“Doubtful,” Henry said, pulling Ryan onto his lap and kissing his head. “What a bizarre day it’s been.” Ryan squirmed out of Henry’s arms and toddled toward the living room.
Fiona stood and pre-heated the oven for the lasagna. Just then, the phone rang again. Henry answered, and she could tell that he was talking to her grandmother. It sounded like she was asking Henry what had happened with Eric; she’d heard about it on the radio. Henry explained that Fiona had been the one to “locate” the teenager.
Fiona began to prepare something for Ryan to eat. She and Henry could wait for the lasagna to cook, but Ryan would be asleep by the time it was finished. Fiona got eggs and butter out of the refrigerator as she heard Henry say, “Oh, really. Fiona didn’t say anything about that. Okay, Mary, I understand. Feel better.” Then he hung up.
Fiona kept her back to Henry as she began to scramble eggs and put a slice of bread in the toaster. “Your grandmother’s not feeling up to coming for dinner,” he told her.
Fiona pulled a fork out of the utensil drawer and stirred the raw eggs, her wrist rotating rapidly. This was disturbing news because it meant that Mary was getting worse, but Fiona relished every moment alone with Henry. “That’s worrisome,” she said. She gazed down as the eggs in the pan began to turn solid and yellow.
“She also mentioned that today is your birthday.”
Fiona glanced at Henry over her shoulder. “I’m nineteen,” she said. “It feels a lot older than eighteen for some reason.”
“What an unbelievable birthday you’ve had,” Henry mused. “Have you ever experienced anything like that before? You know, finding someone who was missing?”
Fiona thought momentarily of Sophia’s cousin Suzanne, but that wasn’t anything like her experience with Eric. Also, she hadn’t spoken yet to Sophia and didn’t know if Suzanne really was at Raymond’s. She needed to call Sophia and find out. “No,” she said, stirring the eggs.
Ryan trotted into the kitchen with a plastic toy phone dangling by its cord. Henry lifted him into the high chair then pretended to make a phone call, rotary dialing the tiny numbers with his pinkie. Henry looked silly with the rainbow-colored phone pressed to his ear and Fiona and Ryan burst out in laughter. “Hello, pizza man?” Henry asked. “Can you deliver a pepperoni pizza to Ryan’s house?”
“P’roni!” Ryan exclaimed, taking the phone from Henry and mimicking his father’s attempts to order a pizza.
Henry walked up behind Fiona, lifting the bread from the toaster and taking a butter knife from the drawer. “What’s it like, Fiona?” he asked. “What’s it like to see the things…to know the things that you do?”
Fiona took one of Ryan’s baby plates from the cabinet and used the edge of the spatula to push the scrambled eggs onto it. “It’s something I’m used to because it’s been happening as long as I can remember. Today was different, though.” She carried the eggs to Ryan and sat down. Henry brought over the buttered toast squares and sat down in the chair opposite Fiona’s.
“How so?” he asked, buttoning a Big Bird bib onto Ryan.
“I felt Eric. I could feel his body temperature in my body. It was very freaky. I’ve never felt anyone else’s physical sensations before.” Fiona got up to get milk for Ryan. “I need to talk to my grandmother about it…find out if it’s ever happened to her.”
“That must have been upsetting,” Henry said, “but also kind of cool.” He took a bite of Ryan’s toast and chewed with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“It was strange,” Fiona admitted, placing Ryan’s lidded cup of milk on his tray. He immediately picked it up and took a long sip, then made his adorable “Ahhh!” sound.
“After my dad died,” Fiona continued, “the things that happen to me got a lot more intense. My grandmother said it can happen that way after a huge emotional upset. It’s, like, the trauma opens something up in your head.” Fiona glanced at Henry to monitor how he was receiving her remarks. She didn’t want to scare him and have him think she was a freak. Fiona may have grown to cherish her gift, but it was still a frightening and possibly evil phenomenon in some people’s eyes.
“That’s why I’m lucky I ended up here, with my grandmother, at the right time. My grandma is helping me understand what’s happening and how to control it a little, and not be afraid. She’s helping me to not feel like a freak,” she added bravely. She glanced at Henry to gage his reaction but his expression remained neutral.
“But you want to go back home, right, and go to college?” he asked. “Eventually?”
She shook her head. “Honestly, the thought of living in a dorm and studying things I’m not particularly interested in gives me the heebie-jeebies after living with Mary. I thought I would die of misery when my mother said I couldn’t go downstate, but now I feel lucky. I love my life here. I just wish I had more clients.”
“I’m sure you will after word gets around that you helped find Eric,” Henry pointed out. “You’re going to be a local celebrity.” They both chuckled.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said ruminatively.
“I’m sure Madden and her family will want to thank you.” Henry helped Ryan take a bite of eggs by pretending that the fork was an airplane and aiming for Ryan’s mouth. “And Eric, of course.”
“I’m just so relieved I was able to get something. I was terrified I’d draw a blank when I asked the spirits for help.” She looked down at the table, feeling suddenly shy.
“Is that what you do? Ask the spirits?” Henry sounded a little uneasy and Fiona hesitated. She wished she hadn’t been so forthcoming.
“Yeah,” she answered, “it’s how I do it.”
“I’m sorry.” Henry shook his head. “It’s just so far out. I don’t have any experience with this kind of stuff. Carol would have known what you were talking about. She loved that kind of stuff.” Now it was his turn to glance down shyly.
Fiona smiled and reached out to wipe a smear of butter off Ryan’s cheek. She felt Carol in the kitchen with them at that moment and she imagined that Carol was smiling
*****
After Ryan finished his dinner, Fiona tidied the kitchen and checked on the lasagna. It still had a good half hour to bake before it was done. Henry took Ryan upstairs for his bath and bedtime stories. Fiona could hear their laughter and splashing. Ryan’s nap had been cut short and he would probably go right to sleep. Fiona thought about leaving and getting to bed herself, but she was too hungry to skip her birthday spinach lasagna. The thought of making a tuna sandwich in her grandmother’s quiet kitchen on her birthday was too sad, so she waited for Henry to come back downstairs.
“The lasagna should be done in about fifteen minutes,” she announced when he walked into the kitchen. He was wearing a Minnesota North Stars hockey jersey with “Ciccarelli” and the number twenty on the back.
“Let’s go watch some hockey while we wait,” Henry said enthusiastically. “I’ll explain the game to you.”
Fiona made a face but followed Henry into the living room. He sat in the recliner; she, on the couch. Henry flipped channels on the television until he located the game. “It’s North Stars versus the Chicago Blackhawks,” he said. “It should be a good game.”
Fiona folded her legs beneath her body and put a throw pillow on her lap. Fiona watched the players fly around the ice and listened to Henry’s explanation of the plays, nodding her head in feigned understanding as he spoke. Fiona watched as a Chicago Blackhawk intentionally crashed his body into a Minnesota player. The Minnesota player fell sideways onto the ice and the Chicago player pulled the puck in the opposite direction and skated away with it. Henry growled, “Goddamnit.” Fiona tried not to laugh. A whistle shrieked. Some players skated to the bench and some to a North Stars logo painted beneath the ice.
“See that guy in the middle?” Henry asked, looking at her face to make sure she understood. “The one who’s bent over the puck?”
She nodded, observing that the player in the middle was
doubled over, waiting for the referee to drop the hockey puck.
“That’s the center,” Henry explained. “That was my position.”
“That’s so cool! Where did you go to high school?” Fiona asked.
“Deer Grove. About an hour from Minneapolis.”
Deer Grove! That was where Martin Bankston said his “facility” was. “Do your parents still live there?” she asked. The players were skating around again. Fiona watched Henry’s body as he leaned forward in his chair. He was tapping one foot nervously.
Henry dragged his gaze from the hockey game for a moment and looked at Fiona. “No, my parents both passed. My dad died of a heart attack when I was in college and my mom died a year later. My sister says she died of a broken heart, but the doctors said it was congestive heart failure.”
“I’m so sorry, Henry,” Fiona murmured. “That’s rough.” She paused, then said, “My mom isn’t in danger of dying of a broken heart. My sister says she has a new, busy social life. Lots of trips into the city and nights out to dinner and a movie with her girlfriends.”
“That’s good,” Henry said, looking at the television. “No reason to give up on life because you lost your spouse.” At his words, Fiona froze. Henry seemed to also realize what he’d said, and she saw him shift uncomfortably in his recliner. His foot grew still.
The timer in the kitchen buzzed and Fiona jumped up to pull the lasagna out of the oven. The three-hundred-and-seventy-five-degree air made her necklace and pendant, a small gold heart from her father, heat the skin on her throat uncomfortably. She placed the pan carefully on the stove and examined the top layer of cheese: it was a perfect shade of golden brown. The sauce, spinach, and ricotta mixture oozed delectably as she cut into the surface with a metal spatula and dished out two portions.
Henry came into the kitchen and peered over her shoulder. “Dear God. I’m so hungry, I could eat that whole thing.”
Fiona giggled and turned to set her plate on the table, but he said, “Let’s eat in front of the game.” He took his plate and cutlery and headed back to his recliner. She followed, the steamy scent of the lasagna making her mouth water. “I should have made a salad,” Fiona commented.
“Nah,” Henry said. They ate ravenously, Henry intermittently pointing out hockey plays. “See that?” he asked. “That guy was way off sides.” A few bites later, he’d yell, “That was a cheap hit!”
Fiona thought how funny it was to be watching sports again. It reminded her of being with her father as he sat in front of the television on Sunday afternoons and yelled at the Chicago Bears.
During a break between periods, they carried their plates to the sink and Fiona began to rinse hers. “Leave it,” Henry said. “I’ll clean up. You’ve done enough, and it’s your birthday, too! I wish we could have done something special…at least a cake, or champagne.”
“This was a special birthday,” she said, putting on her coat and boots. “I’ll never forget this day.” When she straightened up after tugging on her boots, Henry was looking at her. “Will you call me tomorrow and let me know how Eric is doing?” she asked.
“I definitely will.” He crossed the kitchen to stand very close to Fiona. He put his hand under her chin gently and looked into her eyes. “Are you okay? I know today was hard on you.” His hand dropped to her shoulder and stayed there.
Her body came alive at his touch. It felt as though his fingers were conducting energy that coursed through her coat and into her shoulder, then whizzed directly down her body and into her groin. She stopped breathing for a moment, trying to quell the sensation and respond normally to Henry’s question. She could smell his aftershave, or maybe it was his deodorant. Whatever it was, it was masculine and musky.
“I’m okay,” she stammered. Henry’s face was even closer to hers now. His eyes were a dark blue in the dim light.
“You’re more than okay, Fiona,” Henry whispered, “you’re extraordinary.”
Fiona guessed that her legs were trembling, but she couldn’t be sure because the blood rushing through her veins felt like it was full of bubbles. She finally took a breath as Henry’s lips moved within an inch of hers. At that moment, there was a loud clattering sound from the pantry. Henry sprang back, and Fiona jumped. “What was that?” she gasped.
“I don’t know.” He pulled open the pantry door and turned on the light. Inside, they could see that the broom had fallen over and was now resting against the stepladder. He lifted the broom back into a standing position against the mop. He turned to Fiona and she saw that he looked pale and shaky.
“That was weird,” she stated. Did Carol stop them from kissing? she wondered.
“Very weird,” Henry agreed. He faced her again, this time standing further away. “Well,“ he said in a clear attempt to be jovial, “I wish I could drive you home. I hate to think of you walking alone in the dark.”
“Nothing to fear in Fireside,” Fiona replied, imitating his nonchalant tone. She pulled on her bright blue crocheted gloves. If Henry was going to pretend that they hadn’t almost just exchanged a passionate kiss, then she was going to pretend, too. “I’ll see you Thursday!” She moved to open the door but Henry edged in front of her and opened it for her. Fiona hesitated as she pulled her matching hat down over her ears, then stepped onto the porch and into the cold. The sharp wind was felt like a slap on her face.
“I’ll call you tomorrow with an Eric update,” Henry called, not closing the door. When Fiona turned at the gate to wave, he was still standing in the doorway, watching her.
Her head was buzzing as she walked home. She replayed the moment of the almost-kiss over and over. The kiss hadn’t even happened and it was still better than any kiss she’d ever experienced. Ted’s kisses in high school were always too wet and he pressed against her mouth too hard. Fiona had a feeling that Henry’s kiss would have been perfect: not too soft and not too hard, not too wet and not too dry. She almost walked right past Mary’s Sewing Bee. When Fiona got upstairs, she was relieved that her grandmother was in bed with her bedroom door closed. Fiona didn’t want to talk and answer questions about her day. She just wanted to fall into bed and replay the almost-kiss until she drifted off to sleep. Hers had been an exciting birthday.
Chapter 24
Henry was right. On Wednesday, three women, four teenaged girls, and one teenaged boy stopped by Mary’s Sewing Bee to request readings from Fiona. The teenaged boy looked extremely uncomfortable and he seemed to be trying to disappear inside the hood of his coat. The girls, however, were excited and chatty.
She had to run across the street to buy an assignment notebook from the pitiful “school supplies” section of the Golden Goose to keep track of her new client appointments. Grandma Mary watched with an amused look on her face. Fiona wondered if she was annoyed that the teenagers were only asking for her, but she knew instinctively that Mary was proud and pleased.
When the shop was empty, Fiona described to Mary her experience finding Eric and feeling his high fever in her own body. Mary stopped crocheting and looked up. “Has anything like that ever happened to you?” Fiona asked.
Mary looked sad. “Yes,” she answered. Both times your mother was in labor, I could feel contractions in my body.”
Fiona’s jaw dropped. She was speechless for a moment.
“I knew you and your sister had arrived even though I never got a phone call,” Mary continued. “When your mother wrote both times to announce the births, the birth dates were the same as the days I had the contractions.”
“That is the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard,” Fiona said quietly. She wanted to call her mother at that very moment and yell at her for ignoring Grandma Mary, a woman who loved her daughter so much that she felt her daughter’s childbirth pain.
*****
Eric’s mother, Sally Schneider, entered the shop around 4 p.m. when it was otherwise empty. Grandma Mary had gone upstairs to rest, possibly for the whole night. Once Sally introduced herself, she stood for a fe
w moments trying to compose herself before she spoke. Sally was petite like her daughter, Madden, barely five feet, and Fiona marveled that she was also the mother of a big hockey player.
“How is Eric doing?” Fiona asked. “I heard from Henry who heard from Madden that he’ll probably get to go home tomorrow.” Sally had the same sprinkling of light freckles across the bridge of her nose that Eric did, and she had the same green eyes as Madden.
“Yes.” Sally smiled. “His fever is gone, and he’s not dehydrated anymore. He ate a cheeseburger for dinner!” She paused, then dropped into a chair across from Fiona’s rocking chair, where she had been working on a crocheted dress. Sally stroked the dress and said, “Pretty.” She paused a moment, then said, “I just...don’t know quite how to thank you.” Sally’s voice trembled; it seemed to Fiona that she might be about to cry. “The doctors told us that if Eric had spent another night dehydrated and with such a high fever, he could have...” at this point, Sally did begin to cry, “died.”
Fiona leaned forward and handed Sally a tissue while the woman quietly tried to gather her composure. Fiona felt a pang in her own heart. “Anyway,” Sally continued, gazing at Fiona with reddened eyes, “I just hope you realize how much you helped. We would have kept looking outdoors for Eric if you hadn’t...seen what you saw.”
Fiona nodded somberly. “Thank you for telling me, but it was an honor to be able to help.” She smiled at Sally. “If I’m going to have this ‘ability,’ I want to be able to use it for good. And I’m so happy Eric is okay.”
Sally wiped her eyes with the tissue. “I apologize that my husband didn’t come, too. I think he’s a little overwhelmed. He also got behind at work, obviously.”
“I understand,” Fiona said.
“Is there anything we can do for you? Anything to repay you?” Sally asked with a hopeful expression on her face.
Fiona thought of her new interest in hockey. “Could I come to one of Eric’s games when he’s back on his feet? Now that I’m living in Minnesota, I feel like I should understand hockey.”
Spirit Talk: (Book One of The Fiona Series) Page 17