it’s time to hand in homework and you realize you left it at home. And the teacher looks mad and scary. Or you’ve slipped on ice and you’re about to go down, and you know it’s gonna hurt.”

  At this, Mary chuckled appreciatively. “It’s hard when it comes up in someone’s reading because it’s always bad news. And since it often means the client has a painful secret, it’s a hard topic to broach.”

  “It seems everyone has at least one painful secret, Grandma, doesn’t it? I love the Jokers, though,” Fiona said. “Anything is possible with those two cards. Those cards feel like the first day of vacation, or Christmas Eve, or Saturday night.”

  “The Joker is fun,” Mary agreed. “It’s like you get to give the client permission to do whatever feels right. Or rather, whatever feels good.”

  “Throw away the rule book!” Fiona said, repeating her grandmother’s definition for the Joker.

  Sometimes, a voice would whisper excitedly in Fiona’s ear as she stared at a card and say things that made no sense, such as, “Ferris wheel” or “flat as a pancake” or “so warm, I’m floating.” Fiona recorded those phrases, too, just in case. She put an asterisk next to any meanings that came to her through spirit voices so she would remember to take them with a grain of salt. The pages of her notebook were getting messy with additions squeezed into the margins and words underlined.

  One afternoon, Grandma Mary came across an old deck that had belonged to Theresa as a teenager. “Did my mom use them for fortune telling?” Fiona asked as she examined the cards.

  “No,” Grandma laughed, “your mother was embarrassed by what I did. She used them for card games with her girlfriends. Everyone used to play cards to pass the time. I’m sure your mother’s friends tried to get her to tell their futures, though, because her friends were always asking me. And their mothers, too. Some of those friends of your mother, the ones who stayed in town, still come to me for readings.”

  Fiona loved the deck: the backs of the cards depicted delicate lilacs in a vase with a gray background. The deck was worn just enough to make it easy to handle, but not as beat-up as her grandmother’s deck. When Fiona held the cards, she saw her mother’s face in her mind. Theresa was always a teenager in these “visions.”

  Chapter 13

  Dear Anny Fanny With a Bananny-

  I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write. Grandma Mary does most of her “readings” at night and I’m usually ridiculously tired afterwards. We go to bed early because Grandma gets up at the crack of dawn (and immediately makes her bed.)

  By the way, how are you? How’s my Nula girl? Are you talking about me and showing her my picture so she doesn’t forget me?

  How’s Mom? How’s the house? Has the insurance company come up with a settlement amount yet?

  How’s Rick? How’s Queenie? Will you go to the barn and give her an apple and tell her it’s from me? Also, can you kiss her on the nose for me? Ha ha ha – I know you WON’T!

  I guess I should start by telling you that I’ve learned things about Mom that we never knew. I was at the library one day and a man came up to me. He was looking at me real funny, like he knew me or something. He said, “Theresa?”

  I was like, “Um, no, but that’s weird because my mother’s name is Theresa.”

  Then he was like, “Oh dear God, is your mother Theresa Kelly?” When I said yes, the guy looked like he was going to pass out. He said he’d known Mom before she left town and that they’d been very close at one time. He said I looked so much like her that he thought he had traveled back in time. His name is Kevin Moran. He was real nice, but seemed sad, too, when he talked about Mom.

  I asked Grandma about him and she said Kevin and Mom dated all through high school and it was assumed that they would marry after college, but then Dad came along and swept Mom off her feet. Can you believe our little Mom was a heartbreaker who ruthlessly cast aside her unofficial fiancé for a traveling salesman?

  I mean, of course, you can see how it could happen, since Dad was so handsome and charismatic, but dumping her sweetheart just doesn’t sound like something Mom would do. Grandma Mary said that this guy, Kevin, was heartbroken and never married. Isn’t that an amazing thing to discover? We'd better not tell Mom we know. It probably explains why she never wanted to visit Grandma.

  Well, Dad always thought that Grandma Mary was some kind of witch, and, to be honest, he was pretty correct. Grandma’s official job is running Mary’s Sewing Bee, but it’s pretty clear that the majority of her income is from her psychic readings. After she closes the shop, she eats dinner, and then often has a client come upstairs around 7 p.m. She lights candles and gives the client a drink if they want one, then she’ll start off by reading their palm or predicting their future with her deck of poker cards. It’s pretty cool - she’s teaching me. Each card means something different and Grandma can look at three cards (past, present and future) and tell the person what’s already happened and what’s going to happen. Based on how the clients react, she’s freakily on-target.

  The palm readings are complicated and it’s going to take a while for me to learn. Everyone’s palm lines are shaped differently, and Grandma can tell what a person is like based on the way their lines travel across their hands. She can see stuff, good or bad, that’s already happened, and also what’s going to happen in the future if they don’t do something to change their “fate.” She also sees random “visions” and when she repeats what she’s seeing to the client, they usually recognize it. Last night she described a house to a woman, and the woman said it was the house she lived in as a child. It’s pretty cool and very spooky.

  Even more “witchcraft” stuff happens, though, after the card and palm readings. The client will ask Grandma something like “Is my boyfriend seeing another woman?” or “Is my cat dead, or just lost?” and Grandma can shut her eyes and “see” an answer to the question.

  People ask her the strangest stuff and they also ask if dead relatives have messages. Sometimes Grandma can “see” things that mean something to the client, like, “I’m seeing a blue tackle box with a dent” or “I’m seeing a little girl with a yellow dress,” and the client will start freaking out. It’s pretty wild. Grandma has been teaching me how to concentrate and pick up messages, too, and it actually works.

  Remember how I used to tell you when we were little that I would sometimes hear voices saying stuff to me? It’s like that. Don’t tell Mom! She’ll come and get me and drag me out of here (seriously.)

  Grandma is pretty hip and open-minded for a grandma. She’s really sad that Mom and Dad cut her off from us and she desperately wants to see you again and meet Rick and Nula. I hope you can come for a visit soon.

  One important thing to know about Grandma is that she’s very neat! She saw me eating a snack in bed one night and she told me that I was attracting vermin! Yikes. Now, I only sneak a snack in bed if I know she’s already asleep.

  The Sewing Bee is actually fun. During business hours, Grandma and I crochet these adorable camouflage dresses to sell to tourists (I’m including a copy of the pattern.) Women from town come in with their knitting and crochet projects and just hang out and talk. Sometimes they buy yarn but, like I said, I don’t think Grandma makes much of a living off the shop. Her shop is more like a meeting place for crafters.

  A group called “Care Crochet” also meets at the shop once a week. The women make blankets for cancer patients at the hospital. It’s basically the same women who come every day anyway and crochet and knit and drink coffee. Grandma’s best friend is a nice lady named Ginny who owns the hair salon next door. She’s the one who picked me up fro
m the bus station. She’s dying to cut all my hair off! Yikes. She’s real cute, though. You’ll like her.

  Grandma has a lot of cool antiques in her living room. I know you love stuff like that. There are pictures of Mom everywhere. I wish Grandma had a cat, but she doesn’t believe in animals in the house. I think it goes back to when she was growing up poor in the Bronx. She has some good stories about those years, too. Did you know Grandma’s mother was a midwife? I hadn’t ever heard that. I don’t why Mom never talked about these things. Grandma Mary has had a really interesting life. I’m trying to find out all I can and I’ll report back to you.

  Grandma told me a funny story about when she and Grandpa were newlyweds. They had a four-poster bed, and every night Grandpa would hang his pants and shirt on one of the posts. Grandma hated that he did it and asked him not to. Well, he kept doing it anyway, so Grandma sawed off all the posts when he was at work. She proved it by taking me into her bedroom and showing me – you can see where the posts used to be. Grandma Mary may be petite, but she’s a tough broad. I suppose that’s how she managed to be a single mom and support herself and a baby on her own.

  Grandma lives pretty frugally. After she eats a loaf of bread, she takes the bread bag and uses it as a little garbage bag. She re-uses tinfoil and teabags, too. I’ve been buying groceries with the money Mom gave me and I’ve been cooking dinner for us at night. Grandma thinks eating meat every night is scandalous, so I rotate in scrambled eggs and also beans. I’m running low on money already and I want to find a job, but it’s hard in winter to find work in Fireside in the off-season.

  The day after I got here, Grandma and I babysat for a little boy the same age as Nula. He’s so cute! His name is Ryan and his dad’s name is Henry. Their situation is so tragic, though. The mom died of cancer last summer and Henry is raising Ryan by himself while working full time at the bank in town. Grandma and her friends have been helping Henry by babysitting Ryan until Henry finds a permanent babysitter.