Spirit Talk: (Book One of The Fiona Series)

by Colleen McManus Hein

  At Grandma Mary’s, though, Fiona shopped each day for exactly what they needed to get them through twenty-four hours. It was pleasant to leave the Golden Goose with one bag, maybe two at the most if she was making something special, and scuttle back across the street to Mary’s Sewing Bee with barely any effort.

  Fiona remembered fondly how her mom would pull up after a trip to the A & P with the trunk and back seat of the Granada overflowing with bags. It had been Fiona and Ann’s job to carry the groceries into the house and put away the food. Ann used to pay Fiona $3.00 per weekend to unpack all the groceries by herself, though, and she accepted this arrangement eagerly.

  She liked to see what her mother had bought and know where things were in the cupboards or the refrigerator. If there was a box of Golden Grahams, Fiona would hide it in a place where Ann would never think to look, like the utility closet. One thing about Fiona’s mother, though, was that no amount of begging or cajoling could get her to buy Tab or Doritos. Janie’s mom, thank God, had no problem purchasing those desirable snacks.

  Living with Grandma Mary made Fiona understand where her mother got her ideas. Grandma Mary ate very simply and was literally aghast the time Fiona brought home Tab and Doritos. “It’s not even real food,” her grandmother observed, looking at the orange bag of chips and the pink soda cans. She hadn’t bought them again.

  *****

  On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Fiona spent the day in Mary’s Sewing Bee with her grandmother and friends, crocheting and gossiping. In the evening, there was often a client, and more and more often, Grandma Mary would have Fiona take over the reading midstream, relaying messages and reading the cards. More and more often, Mary’s coughing fits interrupted the client readings. Fiona felt desperate to get Mary to a doctor, but Mary always refused.

  Fiona had grown confident with the readings. At first, she might stare down at the “past, present, and future” cards and just repeat what she’d memorized. But if she allowed herself to relax and open the part of her brain that seemed to scan the spirit world like a radio scanning the dial for a clear signal, the cards would come alive. They would stimulate flashes of images and words in Fiona’s head, above and beyond the memorized meanings of the cards. When a random scene popped into her mind, she would describe it to the client.

  “I see a girl in a plaid nightgown opening a present under a Christmas tree. A man and a woman are watching her and smiling,” she’d tell the client, and the client, usually a woman, would respond with something like, “Yes! That was the last Christmas with my father! He bought me my first ice skates.”

  Picking up on scenes that were meaningful to the client made them happy, even if Fiona’s “visions” didn’t answer a question or solve a problem. It was simply comforting for the clients to think that a loved one was still around.

  Thinking of her own father, Fiona understood; she desperately wanted him around her, protecting and watching out for her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t “heard” from him since her high school graduation, but she figured he would get through if she ever really needed him. Fiona wondered sometimes if his fear of the spirit world had followed him into the afterlife.

  Grandma Kate was another story. She talked to Fiona often, sometimes little whispers of encouragement and sometimes useful warnings. Once, Fiona was walking to Henry’s house on her way to babysit and she’d been listening to Elvis Costello through the headphones of her Walkman. Behind her, a car on Main Street skidded on a patch of ice and was heading up onto the sidewalk, the driver out of control. Oblivious, she was singing softly along with, ironically, “Accidents Will Happen,” when Grandma Kate’s voice cut into the music. “Watch out!” Fiona heard, and she turned her head just in time to see the car’s fender barreling toward her. She quickly jumped out of the way. The driver looked at Fiona in horror at the near-miss. Fiona’s bloodstream was still buzzing with adrenaline when she walked into Henry’s house that day. She felt even more grateful than usual to see Ryan and Henry. As an extra bonus, Henry was only halfway dressed that morning.

  Fiona, however, was struggling with palm reading. Determined to learn everything she could on the subject in addition to Grandma Mary’s lessons, she’d scoured the library and the used bookstore for palmistry books. The volumes she found made sense and helped her understand the lines and the significance of their shapes, but she still grappled with communicating her new knowledge during real palm readings with clients.

  Grandma Mary advised Fiona to relax and let the information come through in the same way the other messages did. The student in Fiona, however, wanted to honor the teachings of the great palmists like William Benham and Cheiro.

  “You’re just like your mother,” Grandma Mary observed when she saw the stacks of palmistry books on Fiona’s bedside table. Fiona was startled when Grandma Mary referred to the similarities between herself and Theresa; she had always believed she and her mother were very different. The things she’d learned about Theresa’s life, however, were helping her see her mother in a new light. Fiona considered her mother to be closed-off emotionally and she could now see that there were reasons for this. Theresa’s life story wasn’t typical.

  Chapter 18

  When Fiona was in Lighthouse Used Books one day, she’d again run into her mother’s jilted beau, Kevin Moran. She thought it was interesting that the first time she’d seen Kevin was at the library, and now she was seeing him at a bookstore. Fiona also found it intriguing that both this man and her father were book-lovers; book-lovers and Theresa’s lovers. This thought made Fiona laugh to herself and she made a mental note to repeat it to Ann.

  She suddenly remembered Ann’s request to hear a more detailed description of Kevin, so she tried to memorize his features: very light red hair that showed no signs of gray and a pleasant face that was gaunt, but with hints of the handsome young man he must have been. His very blue eyes twinkled when he spoke as though he had a good sense of humor and a happy disposition. He had pale orange eyelashes that made him look especially sweet. Fiona wondered what Theresa’s life would have been like if she’d married Kevin. Would she have been happy to stay in Fireside or would she have longed for broader horizons?

  “Hello, Fiona,” Kevin said when he saw her. “How are you enjoying your stay in Fireside?”

  She stood up from her kneeling position. She’d been examining book titles on a bottom shelf. She could happily spend an hour or more perusing the books in the store.

  She was unsure how to address him. Mr. Moran? Kevin? She skipped his name entirely and replied, “Oh, hi,” in what she hoped was a friendly voice. How awkward! She had no idea what to say to this man and yet she was intrigued by his connection to her mother. What if Theresa had never met her father and this man had been her father instead? she thought.

  Kevin seemed unruffled by her presence and smiled happily at her. The intensity of his gaze was a little unnerving, though. She figured he was comparing her to Theresa. He tilted his head to read the title of the book in Fiona’s hand. “Oh,” he commented amiably, “I see you’re following in your grandmother’s footsteps.”

  Fiona sucked in her breath. It was odd to have a conversation with a stranger who was part of her family’s history and who knew things about her mother and grandmother, probably things that Fiona herself didn’t know. “She’s teaching me how to read palms. It’s really fascinating,” she remarked.

  Kevin extended his right hand. “Can you take a look? I’ve been wondering what’s in store for me.”

  Fiona hesitated for just a second. She wanted to say, “I don’t really know what I’m doing yet,” but she was overcome with curiosity. “Let’s sit by the window.” She picked up her books from the floor. As she stood, Kevin reached out his hand to steady her.

  She led Kevin to a beat-up couch positioned at the front of the store and sat to Kevin’s right. The couch was ancient and they both sank, their knees above their hips. Fiona laughed and struggled to straighten her body so she could take h
is right hand in both of hers. She was supposed to examine and compare both the left and right hands, but since she wasn’t charging for the reading, she figured she’d give herself a break. It was awkward enough to be sitting so close to Kevin. She could smell his aftershave and she realized that he was wearing Old Spice, which her father had slapped onto his newly-shaven face every morning. Another weird coincidence to report to Ann.

  Kevin had the large hands, according to Grandma and all the books, of a calm, patient, big-hearted, and easy-going person. People with disproportionately small hands tended to be more critical and disagreeable. Fiona pressed her fingers into his palm to open it flat. His skin was warm and dry, much to her relief. Some of the clients’ palms she’d examined with Grandma Mary were damp and clammy.

  The first thing that caught Fiona’s eye was his pink, slightly raised Venus Mount, which showed a person with an appropriate amount of love and passion. A noticeably raised, protruding mount would hint at promiscuity and an overly sensual nature. Such a characteristic in Kevin wouldn’t matter to Fiona either way, unless to maybe justify Theresa’s decision to break her unofficial engagement to Kevin all those years ago.

  His knuckles were noticeably knobby, which indicated a tendency to take a very long time to make decisions. This feature, though, also made someone stick to his or her beliefs and convictions once they were formed. Fiona described this trait to Kevin (she avoided discussing his Venus Mount altogether – it was too personal.) Kevin said of his knobby fingers, “That makes sense - I do take forever to make up my mind.”

  Kevin’s Life Line swooped charismatically out into his hand before ending cleanly between the base of his thumb and the top of his wrist. It did not meander or split toward the Mount of the Moon, which reflected a desire to stay all his life in one place, near his family. It indicated a person who was a creature of habit and not particularly adventurous. “Does your family come from Fireside?” Fiona asked him.

  “My mother was born here,” he replied. “My father is dead, but my sister lives here with her husband and raised two kids here.”

  “It looks like you’ll also stick around Fireside,” Fiona reported. What she meant was: “It looks like you’ll die here,” but that was too harsh to say.

  Kevin’s Head Line dipped down and ended in his Moon Mount. The few men’s palms Fiona had seen so far had straight, logical, unimaginative Head Lines, so she felt compelled to comment on Kevin’s. “You have a strong imagination,” she reported, smiling into his sparkling eyes. “You like to read fantasy fiction.” This last bit of information popped into her head, just like Grandma Mary had promised would happen if she opened her “third eye” during a reading.

  Looking surprised, Kevin asked in a soft, awestruck voice, “Did your mother tell you that?”

  Taken aback, Fiona was unsure how to respond. It seemed to cruel to say, “My mother never mentioned you at all.” Instead, she just said, “Nope, it shows in your palm.”

  Kevin chuckled, peering at his own hand like he was seeing it for the first time.

  “You’ve stayed in the same job for a long time?” Fiona questioned. “Maybe your whole working life?” Kevin’s Fate Line shot straight and clear almost to the base of his middle finger.

  “Yup,” Kevin said. “I started at the Fireside Public Works Department during summers in high school and never left. Started out cutting grass in the parks and alongside the roads and ended up a supervisor. Now, I’m the one who tells the young guys what to do.”

  Fiona laughed along with him. He was very likeable. She could see what her mother must have seen in him all those years ago. He was a person who made other people feel comfortable. Fiona’s father, on the other hand, had been someone who tended to make other people feel slightly nervous in his presence.

  It wasn’t that her father had been mean; he just had high standards and gave off a demanding “vibe.” His wife and daughters had tended to want to keep him happy at all costs. Fiona had literally felt sick when she got any grade less than an A because he scrutinized her report cards so carefully. When she’d been dating Ted, her father had made of point of remarking on her falling grades that semester and she’d been humiliated.

  Now, Fiona was examining Kevin’s Heart Line. As if matching his Head Line, it was curvy and expressive. In a romantic relationship, Kevin would find it easy to express his emotions to his partner and to give and receive love. He would be an affectionate mate. It was sad that he had never married.

  Fiona wished she had paid attention to her mother’s palm so that she could compare Kevin’s with Theresa’s, but she had no memory of ever looking at the inside of her mother’s hand. She used to stare at the backs of Theresa’s hands while sitting in church. She was fascinated with the way her mother’s blue veins were visible under the skin. There were blue branches running to each finger. Church may have been boring, but it had been nice to have an excuse to just sit and think and stare at her mother’s hands.

  Turning Kevin’s palm a little more to the light coming from the window, Fiona spied a deeply carved “x” on his Heart Line, about an inch or so from the line’s beginning. The location of the “x” would indicate an emotional event right around Kevin’s late teens or early twenties. Fiona couldn’t believe what she was seeing; it was a painfully clear indication of heartbreak. Was it possible that Theresa had left such a distinct mark on this man’s hand?

  “What is it?” Kevin asked nervously, staring at her.

  Fiona realized that her face must have been reflecting her thoughts.

  “Oh,” she said, scrambling for something to say, “your Mercury finger is unusually long.” It actually was pretty long, so Fiona continued. “It means you’re a good communicator and very honest. Good with language, too.”

  “Like, as in writing?” Kevin asked.

  “Very possibly,” Fiona said. “Are you a writer?”

  Kevin looked thoughtful and shy at the same time. “I’ve always wanted to try and write my own fantasy series. I’m fascinated with time travel and I’ve played around with the idea of using Fireside Lake as a setting. There’d be a portal somewhere, maybe on an island, that would allow my protagonist to travel a hundred and fifty years back in time.” Kevin’s voice was soft, as if he was afraid someone would overhear. She noticed that he had a short, jagged a scar above his right eyebrow. It was like a white arrow pointing down to his eye. She found herself wishing she knew how he’d gotten it. She wondered if her mother knew.

  “That’s a great idea for a series,” Fiona enthused. “I’d read it!” She leaned forward again, further examining Kevin’s palm. She was looking for something she’d read about called The Writer’s Fork, a split at the end of someone’s Head Line. She tilted his hand toward the light and there it was: a “y” etched into the skin.

  “You’ve got it!” Fiona exclaimed excitedly. “The Writer’s Fork! See?” She pointed, and Kevin squinted.

  “Heck, yeah, I do see it,” he said softly, sounding awestruck. “So that means I’m a writer?” He was looking at Fiona like she had the power to make him one.

  “If you want to be!” she pronounced.

  “Wow.” Kevin grinned. “Whad’ya know.”

  Fiona let go of his hand and as she did, an image flashed in her mind of Kevin sitting at a desk in front of a typewriter in a room that looked like a cozy cabin. The room around him was mellow and lit by a potbelly stove in one corner, and he was typing quickly. “You can do it,” she stated simply. “It shows in your hand.”

  Kevin thanked her then said, “You’re good, Fiona. I’m going to tell people about you.” He squeezed her hand and looked at her like he could see into her soul. It felt wonderful, like he approved of what he saw.

  Fiona, relieved to have successfully given her first solo palm reading, replied softly, “That would be cool.”

  He turned to leave. “I’ve got some writing to do!” he announced, then he winked at her before opening the shop’s front door. The sleigh bells
dangling from the knob tinkled cheerfully as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. Fiona watched until he disappeared from view. She thought he looked like he had a bounce in his step, but possibly he always had a bounce in his step. His mother would know the answer to that question, too.

  Fiona paid the mellow, gray bearded store owner for her palmistry books and walked slowly home, feeling a sense of confidence and possibility about palmistry which she hadn’t been able to muster previously. She couldn’t wait to get home and tell Grandma Mary. She also wished she could tell Henry, but she couldn’t risk scaring him away from her. Henry was beginning to seem more and more like a friend and less and less like her employer.

  Chapter 19

  Dear Anny Fanny With a Bananny-

  How was your Thanksgiving? Did you have fun cooking all day with Julie? (hee hee hee.) What did Mom do? Did she hang with you and Julie? What’s going on with Jay and Karen? Did they have a second date? Did Mom make her sweet potato casserole? Every morning at breakfast I miss your muffins. I should just make a batch but I’m afraid they wouldn’t taste the same (plus Grandma does not own a muffin tin – can you believe it?) Does that mean Mom never brought cupcakes to school on her birthday?

  Henry finally took me horseback riding one Saturday after he went grocery shopping, got a haircut, then got an oil change while I watched Ryan. He walked in the door with Ginny (who had cut his hair most attractively, I might add) and surprised me by saying we were going horseback riding. I felt guilty that Ginny had to babysit, but she looked excited to see Ryan and she winked at me as Henry and I were leaving. I wanted to say “There’s nothing to wink about!” but of course I didn’t.

  We had to go to Grandma’s to get my boots and some warmer clothes and a heavier coat. Grandma was in on the surprise and she was all smiles. Then Henry and I drove for, like, forty-five minutes to his friend’s house. His friend’s name is Jim and he lives in an old farmhouse with a barn and everything. He’s really cool – he’s a carpenter and he makes cabinets for a living, but he also makes beautiful furniture for fun. You would have loved his house – there were gorgeous pieces everywhere. He seems to be single because there weren’t any feminine accents anywhere that I could see. He had just made cornbread from scratch when we arrived. Isn’t that cute? We sat and drank coffee and ate warm cornbread with butter and drizzled with maple syrup (also made by Jim) before we went riding. It’s isolated as heck where Jim lives, but it’s beautiful and peaceful.