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

Henry might not think Fireside was an exciting town, but Fiona was beginning to think he was wrong.

  “A serious career,” she repeated to herself as she walked back upstairs, testing the sound of the words. Her father, if he knew what Fiona was thinking, would be furious, yet Fiona didn’t feel guilty. She missed her father and longed for him, but she realized that she was now free to pursue interests that he would never have allowed.

  Grandma Mary was already in her nightgown and carrying her bedside glass of water through the living when Fiona reappeared. “If you’re as tired as I am, dear girl,” Grandma Mary said, “I propose we sleep in tomorrow.” Fiona suspected this was her grandmother’s kind way of saying that she did not have the energy to discuss the fascinating reading they’d completed for Nicole. It would have to wait until morning.

  “Sounds good to me.” Fiona followed her grandmother toward the bedrooms. “See you in the morning.”

  “Sleep well. You did such tremendous work tonight. I’m astonished by the messages you relayed.” Mary hovered in the doorway to her bedroom like a ghost.

  “Me too,” Fiona said from her doorway. “It’s never been like that, but I guess I’ve never tried, either.” The two women stood for a moment, as though neither quite wanted the conversation to end, but both were too tired to continue. As Fiona’s head hit the pillow, she realized that the humming from the spirits had stopped. She hoped the cackling woman was gone, too.

  Chapter 10

  On Wednesday, Fiona opened her eyes to a gray day. Her bedroom looked drained of color. The first thing she did when she got out of bed was raise the shade and look out at Main Street, which wasn’t as picturesque in dreary mist as it was in bright sunshine. The sight of the Golden Goose made her think about dinner, though. She’d dress and dash to the store before Mary’s Sewing Bee opened. In spite of the weather, Fiona felt a flash of energy.

  Grandma Mary’s bedroom door was still closed, but Fiona could hear her coughing. It sounded bad: phlegmy and deep. She knocked gently, and Mary answered weakly, “Yes?”

  Fiona put her head around the door. “Grandma, I’m running to the Golden Goose really quick. Can I get you anything?”

  Mary looked small and pale in her white night gown. “Could you get a Pepperidge Farm Coconut Cake, dear? I have a taste.”

  “No problem,” Fiona chirped. She was hoping her grandmother would ask for cough syrup. Fiona said instead, “Pot roast and potatoes for dinner tonight!”

  “You’re going to spoil me,” Mary called out as Fiona carefully closed the door.

  The Golden Goose was quiet, with just a few other shoppers slowly making their way through the store. Fiona thought they moved like zombies. Their pace made Fiona feel manic and restless. She felt like she understood the expression “jumping out of one’s skin.” She felt that wound-up.

  Fiona approached the produce and chose an onion, potatoes, and carrots. Near the butcher, she spied a thick red chuck roast in the meat case. She found a box of Lipton’s French Onion soup mix and set about locating the coconut cake, which she finally discovered in a freezer next to the ice cream section. The cake box was cold in her hands. The store’s ventilation system vibrated and she had to pause to tell if it was spirit voices or machines. As she headed for the checkout, she saw Henry come through the door. She wondered momentarily if she’d conjured him up with some lustful part of her soul.

  Damn! She didn’t have any makeup on and her hair was in a quick ponytail. Fiona dropped her eyes to her shopping basket and hoped Henry wouldn’t see her. She shifted so that she was partially hidden by a magazine rack.

  “Fiona,” she heard him call out. His voice sounded husky and sexy.

  She looked up and pretended to be surprised. “Oh, hey, Henry! How’s it going?”

  He approached her, pushing an empty, rattling shopping cart. “Honestly? It’s crazy. I’m trying to get some kid food and diapers and stuff in the house. The lady who watches Ryan for me on Wednesdays came early so I could shop before work.”

  Henry looked a little less polished than he had the previous morning. In the harsh fluorescent light, Fiona could see that his razor had missed a perfectly triangular patch of golden stubble and his eyes were puffy with sleep. It made him look young and vulnerable. His corduroy coat had a jewel-toned smear of something like jelly on the sleeve and his dress pants needed to be ironed. The sight of the crease where his crotch nestled made Fiona’s face feel warm. She nervously swung her shopping basket from side to side.

  “It’s got to be so hard,” Fiona sympathized, “working and taking care of Ryan.” She made a point of looking at his eyes.

  Henry tilted his chin at the items in her basket. “What are you making for dinner?” His tone sounded wistful as he took in the contents of the basket.

  “Oh, just a pot roast,” she answered dismissively. “Nothing fancy. How’s Ryan?”

  “Oh, he’s fine. Actually, much better since he got his teddy bear back. That was great that you helped us find it.” His smile seemed genuine, but she still feared that he was being sarcastic. She couldn’t be sure, though. Her mind felt scattered.

  “Thanks again for yesterday’s dinner,” he added. “I packed some paprikash for my lunch and I’m having it for dinner tonight, too!” He grinned at Fiona and patted his stomach appreciatively.

  Fiona, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh, commented, “That’s a lot of paprikash.” In her head, she thought: This poor guy is so freakin’ adorable.

  Henry began to slowly push his cart towards the first aisle. “Okay, well, take care, Henry,” Fiona said as he turned away. “Hope the bank doesn’t get held up again.”

  Henry laughed at this, then smirked. “Your grandma and her friends are out of control. You really need to have a talk with them.”

  “Totally,” she replied. “I’m going to confiscate their knitting needles and crochet hooks.” Henry now had his back to her, so Fiona allowed herself to gaze admiringly at his departing figure. Unfortunately, he suddenly glanced back at her and caught her looking at him. Their eyes met, then they both averted their gazes.

  “Shit,” she muttered as she moved her items from her basket onto the belt. The cashier said, “Morning, hon.” Fiona got the impression that she’d witnessed Fiona’s embarrassing little episode.

  “Morning.” Fiona blew out a breath, vowing to put on makeup and brush her hair the next time she dashed to the Golden Goose. Fireside was a small town and the Golden Goose was a popular place.

  *****

  Wednesday was the day Mary hosted the Care Crochet group at the shop. Ginny was the first to arrive, greeting Fiona enthusiastically and asking how she was settling in so far. Fiona told her that she was really enjoying Fireside. Ginny held a giant coffee mug along with her bag of yarn.

  “Just wait until summer,” Ginny said as she sat down and got comfortable. “That’s when Fireside’s really fun. The tourists come in droves and the action never stops.” Ginny’s hair was even brighter than Fiona remembered it and her purple nails accented her fingers dramatically.

  “Speaking of tourists,” Mary said from behind the counter, “I could use some help making more dresses if you don’t mind, Fiona.” Mary held up a toddler-sized dress in camouflage yarn but edged in pink at the neck, sleeves, bodice, and skirt.

  “Oh my God, that’s so adorable!” Fiona exclaimed, crossing the shop to examine the little dress more carefully. The stitches were tight and even and perfect.

  “It’s really a pretty simple pattern,” Mary said, “once you’ve made it a couple times.” Mary then turned her head away to cough. Fiona’s eyebrows dipped down in concern as she watched her grandmother’s body tremble. She sounded exactly how Fiona’s father sounded when he got bronchitis, which he did at least once every year.

  Fiona held up the printed pattern with her right hand, still stroking the little dress with her left hand. “Nula would look so cute in this.” She politely ignored Mary’s coughing fit. Her father had hat
ed it when they’d expressed concern.

  “You can’t believe how popular the dresses are,” Mary said, straightening her shoulders and wiping her lips. “Something about coming up north makes the tourists crazy for anything camouflage, and the contrast with the pink yarn drives the women nuts. I can hardly make them fast enough.”

  Fiona looked over the pattern with relief and noticed that the only difficult stitch was a simple shell stitch. Fiona wanted to impress her grandmother with her crocheting, but she’d always shied away from complicated patterns. This looked feasible, though, and she scanned the shelves for the camouflage and bubblegum pink yarn.

  Her grandmother handed her a crochet hook. “If you could work on the one-to-two-years’ size, that would be great. That one and the six-to-twelve months are the most popular.” Mary hardly took her eyes of her crochet hook as she spoke.

  Fiona settled into a padded rocking chair near the window with her yarn, the pattern, a hook, and a pair of embroidery scissors, happy to have something useful to keep her busy. She had so much to think about after Nicole’s reading the night before.

  More women came in and sat in the various chairs that Mary had arranged around the shop, pulling their projects and yarn from bags of different sizes and fabrics. They all made a friendly fuss over Fiona, remarking to Mary how alike grandmother and granddaughter were. There was a pleasant buzz in Fiona’s ears of real human voices.

  The group was working on afghans for cancer patients and Fiona listened to the lazy chatter while she pondered the messages she’d passed along to Nicole. Had it been a fluke, or would she be able to do it again? Would she hear the cackling woman? Did the spirits really know that Nicole had her period? Fiona took in the women in the room and decided to do an experiment.

  She focused on Ginny since she was the most familiar to Fiona. “Please, someone,” she thought, “give me a message for Ginny.” Fiona took her eyes off her crochet hook and gazed at Ginny. Ginny was laughing about a comment the woman next to her, whose name Fiona had immediately forgotten, had just made. “Serves him right!” Ginny was saying, rocking forward with laughter. She was wearing purple leggings and a long gray jumper.

  “Please,” Fiona repeated in her head, “a message for Ginny.” She tried to cut out the real chatter entering her ears. Not only were the women all chatting, but WFIR was on in the background. Mary kept an old radio on the counter and it looked like one of Ann’s antiques.

  Ginny noticed Fiona watching her and said, “Fi, you need to come into my shop Friday. I could give you the most darling Dorothy Hamill haircut. Girls with big eyes look gorgeous in a Dorothy Hamill.”

  Now, all eyes were on Fiona as the women chimed in. “Yes, it would be so cute. It would frame her face perfectly! It would be absolutely darling!”

  Fiona swallowed and tried to smile politely. “Um, I had a short haircut freshman year and it actually didn’t look too good on me,” she protested. “I have cowlicks and my hair kind of stood up straight in spots.” She reached up and smoothed her hair to demonstrate, then made a rueful face.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Ginny said reassuringly, “I’m a pro at making cowlicks disappear. Right, Sue? I fixed your hair. The cut I have in mind for Fiona would be layered, anyway. I can picture it now.”

  Fiona couldn’t think of any response, so she said, “Cool” before looking back down at her stitches. Fiona realized she would have to grow her hair long during her stay in Fireside rather than risk sitting in Ginny’s chair and getting a Dorothy Hamill. Even if there was another beauty parlor in town, Ginny would notice if Fiona got a haircut elsewhere.

  Bread in the cupboard, a man’s gravelly voice intoned in her right ear. Fiona, who had momentarily forgotten her request for the spirits to send a message for Ginny, was unnerved. What a strange message! She would have to relay it to her grandmother at dinner. It didn’t make any sense to Fiona, but it might to Mary. She wondered if she should write it down, but she knew she wouldn’t forget it. It was pretty unusual.

  Speaking of dinner, Fiona needed to start the pot roast. “Grandma,”’ she said, standing up, “I need to run upstairs for a bit and get dinner started.”

  Mary smiled at the other women. “No more hotdogs and beans for me!” Then, after this vigorous proclamation, Grandma Mary started coughing again and Fiona winced. She touched her grandmother very gently on the shoulder as she passed her.

  As Fiona made her way upstairs, she could hear the women begin a discussion of recipes, and how hard it was to go from summer cooking on the grill to winter meals prepared entirely indoors. She loved listening to women’s chatter, especially when it involved recipes and descriptions of lovingly-prepared meals. It made her feel safe and comfortable because she’d grown up with such chatter.

  Rummaging in the kitchen pantry, she was stunned to discover that her grandmother did not own a Dutch oven. None of Mary’s pots were thick enough to slowly cook the pot roast without burning it and scorching the pot. After scanning the cabinets, though, she spied an electric slow cooker partially hidden beneath a cake pan. Its cord snaked conspicuously from the shelf. She hauled it out and washed it, noticing that it looked like it had never been used. She had to scrape a manufacturers sticker from the side. It had grown gummy over the years and Fiona had to use a hot towel to remove it.

  After chopping the onion and potatoes and mixing the dry soup with apple juice and red wine, Fiona shook salt and pepper over the roast and browned it quickly in a frying pan. When some of the fat had melted and the surface of the meat had a nice golden layer, she dropped the roast into the slow cooker, covering it with vegetables and the diluted soup mixture. She set the temperature to “Low “and tidied the kitchen before hurrying back down to the shop. The sun shining through the window was yellow and mellow.

  *****

  Downstairs, everyone was exactly as she had left them. Fiona settled again into her rocking chair with the beginnings of her first crocheted baby’s dress. She allowed her needle to rhythmically dip into stitch after stitch. The afternoon passed peacefully, and Fiona was more and more pleased as her project began to look like a real dress. She had to carry it over to Mary a few times to make sense of the directions on the pattern, but by mid-afternoon she was finished. By then, one by one, all the Care Crochet members had departed. Each one said her goodbye to Mary with frank affection.

  “Very nice, dear,” Mary enthused when Fiona showed her the completed dress, shaping the work with her hands. Then, however, Mary began to cough again, covering her mouth with a fist that tightly clenched a handkerchief. “It’s not easy to get a new pattern right the first time,” she wheezed. “You can put it on one of those tiny hangers with the other dresses.” She pointed to the opposite wall with her crochet hook.

  “Grandma,” Fiona said, “why don’t you go rest until dinner? I’ll watch the shop.”

  “Thanks.” Mary sighed gratefully, bundling her crocheting into a basket next to her chair. She stood and handed her key ring to Fiona. The keys tinkled like fairy bells. “I have a new client coming tonight,” she said. “Someone named Martin Bankston who got my number from a woman I read for last summer. This man is coming all the way from Minneapolis, so I need to be in top form.”

  “Wow!” Fiona exclaimed. “That’s cool…to have people willing to travel that far for a reading.”

  “I had a woman once who came from England to see me,” Mary said shyly as she turned toward the stairs. “Wouldn’t you think London would be full of good mediums?” Mary asked, laughing.

  Fiona nodded enthusiastically, excited at the idea of international clients. “You would!” she agreed. She pictured a woman in a London shop reading the dregs of tea leaves from a china cup.

  “Just lock up at five o’clock and turn out the main light,” Mary instructed. “You can leave the little lamp on in the window and also the porch light outside.”

  “Will do,” Fiona replied as she watched her grandmother disappear up the stairs.
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br />   Alone in the shop, Fiona began another dress by crocheting a chain of single stitches. She thought about the man with the gravelly voice and wondered what “bread in the cupboard” could possibly mean. She also thought of her mother, Ann, Rick, and Nula, vowing not to sleep until she’d written a long, newsy letter. She had always prided herself on being a good correspondent and she hoped Ann wasn’t disappointed.

  As the light dimmed and Fiona’s eyes grew tired, she put her crocheting in the basket and stared out at Main Street. Handfuls of locals passed by intermittently, their shoulders hunched against the wind, and a few groups of teenagers strolled past the shop around the time school got out. The sight made Fiona feel lonely but also happy to have put her high school years behind her. She missed her friends but she didn’t miss feeling like a child.

  She thought of what Nicole had said so earnestly the night before about becoming a “professional medium.” The notion both thrilled and terrified her; she knew she was capable of hearing messages, but she knew nothing about the business side of it. How did mediums, fortune tellers, and psychics find clients? How much would she charge? How could Fiona tell people what she did for a living without being ridiculed? These were all questions her grandmother could answer, though. The key was probably to have another source of income as a “front” for the psychic business. Looking around Mary’s Sewing Bee, Fiona realized that’s exactly what the shop was.

  Chapter 11

  When Grandma Mary saw the slow cooker on the counter, she said, “I never used it. It was a gift and I really didn’t know what to do with it.”

  “It’s nice to use when you have to be away from the kitchen but you want to come home to a meal that’s already cooked.” Fiona used tongs to break apart the meat. The onions had disappeared but the carrots and potatoes shimmered underneath the gravy that had formed. She portioned out two servings of roast into bowls, then ladled vegetables and gravy over the meat. Steam rose in small clouds over their bowls and they had to wait before they could take bites.