She saw Sarah coming out of the room opposite. “How’s it going?” she asked. That certainly wouldn’t give anything away. Not that anybody was paying attention to who knew who—or cared.
“Interesting,” Sarah said thoughtfully. “One more, right?”
“Yup. Who’ve you got?”
“Alison. I think she’s got a crystal ball.”
“That should be fun. I’ve got Christine—she reads palms.”
“Ah. Good luck with that.”
“You too.”
Spare time spent, Abby made her way to the double doors of the former parlor and peered in. She saw an older woman—in her forties?—who looked tired. And sad. The woman looked up and saw her hovering in the doorway and gestured her in.
“Hi, I’m Christine. I’m the palm lady. Come on in.” She smiled, but it seemed kind of perfunctory. Didn’t she want to be here?
“Do you want to know my name?” Abby said, perching on the folding chair across a small table from the woman.
Christine shook her head. “It won’t tell me much. More about what your parents were thinking when you were born. People don’t always grow up to fit their names, or maybe they outgrow them. Do you know anything about palmistry?”
“Just about nothing. What should I know?”
“We use your hands, your palms specifically, to learn about your character. We look at both hands. Your left one shows what you’ve inherited, while your right one will show what traits you’ve acquired in your lifetime. Are you right- or left-handed?”
“Right. Which do you like to look at first?”
“Usually the left one—it makes it easier to interpret the right hand. Do you dislike being touched by a stranger?”
Abby hadn’t even thought about that. It had never really bothered her, although her family wasn’t exactly the touchy-huggy sort. But since she’d found this thing of hers, she’d been much more wary of touch. Well, touching Christine would be part of the experiment, and she couldn’t exactly ask for a palm reading from across the room. “I don’t think so.”
Christine still didn’t make a move toward her. “How would you describe your hands?”
“What do you mean? Like, size? Shape?”
“Yes, like that.”
Abby studied her hands in her lap. “Well, kind of average size—I think I wear a seven and a half glove. I don’t bite my nails, but they’re kind of short—nothing fancy. I’ve been doing a lot of home repair lately, as you can probably see. I’ve got long fingers. I’m pretty good with working with small objects, crafts, that kind of thing.” She looked again. “My pinky is a lot shorter than the rest, and my thumb doesn’t bend much, but it’s not exactly straight either. Does that help you?”
“Sometimes. Mostly I’m letting you get used to the idea that there are various traits to your hands that can tell me something about you, or at least your genetic origins. Which parent’s hands do yours most resemble?”
“My mother’s, I guess, although she’s not as good at making things as I am. My father likes to tinker with small machines, so I guess I get that from him.”
“Do you have any questions before we start?”
“Uh, I guess not.” Maybe she should have done more homework, but at least she hadn’t walked into this with any preconceptions. “What now?”
“Give me your hand. Your left hand, palm up.” Christine held out her hand, which Abby noted was graceful and well-manicured. Probably part of the business. Abby extended her left hand, and Christine took it gently from below.
And then dropped it like a hot potato and jerked back in her seat. Which didn’t surprise Abby, since she’d felt the shock of their contact all the way up to her shoulder. Christine was staring at her across the table, and Abby tried to read her expression. Fear? Curiosity? Recognition?
Abby was surprised by Christine’s first question. “Has that happened before?”
“Yes.” Abby met her eyes squarely.
“With people? Objects?”
“Both.”
“All the time?”
“No, only when it’s someone I’m related to, at least most of the time. What about you?”
Christine sat back in her chair and studied Abby’s face. “I’ve felt something like this on a few occasions. Never in one of these cold encounters with a stranger.”
“With who, then?”
“It . . . varies. Listen, I don’t know you, and we don’t have time to examine this the way it should be done in just a few minutes. Can we get together later?”
“I’ve got guests coming tonight. Tomorrow would work for me.”
“Good, because I have a day job during the week. Where do you live?”
“Here in Lexington. Let me write down the address for you—it’s not far.”
Abby found a piece of scrap paper in her purse and scribbled the street address. While she wrote, she wondered if she should warn the woman about Ned, or wait and see what she sensed from him. She decided to say nothing, and handed her the piece of paper.
“Nice neighborhood,” Christine commented when she read it.
“Are you thinking of the cemetery in the backyard? Yes, it is. You want to come by in the afternoon? I’m not sure what my plans are for the early part of the day.”
“That’s fine. Three o’clock?”
“Great.” Abby stood up. “Normally I’d shake hands with you, but that might be risky. But I look forward to talking with you tomorrow.”
“Same here.” Christine raised one hand in a slow wave. Then Abby turned and left. Once back in the hall she suddenly found her hands were trembling. Delayed reaction to another unexpected encounter? Instead of waiting for Sarah, she went out the front door and sat on the top step of the porch stairs. The event crowd had dwindled, so she wasn’t in anyone’s way. She looked out at the street without seeing it, trying to fit this new piece into the puzzle. Odds were Christine was related to her, somehow. A lot of people in Massachusetts were, she’d found as she filled in her family tree. She couldn’t claim to have identified more than a handful of her Massachusetts ancestors and relatives. But that had been one strong jolt she’d felt with Christine. What did that mean?
Sarah dropped down on the step beside her. “Looks like things are winding down. How did Number Three go?”
“We . . . connected.”
Sarah turned to look at her. “What, like, well, you and Ned do?”
“Well, yes, without the, um, romantic elements. We’re linked somehow, but we didn’t have time to explore how. I asked her to come over tomorrow afternoon.”
“Was she surprised when it happened?”
“I think she was. She said it had happened to her before, but not often, and not with a random stranger. This just keeps getting weirder.”
“You want to head back to your place now, or maybe find someplace to get a coffee?”
“I think coffee and pastries are definitely called for. Even if they spoil my appetite for dinner.”
Chapter 8
It wasn’t far from the Psychic Faire house to the center of town, so Abby and Sarah strolled down the street, enjoying the crisp fall air. They didn’t speak, and Abby was grateful. Sarah was very good at picking up moods, and while she might be curious, she knew enough to let Abby process this latest bit of information. On the main street they found a coffee shop, ordered coffee, and added some sugary things to their order. Then they retreated to a small table at the back of the shop, where they could talk freely without being overheard. Abby wondered just what any customer would think if they did manage to eavesdrop, but most of the people in the shop were not at all interested in them.
They sat down, and Abby added sugar to her cappuccino. “I don’t exactly need caffeine right now,” she said. “I thought I had a handle on the whole fair thing—the first couple of readers were pretty matter-of-fact, and they didn’t seem to care whether I believed what they were saying or not. The second one was pretty good, though—she nailed the details o
n something she’d never seen, and it was barely connected to me in any personal way. Of course, my skeptical mind kept telling me that she was just making smart guesses, but they were good ones, if nothing else. How about you?”
Sarah stirred the foam on her coffee. “Kind of the same. I don’t know what I was expecting—you know, dark rooms and rappings and women with veils or turbans. I was surprised they looked so ordinary. Like you and me.”
“But that’s the point, isn’t it? We have the same skills they do, or pretend they have. We know we’re not pretending, you and I, but nobody walking by us on the street would guess. And I have trouble keeping scarves straight—I usually end up dropping them.”
Sarah laughed, and took a sip of her drink. “I know what you mean. Wonder where that whole scarf mythology came from?”
“If you ask me, it’s a holdover from the nineteenth century, when mediums might have used scarves to represent ectoplasm or visiting spirits.”
“Ectoplasm?” Sarah raised one eyebrow. “You have been doing your homework.”
Abby nodded. “I have. It’s interesting stuff, with or without a stake in the subject. Although I am beginning to think that there’s simply too much going on in the psychic world to try to get a handle on all aspects of it. I think Ned and I need to focus.”
“How is my son, by the way?”
Abby eyed Sarah. “Do you have a reason for asking?”
“No. And I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that he’s so busy, and when we do get together it’s almost never just the two of us, so I don’t get much sense of what’s going on with him. Don’t panic—I know he’s happy with you. How are you feeling about the whole thing? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Abby took a large bite of the almond croissant she had selected, and chewed slowly, to give herself time to think. “You know, there’s so much going on that it’s hard to sort out one set of feelings from another. If Ned and I had met under ordinary circumstances, I don’t know if we would have clicked or just made polite chitchat and gone our separate ways. But this psychic thing has been part of whatever the two of us have from the start. I’ve been trying to take it slow, since I figured out that I had misjudged Brad so badly. I didn’t want to rush into anything just because I felt needy.”
“Which you had every right to do, Abby. You were living in a new and unfamiliar place, with no job, and a guy who—forgive me—seemed entirely wrapped up with himself, and you had no idea what was going to happen. You probably sensed that you and Brad weren’t working out, even if you couldn’t admit it. But in a way all that left you vulnerable to this spirit connection. And I have to say, on his end Ned kind of filed it all away for years and pretended it wasn’t there. It was only when he met you that he realized he should be looking more closely at it.”
“I still don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing for any kind of long-term relationship.”
Sarah grinned. “Although I’m guessing that there are some definite bonuses. Am I right?”
Abby smiled reluctantly. “Oh, yeah. But what if that burns out? What if this thing disappears as quickly as it came? Will he and I have anything left to talk about?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Sarah said cheerfully. “Enjoy the moment. Seize the day. All those nice platitudes.”
“You sound like an old hippie,” Abby said, smiling.
“I was pretty much a hippie, back in the day. And that had nothing to do with seeing the dead. Purple dragons, maybe, now and then, but I never really believed they were real.”
“Have you tried, uh, supplemental substances, since you figured out you had some sort of gift?”
“Nothing more than a bit of wine now and then. I was never looking to amplify it. I guess Ned gets that from me—he just shut that door. Or maybe he’s been preparing all of his adult life to deal with exactly this.”
“Or maybe we fall into a different category—predestination? He and I were meant to come together and solve the mystery of the universe? Or at least what happens after death?”
“Abby, I’m not saying that. But maybe on Ned’s part, his subconscious was telling him what education and skills he needed to take this on, and he’s been acquiring them for a while. And then you—the perfect test case—dropped into his lap, and he was off to the races. Have you two worked out a plan?”
“Sort of. He’s agreed to step back from work for a bit, although nothing so extreme as a long vacation or sabbatical, to focus on this more systematically. He’s enlisted his techie friend Kevin to help. He’s dealing with the science side of things, and I’m looking at what you might call the intuitive side—the one that’s harder to design experiments for. And we’ve kind of set a deadline, because I don’t think either one of us wants to be doing this for the rest of our lives.”
“So how do you live with it, going forward, knowing you have it? Ned and I have tried denial, which worked well enough for a long time. But I have a feeling that it won’t work for you, or the two of you together.”
“Sarah, I really don’t know. I’m new to all this, and the Force is strong.” Abby flashed a quick grin. “It may fade over time, or become like white noise in the background. I mean, think about it. You know how many people have passed away on this earth? Maybe only a small percentage are advanced enough to communicate with each other, but whatever the number is, it’s far too many to be channeling all of them, all the time. That white noise would be overwhelming. And I have no idea how to narrow the reception. In a way I feel lucky to be encountering only my own ancestors and people in certain families, because that’s a finite number. Other than that all the voices could drive me crazy.”
“Understood.” Sarah drained her coffee and looked at her watch. “Do you have to get home to cook?”
“I set up almost everything yesterday, but we might as well head back, and I’ll stick the casserole in the oven. I don’t know when Ned told Kevin to come.”
“Have you met Kevin?” Sarah asked, gathering up her trash.
“Nope. One more stranger. I don’t even know what Ned’s told him. All he said to me was that Kevin is a genius with analyzing brain waves, and he’s good at thinking outside the box. Plus he has the money to buy whatever toys he wants. What about you?”
“I think Ned used to mention him now and then, but we never met. Sounds like a promising addition to your crew. Shall we go?”
Abby finished her coffee as well, and stood up. “Might as well. By the way, there’s no agenda for tonight. We’re going to try to get a feel for each other, and how we can work together effectively. But as I was saying, I don’t want any of us to get sucked into some megaproject. Well, I suppose Kevin could, since Ned says he has the resources and the time. But I think Ned is doing this just to please me, which is nice, but I’m not sure his heart is in it. And that’s all right. I figure at some point we’ll reach a stage where we’re all comfortable with saying ‘that’s enough.’” On their way toward the door, Abby said, “Wait—I need to get some more coffee beans. I’ll be just a minute.”
By the time they arrived at Abby’s house, it was nearly five o’clock. Ned’s car was parked in the driveway, along with an unfamiliar one that had to be Kevin’s. Abby looked at her watch. “Wow, it’s later than I thought. But thanks for coming with me, Sarah, and for helping me talk through it. There aren’t many people I can talk about it with, so I really appreciate it.”
Sarah reached out and laid a hand on Abby’s arm. “You don’t have to thank me, Abby. You’re helping me as much as I’m helping you. I wish I could have been more open to this thing when I was your age, but I think you’re handling it well. Feel free to talk with me any time.”
“I will, I promise.” Abby reached for the door handle, but as she got out of the car she added, “Now we have to put on our normal faces for our guest.”
“Ned hasn’t suggested that Kevin has any psychic abilities?”
“No. They’re just friends, as far as I know. Sci
ence geeks. But I’ve learned pretty fast never to say never. And you know guys—they don’t like to talk about touchy-feely things. Can you see them sitting in a bar somewhere and saying, ‘Gee, man, I think maybe I see dead people’?”
“Might depend on how many beers they’ve had,” Sarah replied, laughing.
Abby led the way into the house. The front door was open, protected by the screen, and a sight breeze drifted through from the back of the house. One plus about Victorian houses, Abby had learned: great cross ventilation, with all the large windows and many doors. Of course, that made the big old places expensive to heat in winter. “Anybody home?” she called out.
“In the kitchen,” Ned yelled back.
Abby followed the sound of his voice. In the kitchen Ned was leaning against a counter, while the guy who had to be Kevin was sprawled in a chair next to the kitchen table. Each had a bottle of beer in his hand. “I would have put dinner in the oven, but I wasn’t sure what your timing was. Want a glass of wine? Hi, Mom.”
“Fine way to great your mother, kid,” Sarah told him, and enfolded him in a hug. “I haven’t seen you for weeks!”
“Sorry. Mom, this is Kevin Johansen. You haven’t met, right?”
“No, but you’ve mentioned him. Hello, Kevin—good to meet you at last.” Kevin had stood up when they entered the room, and when Sarah held out her hand to shake, he took it willingly.
“Nice to meet you too.” Kevin turned to Ned. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lady, or are you afraid I’ll steal her from you?”
“You wish. Abby, this is Kevin. Kevin, Abby. Good enough for you?”
Kevin was smiling with amusement. “Yeah. Hi, Abby. Ned here hasn’t told me much of anything about you, but then, he never does say much.”
“Maybe that’s why we’ve stayed friends this long, pal,” Ned said to him.
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