The thought of Carol made Fiona remember the voice in her ear last night which had whispered “Henry” right before her grandmother mentioned the name. If the voice was Carol’s, why was she contacting Fiona? And if she was whispering in Fiona’s ear at her grandmother’s apartment, what words would she whisper if Fiona were in the woman’s kitchen? She shuddered as she stepped out of Mary’s Sewing Bee and into the bright, chilly morning. She paused for a moment to look at her new town, then bounded down the steps.
She paused at the curb and waited for a truck to pass, then scurried across the street. The parking lot of the Golden Goose was empty except for a few cars. She was relieved when she pulled on the front door and it opened. She took a cart and began down the fluorescent-lit aisles of the store. Some of the brands looked unfamiliar and she tried to pay attention as she shopped. She got a big package of chicken thighs (her dad always used thighs instead of breasts,) a tub of sour cream, a pound of butter, a tin of sweet paprika, a huge onion, and a bag of egg noodles.
Trying to picture the sad widower and his little son, Fiona decided to throw a brownie mix into the cart and a bag of chocolate chips to liven up the brownies.
She also grabbed a gallon of milk because there was only a pint in Mary’s fridge. Fiona added a box of Raisin Bran, a cluster of bananas, a loaf of whole wheat bread, three cans of tuna, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of Smucker’s strawberry jam, and a jar of mayonnaise. Fiona figured if she needed anything else, she could always dash across the street. So much easier than driving her mother’s old Ford Granada into downtown Lake Quinn to shop.
The cashier was friendly and double bagged Fiona’s groceries, distributing the items evenly between two parcels so neither was too heavy. She made pleasant small talk. A man sweeping the floor paused to say smile as Fiona exited the store. What a nice town, Fiona thought. Outside, a friendly-looking mutt trotted across the parking lot with a bounce in his step. Even the animals in Fireside are happy, she thought.
Mary was in her coat and hat and ready to leave when Fiona came up the stairs with her wrists strangled by the handles of the plastic grocery bags. Fiona quickly put away the items for the apartment and left the dinner and dessert ingredients in bags, which she realized she should have just left downstairs. As they made their way through the empty shop, Fiona asked if her grandmother kept regular hours.
“I do in the summer when the tourists are here, but the rest of the year I just flip the sign if I need to go out.” Mary pointed to the cardboard on a string in the window which read ‘Closed’ in white cursive against a red background. How quaint, Fiona thought. It’s like Mayberry.
Fiona paid attention as Mary locked the front door behind them in case she ever needed to do it by herself. It looked like the lock gave Mary a problem and Fiona remembered how her father would have lubricated it. I’ll have to find the hardware store, Fiona thought.
The two women walked north on Main Street, then turned east on Spruce Street. Fiona was taking in the sights and Mary was commenting on the stores. “This place has the best fudge,” she proclaimed as they strolled by a souvenir shop with Fireside t-shirts and homemade Christmas ornaments in the window. The window display looked like it was arranged with love.
“That’s the radio station. I keep it on all the time in the shop,” Mary said when they passed a beat-up building with a sign which read “WFIR” in the window. An unshaven, sleepy-looking man was visible through the window and he appeared to be speaking into a microphone. “They do a good job with updates when the weather is bad, and they play nice music, too.”
Mary paused as they passed a bar with a neon sign in the door which read Dottie’s in red. “That’s the tavern,” Mary said. “I never go in there.”
Fiona slowed her pace to match her grandmother’s. “Where’s the library?” Fiona asked, and Mary patted her arm appreciatively at the question.
“Oh, I just knew you’d be a reader. The library’s two blocks further down Main, then two blocks south on Lake. Your mother used to work there in high school, you know. She was in charge of re-shelving books after school and on weekends.”
“I didn’t know,” Fiona said, “but I believe it because she loves to read.” She laughed as she thought of how often she'd removed her mother’s glasses from her sleeping face and gently taken a book out of her hands. It had been a family joke that Theresa could only read for fifteen minutes at most before she fell asleep. Fiona felt a stab of homesickness and vowed she’d call tonight for a longer chat. She had quickly called home on Monday night to say she’d arrived safely. Fiona thought it was strange that her mother did not ask to speak to Mary. Fiona talked quietly so Mary wouldn’t hear from the kitchen and feel bad that Theresa didn’t ask to talk to her.
Mary slowed as they approached a small, white house with colonial blue shutters and a cheerful front porch covered in what had once been flower-filled planters. Now, they overflowed with the brown, skeletal remains of plants. Mary saw Fiona’s reaction and murmured, “Someone’s got to come and get rid of these. I don’t think Henry’s up to it.” She sighed. “Carol was so proud of her green thumb and this porch looked like a hothouse in summer. It’s such a shame.”
Fiona let her bags rest on the top step as Mary pressed the doorbell. Two rocking chairs were positioned on the porch to face the street. The other houses on the block had Halloween decorations and pumpkins on porches, but the widower’s house was undecorated. A cobweb was growing above the porch light, but it wasn’t a decoration.
“Tourists used to come by to take pictures because it looked so delightful,” Mary added sadly. Fiona glanced around curiously. It looked cheerful but neglected. “Carol kept a nice home.”
Fiona was glancing curiously around the porch and not prepared for the man who opened the door. She supposed she’d been expecting a wan, pale shell of a husband with slumped shoulders and a thin, stern face. The man in the doorway, dressed in neatly-ironed khaki slacks, a collared shirt, and a deep blue tie was tall, at least two inches over six feet, and had wide shoulders and a trim waist. His face was tanned, and he had nice cheekbones, dark-lashed blue eyes, and an elegant nose. His hair was the kind of dark blond that you could tell had been blond when he was a child and it was neatly parted and combed to one side.
Standing mutely on this widower’s porch, a grocery bag dangling from each wrist, Fiona experienced a sensation that she hadn’t since she’d broken up with Ted during the spring of their senior year. Fiona had been very much in lust with Ted, possibly even in love, and she’d been heartbroken when he’d ended their relationship. Ted told her he wanted to “enjoy” the rest of his senior year of high school. Even now, Fiona felt a twinge of nausea at the memory.
She'd been devastated and thought the pain might kill her at first, especially because she had to see Ted every day at school “enjoying” the other girls. Fiona was humiliated and she felt sure the other girls Ted walked down the halls with were gloating when they passed Fiona. It was Fiona’s first taste of misery. Then, however, her father had died; after that, Fiona didn’t feel heartbroken over Ted any longer.
Ted had come to the funeral with his parents and sister. Fiona had to be polite to Ted’s parents but she’d looked past him when he took her hand in the condolence line. “I’m so sorry, Fi,” he’d whispered, squeezing her hand. She’d looked down and stifled a sob. She was not going to cry over Ted anymore.
They’d found themselves alone in the hall at school a week before graduation and Ted had tried to apologize to her. “I’m sorry we broke up,” he’d said haltingly, his hand nervously bouncing at his waist. It was a habit of his that Fiona knew well and used to think was cute.
She wanted to scream at him, “You broke up with me!” Instead, she smiled sarcastically and said, “But then you wouldn’t have been able to enjoy your senior year, Ted,” and walked away. Something about her father’s death had hardened her heart.
When Fiona drove by Ted’s house on Lake Quinn, one of the firs
t to flood, she’d been surprised at how sorry she felt. Fiona thought she’d go through life wishing only bad things for him, but the sight of his parents and little sister desperately sand-bagging had broken her heart more than Ted ever could.
Now, though, under this stranger's gaze, Fiona felt a pull in her belly that she’d forgotten about. In spite of the cold, a flush of warmth tingled up her legs. Ashamed and disturbed by her body’s reaction to a man in mourning, she tried to hide her face by busying herself with the bags as Mary introduced her to Henry. She prayed that the fluttery feelings at the bottom of her stomach were not reflected in her eyes or her warm cheeks. She took a calming breath as she looked at him.
Henry offered his hand and Fiona shook it, unsure if she should give condolences or not. After all, she’d never met Carol, and Henry probably didn’t need to be reminded of his wife’s death as he scurried around on a Tuesday morning trying to get ready for work. After introductions, Henry led them into the house and took Fiona’s bags for her. The house was warm and smelled like ripe milk. “You brought groceries?” he asked, sounding surprised but not displeased. He glanced down into one of the bags.
“Fiona is going to make us dinner tonight,” Mary explained. “Chicken paprikash.”
“Really?” Henry asked. “My mom used to make that when I was a kid. I’ve never heard of anyone else who made it outside of my old aunts.” He studied Fiona a moment before placing the groceries on the counter. Fiona felt herself beginning to blush and turned away. “Do you serve it with egg noodles?” he asked.
“Yes,” Fiona replied, pulling the bag of egg noodles out of one of the Golden Goose bags.
Ryan was in the living room standing between a couch and a coffee table, upon which he was stacking blocks with a serious expression on his face. He was dressed in overalls, a striped t-shirt and tiny rubber fire fighter boots. Fiona was impressed that he was already dressed; Henry must get up very early in the morning to ready himself and Ryan for the day. She wasn’t sure why he was wearing boots inside the house but she figured it was a little boy thing. Nula liked to wear her princess dress-up gown as often as possible.
Ryan looked up at Mary and let out a delighted but garbled greeting, then immediately looked shy when he spotted Fiona. He looked to be the same age as Nula, almost three.
Fiona felt warm and happy at the sight of Ryan’s darling face with the deep pink cheeks that only toddlers sported and a flower-petal mouth that was curling down as he tried to assess the unfamiliar situation. His eyes were the same shade of blue as Henry’s but his hair was darker. Fiona guessed that Carol must have had dark hair.
“Ryan,” Henry said, “this is Fiona. She’s going to help Mary take care of you today while I’m at work.”
Ryan immediately sank his face into the couch cushions, then slowly turned his head to peek at Fiona. When Fiona smiled at him, Ryan gave her a bright grin in return and her heart melted some more. It felt exactly like when she saw someone with a new Labrador puppy on a leash and was overwhelmed by a desire to scoop up the puppy and cover him or her with kisses. He was gorgeous.
Henry leaned down and smoothed Ryan’s hair with one hand. “I’ll see you later today, Bud.” He turned to Mary. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you and the others are doing for me. I’m still trying to find a sitter, but it’s been harder than I thought.” Henry put on his coat then picked up a dark leather briefcase that was leaning against a recliner in front of the television set. He met Fiona’s gaze.
“Don’t you worry, Henry. We’re having so much fun with Ryan. He’s keeping us young.” Mary sat down on the couch, pulling Ryan onto her lap and picking up Richard Scarry’s Busiest Fire Fighters Ever! from the coffee table. Ryan pointed one at a time to Smokey, Sparky, Snozzle, and Squirty, giggling as Mary said their names aloud.
Henry stood next to the front door and jiggled his car keys. “I’ve got an interview tomorrow with a student from the college and one with a woman who lives out on Platypus Lake. She wouldn’t be able to come here, so I’d be taking Ryan back and forth on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The college woman could sit for Ryan here at the house on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Henry explained. “Fingers crossed.”
Then he gestured toward the kitchen. "All right, ladies, I’m off, but you know how to reach me if you need anything. The number to the bank is next to the phone.” He smiled again and his face looked boyish as the grin spread up to his eyes.
Fiona waved at him, trying not to stare, as she turned to the kitchen to unpack the groceries.
Henry called to her, “I’m looking forward to the paprikash!”
Fiona flashed him a rueful smile, then held up her hand and made a “fingers crossed” sign. Henry touched Ryan’s head one last time and walked out the front door. Fiona realized that her heart was beating faster than the walk with the groceries should cause. She took some more calming breaths.
Fiona paused in the doorway of the kitchen so she could see the front porch and the sidewalk beyond. She watched Henry’s tall form hurry to a red pickup truck at the curb. She thought that he walked like an athlete, as if his body would do anything he asked of it. Grandma Mary gave Fiona a quizzical look from the couch. Fiona muttered as she turned into the kitchen, “That poor man.”
Poor man, a female voice echoed in Fiona’s ear. She was so startled that she bumped into the highchair next to the kitchen table. She was grateful her grandmother hadn’t seen. She looked around the kitchen. Carols’ kitchen, she thought. Carols’ husband, she added. She unpacked the groceries and found space for them in the refrigerator, which was filled with oddly shaped leftovers wrapped in tinfoil. There was a slightly unpleasant smell as she leaned in, and Fiona wondered if Henry would appreciate it if she cleaned out his fridge and threw away the odorous items. She figured he would.
Chapter 8
The day passed peacefully. Mary and Fiona bundled Ryan into warm outerwear and buckled him into his stroller, then walked all over downtown Fireside. The wind was cold but the sun was shining. As they walked, Grandma Mary showed Fiona where the library, post office, and five and dime store were. They went inside to warm up and Mary let Ryan choose a Power Ranger from the toy section. He chose the yellow one.
As they continued their walk, Fiona greedily took in all the sights of her new town. They strolled past the fire station and Ryan waved excitedly at the firefighters who were washing their shiny red engine in the driveway despite the cold.
“Fyuh fightuhs!” Ryan called out. The firemen paused to wave at him. Ryan’s feet, clad in his imitation fire fighter boots, kicked excitedly. Fiona adjusted Ryan’s hat which had slipped down an inch and was almost covering his eyes. He laughed delightedly and pulled it down again. He thought it was a game and Fiona laughed, too. I’ll crochet him a hat that fits properly, she thought.
When they passed Mary’s Sewing Bee, Grandma Mary slowed to a stop and asked Fiona if she wouldn’t mind finishing the day with Ryan by herself. Mary said she was exhausted and wanted to rest because she had a client coming that night for a reading. “I’ll come back to the house for dinner, though,” she said. “I’m not willing to miss the paprikash.”
“No problem, Grandma,” Fiona responded, happy to get some time by herself. As Mary began to slowly climb the steps, holding tightly to the railing, Fiona added, “Grandma, can I sit in on the reading tonight? I’d love to see how you do it.”
“Of course, dear.” Mary breathed heavily. “Nicole is a longtime client and she’d be happy to have you there.” She paused on the top step and looked down at Fiona. “I need to teach you how to pass along those messages you hear.”
Fiona’s mouth literally dropped open. For a second, she wondered if she’d heard wrong. She’d suspected her grandmother knew, but it was shocking to have it spoken aloud. All her life, her “voices” had been her secret. Stunned, she just nodded. Mary winked at her before turning to unlock the shop. The door creaked and let out a small groan as it opened, and Fiona
thought, WD40. Get some!
Pass along messages to clients. Fiona pondered this idea as she pushed Ryan’s stroller toward his house. She'd learned as a child not to pass along messages. People’s reactions had been enough to cure her of that habit. She shuddered as she remembered a time she’d passed along a message to a girl in the washroom in 5th grade. The girl’s name was Carrie and she was one of the most popular girls in the fifth grade. They’d been standing next to one another in front of the large mirror, each brushing her hair. There were no other girls in the bathroom. Fiona heard a woman’s voice say, “I love her blond hair…it looks just like mine did.” Fiona knew the woman was Carrie’s grandmother. She couldn’t know how she knew, but she just did. It happened that way.
Fiona met the Carrie’s eyes in the mirror, then said, “Your grandmother loves that you inherited her blond hair.” Carrie had seemed receptive at the moment and asked Fiona for details. “How do you know that?” she’d asked excitedly. Later, though, Carrie told the other girls at school that Fiona was a “freak.” It got back to Fiona via her supposed best friend, Cathy, who began to avoid Fiona. It seemed that Cathy didn’t want to be associated with “the freak.” Fiona learned from that day forward to keep the messages to herself.
The idea of having receptive clients, however, was wonderfully exciting, especially with Grandma Mary’s guidance. Fiona was relieved to have the matter out in the open; the prospect of being able to use her “gift” filled her with a sense of purpose that she’d recently lost. Now, she wouldn’t struggle to find a way to bring it up with Grandma Mary. It was out in the open. She would ask Mary tonight about the voices. She wanted to know if Mary had the same gift, and how she used it, and how it made her feel.
Fiona found herself already at Henry’s house. When she bent down to unbuckle Ryan, she saw that he had fallen asleep. His little chin was drooping down onto his corduroy coat. His hat had slipped again and was covering his eyes. She very gently and slowly picked him up and carried him to his bedroom, ever-so-carefully laying him in his crib. She even managed to remove his jacket, hat, gloves and boots without waking him.
Spirit Talk: (Book One of The Fiona Series) Page 5