The Counseling

by Marley Gibson

  Now I'm not so jealous of Celia in Chicago at the Fairmont.

  "We're here, Miss Moorehead."

  Sergio's accent breaks into the haze of my sleepiness. I sit up in time to hear the tires of the limo crunching over the gravelly driveway of the Rose Briar Inn. I pull my hands through my hair and then rub the back of my index finger under my eyes to wipe away the sleep. Man, winging it to the Wrong Coast totally kicked my rear heinie. I hope I didn't drool or snore or anything like that.

  I gather my purse and backpack, and when Sergio opens the door, I scoot out into the ultra-bright California sunshine. He has my suitcase and leads me up the stone pathway to the enormous covered veranda of the manor house. He puts down my bag and leaves. In my peripherals, I see a tabby cat scurry into the bushes, followed by a calico one. I climb the three rock stairs up to the porch and stand next to where Sergio has left my bag.

  Yip! Yip! Yip!

  Down by my feet is a yappy orange and white dog. His pink tongue lolls to the side as he looks up at me with his remarkably large eyes.

  "Hey, boy!" I say, squatting down to his level. His bushy tail waves back and forth like nobody's business and he twists and turns in excitement. I reach for his collar and read Speedy. "Well, hey there, Speedy. Aren't you precious?"

  A lick of my hand confirms that he knows he is indeed special.

  "Awww ... doosk at the pwecious baby. What kind of doggy are you, Sir Speedy?"

  "He's a papillon," I hear from above. A woman in her forties wipes her hands on the front of her flowery apron and approaches me with her hand stretched out. "He's my attack dog. He harasses you with licks and puppy kisses. Isn't that right?"

  Yip! Yip!

  I stand up from my puppy petting and stretch out my hand to the woman in front of me. "I'm Kendall Moorehead. Here for the retreat. Is this where I check in?" I ask politely.

  "Of course it is, hon. That's what I'm here for." Her blue eyes sparkle and I sense nothing but warmth and friendliness from her. "I'm Chris La'Coston. Manager, night clerk, housekeeper, chef, you name it." She pats her short golden hair in pride and motions for me to tag along inside with her.

  I grab my suitcase and follow Mrs. La'Coston into the foyer of the massive building and take in my surroundings. I see through a doorway into a large sitting room filled with antique Victorian furniture; there are plump, cushiony couches in an adjoining living room. A roaring fire is going in the fireplace in the sitting room, yet the room isn't unbearably hot. This is not your typical bed-and-breakfast. It's like a bed-and-breakfast on steroids. Along the back wall of the sitting room are massive windows and french doors leading out to a balcony. Through the sparkly windows, I can see down to a conglomeration of small cabins, all built into the mountain, and a yard that overlooks the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. It's times like this that I wish I were a writer and could pen an amazing tome dedicated to the nature and beauty surrounding me. Sadly, all I can say is this place is frickin' awesome.

  "Now, which one are you again?" Mrs. La'Coston asks.

  "I'm Kendall Moorehead," I repeat.

  A phone rings in the distance. "Well, welcome to Rose Briar, Kendall. Let me just grab that call and I'll get you to your room. Glenn's out helping some of the others get settled."

  Without having to be told, I know that Glenn is her husband and he helps her run the inn.

  I nod and turn my gaze toward the rising green mountains that literally glisten in the sunlight. Either that or Chris La'Coston has some secret cleaning formula that makes the windows crystal clear. Everything is spotless here and the air is so fresh and clean, I get the feeling it must be what rain tastes like.

  "Score!" I hear someone shout and I follow the sound through the french doors and out onto the back deck. An expansive green umbrella shades a glass-topped table with black tiles spread all over it. A young boy sits in one of the wide wicker chairs entertaining himself with a set of dominoes.

  I drop my purse and backpack onto the settee outside the door and quietly watch him as he works. The tiles all face down and are scattered about like they don't care. The boy's hand hovers over them as he concentrates with his eyes closed, softly muttering numbers.

  "Two sixes," he says softly. Then he flips over the tile and, sure enough, he nailed it!

  "Way to go!" I say, unable to hold in my cheering.

  He jumps slightly when he hears me. When he spins around, I see he can't be more than thirteen, if that. "Oh, didn't know you were there."

  "Sorry," I say. "Didn't mean to freak you out."

  His eyes shift to the dominoes and then back to me. "I'm sorta jittery these days."

  "I know how that is," I say with a sigh. I'm not going to be the only freak ... errr ... gifted one here this week. "Hey, I'm Kendall."

  Sitting tall, the boy says, "Evan Christian Vanderpoel, from Long Beach, California."

  That's an awfully big-sounding name for such a little guy, but I don't dare say that out loud. When he frowns at me a bit, I sense he must have read my thoughts. Ah, well ... gotta watch that this week.

  "Wanna sit?" he asks.

  I pull out the chair next to him and plop down.

  Chris La'Coston joins us, announcing her presence with a long sigh. "There now, where were we? Oh, right. We need to get you kids your rooms. One sec!" She rotates on a heel and disappears again.

  "I can't imagine running this entire place," I note.

  "Me either, but then I never woulda imagined myself at a place like this at all," he says.

  I swallow hard. "How long since ... your awakening?"

  He shrugs like it's no big deal. "I guess I sorta always knew stuff I shouldn't. It helps me with my schoolwork and tests, but it freaks my mom out. She thinks I've got ADHD or something like that 'cause my mind's all over the place. It's hard to concentrate on any one thing. I've got a bunch of pills the doctor gave me."

  I sigh along with him. "My mom didn't take my awakening very well at first, either. I had to do the whole visiting-of-the-shrink thing, complete with blood tests and brain scans. Fortunately, I've avoided medication so far."

  He crooks a smile my way. "So have I. I fake taking my pills. Flush a lot of them."

  "You go, Evan Christian!"

  Speedy joins us on the veranda, waving his fluffy white tail like a flag of surrender. He barks and growls and starts nipping at my new friend's feet. I can see that Evan Christian is a bit uncomfortable with the high-spirited dog, so I invite Speedy to hop up onto my lap. He does willingly, rubbing his bottom against me and flipping over for a tummy rub. I oblige, watching his back left paw shake in delight.

  Chris returns with a set of old-fashioned skeleton keys hanging off a long golden cord. "Now, Speedy, don't you bother these teenagers."

  "It's no problem," I say, continuing to rub. Speedy flips back over and growls at the mistress of the manor.

  She claps her hands at him and says, "Don't you go getting hinky on me, Speedy."

  Speedy hops out of my lap and with a derisive grunt trots off to who knows where.

  "Come on along," Chris says, waving keys in the air. We follow around the west side of the large inn to a set of cabins lined up. She unlocks the french door and swings it inside. "This here's your room, Evan Christian."

  I wait patiently on the path while she flips on lights and escorts him in. There are roses of various colors crawling up a large trellis on the side of the building. Pinks and yellows mix cheerfully with reds and whites. Prickly briars dance around the lovely flowers, a warning not to pick the blooms but just enjoy their beauty and splendor. I breathe in deeply, appreciating the back-to-nature feel of the inn, the majestic mountains providing a scenic backdrop. Oliver Bates couldn't have picked a more magical place to hold his retreat and I'm totally grateful that Mom and Dad sent me here to regroup.

  "Okay, now, Kendall. Let's get you settled, sweetheart," Chris says with a wide smile.

  We traverse the stone path around to the right, past fenced-in porches and
more curtained french doors. The dazzling California sun cuts a guiding light across the ground, leading to cabin 14, where I know Chris will be putting me.

  Sure enough, at the door with the glistening gold 14, Chris La'Coston takes the skeleton key and slips it into the lock with a knowing click.

  "All you girls will be staying here on the east side," she tells me.

  I gasp when I see into the room. Deep mauves and creams accent the lacy décor of the suite. Two double beds sit to the left of the front door, adorned with hand-sewn quilts and mounds of fluffy pillows. To the right, three steps up, is a small kitchenette. An antique rocking chair sits in the corner next to a wooden coat rack and a chest of drawers. My eyes grow wide when I look to the bathroom area to see not only the essentials of modern facilities, but also a curtained Jacuzzi tub.

  "Wow," I manage to get out. "This place is amazing. And my own whirlpool?"

  Chris smiles. "Oliver likes for his guests to feel at home."

  I don't exactly have my own hot tub at home, but what Oliver Bates doesn't know won't hurt him.

  "You get settled in and rest up. I'm sure the time change is affecting you some. When everyone gets here, we'll have a nice cookout so you can all get acquainted," Chris says.

  When the door closes behind her, I spin around and around in the room and then flop backwards on the closest bed. I sink into the downy softness and it's like being on a cloud, wrapped in angel's wings. Could this mattress be any more comfortable? Can I take it home with me at the end of the week?

  "Ahhhhhh," I say to no one and snuggle in, thinking a little more Nappy McNapperton might not be a bad idea after all, to get used to the Pacific time zone.

  However, someone doesn't want me to slip into la-la land yet.

  Can you help me? whispers out to me.

  No. I don't want to hear any more voices today. The guy on the plane totally exhausted me.

  Help me...

  The weight of anxiety presses against my chest and it's difficult to breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, hoping to block out whatever—or whoever—is speaking to me.

  Please help me...

  Nope. Not gonna answer. If I pay it no mind, maybe it'll go away.

  My ears begin to ring like church bells on a Sunday morning. I do my best to tamp down not only the familiar headache that comes with my psychic visions but the anxiousness churning through my veins. Is this a good spirit or a bad spirit? Does it want to hurt me? Is it begging for help only so it can lure me in and try to harm me?

  I start to pick up the place-memory essence of entities that have been here in the past. Are these spirits of the living or the deceased? I have no way to discern that at the moment, nor do I want to.

  Grabbing my MP3 player, I loop my headphones on, crank up a Beyoncé remix, and turn the volume to maximum. I press into the mattress, and with an extra tightening of my eyes, I roll on my side and curl up in a ball. The spirits will have to find someone else to help them for now. Not going there.

  Not yet.

  Chapter Four

  THE AFTERNOON SUN peeks through the sheer curtains and tickles my face, warming me. I stretch like my cat Buckley does after his daily siesta on the front-porch swing at home; I reach out my arms, then follow with my legs. I lift myself off the bed and set about unpacking my things and putting them in the oak dresser. T-shirts and shorts, underwear and jammies. Jeans and nice shirts get hung up in the small armoire. In the bathroom, I line my bottles of Clinique on the counter like obedient little moisturizing soldiers.

  Then I hear the familiar bleep-bleep-bleep of my BlackBerry.

  >K! Check in!

  >I'm here. U in Chi-town yet?

  I tap my foot impatiently while I wait to hear back from Celia. Sure enough, she responds:

  >This place rawks!

  >Told u

  >what up in CA?

  >Getting settled

  >The Fairmont?

  I giggle and move my fingers along the keyboard.

  >Not hardly. Cool, tho!!

  >Any activity?

  >I just got here, C!

  >Cute guys?

  >1, but he's 13

  >LOL!

  Celia sends another one before I can type more.

  >Gotta bolt. Shower time.

  >No prob. Say hey to Chi 4 me

  >Hugs!!!

  >Luv ya mean it!

  I'm about to get all melancholy and shit about Celia being in my Chicago when I hear a rattling on the cabin door. I don't have to open it to know what's going on. Although the mountains are in the background, I can see the spirits gathering outside. People from another realm are lining up like they're here for U2 ticket presales. They must sense what's happening here this week—what happens here regularly—and know there are many like me who can connect with them. Again, I shut my eyes and try to block out the pleas for attention. I can't deal with this yet. I want to relax into my new environment, meet my fellow attendees and counselors before delving further into my paranormal explorations. I mean, I'm still fresh off the Sherry Biddison incident, my out-of-body experience, and finding out that I'm adopted. I need to focus on Kendall before I can help anyone else.

  The door flies open, and I think for a moment that the ghosts have invaded my personal space. However, it's a very living person in the form of a perky, thin, cutesy blonde with a shaggy chin-level cut and dark, dark brown eyes.

  "Oh my God! Is this place gorgy or what?" she says enthusiastically. A large duffle bag falls from her shoulder to the floor, and a mesh backpack hits the floor as well. She's wearing green fatigues cut off at the knee, flip-flops, and a Billabong long-sleeved T-shirt. My intuition, as well as the dark tan on her face and sun-bleached streaks in her golden hair, tells me she's a total surfer chick.

  "Hey! I'm Jessica. Jess Spencer, that is. Jessica sounds so formal, you know?"

  She stretches out her sun-kissed hand and I shake it. "Kendall Moorehead. I'm so jealous of your tan."

  Jess laughs heartily. "Dude, I'm in the water twenty-four/seven. It's going to kill me to be here in the mountains for a week with no waves."

  "Where do you live?" I ask with great curiosity as she begins tugging clothes out of her bag and stashing them haphazardly in the bottom dresser drawer.

  "Capistrano Beach."

  "Where's that?"

  "Orange County."

  "Ahhhhh." I used to watch The O.C. and Real Housewives of Orange County; I know it's a pretty chic and rich area.

  Jess holds her hand up though. "Before you start judging me, my mom is a social worker and my dad is a public defender, so we're not your typical Orange County aristocrats."

  I smile weakly. "I wasn't judging."

  "Sure you were," she says with a wink. "That's okay."

  "Well ... maybe a little."

  She unpacks in about three seconds and then flings herself tummy first across the second bed and looks at me. "So, what's your story, Moorehead?"

  I laugh at her directness. I like that, though. She reminds me a lot of Rebecca. A pang hits me suddenly, thinking of my friend who I won't see for a week. Becca's gone to Birmingham, Alabama, to stay with her cousin Camille, who's in college there. I regale Jess with the who, what, where, when, why, and how that is Kendall Moorehead. At least, as best as I can explain it at this point.

  "Heavy, man," she says. "That's a crazy way to find out that you're adopted."

  "Tell me about it." I let out a sigh, but it's not due to frustration. Just 'cause. "So, what's your deal, Spencer?"

  Jess rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. "I live in this wicked cool house that my great-grandparents passed down to my grandparents and they passed down to my parents. It's across from the beach and it's totally haunted. I guess I've known it all my life. I can't wait until I'm eighteen and can move out and be on my own. That's why I use the ocean as my escape. Out there in the waves, there's nothing but me and the water. I control my destiny as I ride the crests, you know? Inside my house, things
are just ... weird."

  "Tell me about it," I mutter.

  She continues. "I see people's auras. I mean, it's like the world is one big frickin' rainbow for me. I can't just look at someone and see normal flesh and clothes. I see this blinding array of colors. I hope this Oliver dude can help me get a grip on this. It's only when I'm on the waves that I don't have this ... ability, or whatever it is."

  "I've tried reading auras," I say, rolling my BlackBerry around in my palm. "But I have to really concentrate to see them."

  Jess smirks. "Lucky you. I just don't want to live in a Rainbow Brite world constantly. I need some sort of ... normalcy in my life."

  "I hear that, g'friend," I say with a laugh.

  We venture out of the cabin and onto our front porch. A trellis covered in pink roses separates our unit from the one next door. Jess peers through the openings to report on our neighbors.

  "Three girls. We should invite them over."

  "Why not?" I call out, "Anyone over there?"

  After a moment I hear, "Hey, y'all!"

  "Come visit," Jess invites.

  In a moment or so, the first of our neighbors rounds the corner, followed by the next girl, and then the next. They look very much alike.

  "Triplets?" I ask out loud before I realize I've said anything.

  "Hey, y'all," the first girl sings out. "I'm Maddie, and these are my sisters, Erin and Harper. We're the Pucketts."

  Jess smacks her hands together. "I've never met triplets. How cool is that?"

  Erin grimaces. "It has its advantages ... and disadvantages."

  I can see that while there is a significant family resemblance, each girl is unique. Maddie has long dirty blond hair, Erin's is much lighter, and Harper wears her dark blond hair short. They all have the same greenish eyes, though.

  "You guys are fraternal, right?"

  Harper nods. "Yep. Mom was taking fertility pills to get pregnant, and all of a sudden, there were three of us."