Chapter 14

 

Sunday

 

The sparking was still great, Abby had to admit, but it didn’t solve any problems—like what to do with the rest of her time, when Ned wasn’t available. Sometimes she had to laugh at the fact that Ned had lived in this house for years without noticing a lot of things, not that he’d been tuned into the spirits of abused servant girls in the attic. Who would be? Except a few people like Jack Maguire, who had a direct connection.

But Abby had yet to figure out any pattern to who connected to who, since occurrences seemed kind of random. Ellie had inherited the ability from Ned. And Sarah had passed it on to Ned, from who knew how many ancestors. The source of Christine’s ability hadn’t been determined. And then there were a couple of plumbers who’d just walked onto the stage and moved the scenery around once again. And Danny, who was a whole new case. Of course, Abby knew there were more people like those in her close circle out there, but she was both eager and wary about looking for more.

She hadn’t seen Christine often after their initial encounter at the psychic fair. Christine hadn’t explored much of her “gift” at that point, although now she’d acknowledged it. Still, intuitively she had used that gift to ease the transition or passing or whatever you chose to call it for dying patients. Maybe it was time to talk to her again.

At breakfast Abby asked, “We have anything scheduled for today?”

“Nothing beyond chores. Why?”

“I haven’t seen Christine lately and I thought maybe the two of us could get together. You want to hang out with the guys and watch football?”

“You might have noticed that I’m not much into watching large grown men deliberately colliding with each other.”

“Apparently you’re in a minority. A lot of these guys get big salaries to do just that, which suggests that a lot of people are watching them.”

“I know. And a lot of people watched Roman gladiators get eaten by wild animals,” Ned pointed out.

“Which means what?” Abby asked.

“That people like to watch violence. Watch, not take part in.”

“I’ve always hoped that it’s a way to discharge a basic human lust for violence, without actually engaging in it. I watch, I cheer, and then I turn off the TV. I don’t go out and beat up my neighbor.”

“Whatever works for you.” Ned stood up. “I think I’m going to replace the seal on the cellar hatch before winter comes for good.”

“Sounds useful. Especially if it keeps the cellar drier.”

“When do you think we’ll hear from the Maguires?”

“I’m guessing tomorrow or Tuesday. They didn’t give us any song and dance about being booked till the New Year. Heck, they haven’t even quoted us a price. But I’m not worried, even if we’re down to one bathroom in the house.”

After Ned drained his coffee mug and went off to collect his tools, Abby stood up, stretched, and went in search of her phone. She checked her watch: nine a.m. That shouldn’t be too early to call a nurse, should it? Unless Christine kept a lot of late nights, which was quite possible. She wondered if Christine could ever turn off her phone, given how her clients could hardly plan the timing of their own deaths. She might as well try.

Christine picked up after three rings. “Abby?” she sounded surprised. “Is anything wrong?”

“No, of course not. I was thinking about you and I realized that there were still a lot of things we hadn’t talked about, after the last time we met, and I thought maybe we could have lunch or a coffee or something. You know, girl-type stuff. If you need to get some rest, that’s fine—we can do it some other time.”

Christine still seemed a little bewildered by the call, but she rallied. “No, I’m glad you called. I guess I spend so much time with people near death that I forget how to deal with the living. I would love to get together with you. When? Where?”

“Would you mind coming here? I’ve got some interesting things to tell you.”

“Okay. Noonish?”

“That works. See you later, then. And if something else comes up, I’ll understand.”

“I know you will. I’ll see you later.”

Abby hung up feeling satisfied. She hadn’t made a lot of female friends locally. First there had been Brad, long since discarded, who had demanded her full attention whenever they both had free time. Although Abby knew for a fact that some of that free time had been diverted to the lovely Shanna, which was why Brad was now an ex. Then she’d met Ned, who had directed her to Leslie. Leslie had been her boss, and that had been blown out of the water—on so many levels—once Abby had discovered Ellie’s gift or skill or ability or whatever it was. Abby hadn’t been at that job long enough to make friends among the rest of the staff. And through Ned she’d met his mother, Sarah, who was a lovely person and would count as a friend, but she was a generation older. So now she’d added Christine, who was older but not by much, and who was just coming to discover her own psychic abilities. Abby smiled: it seemed kind of unreal to get together with a friend to talk about their daily, ordinary activities—which happened to include channeling the dead. All in a day’s work.

Now, what to make for lunch? Both she and Ned were essentially uninterested in cooking, although they were happy to eat whatever was put in front of them with enthusiasm—as long as somebody else did the cooking. As a result, they seldom shopped for food, and their cupboards—and pantry and fridge—were basically bare. So Abby started improvising a soup, and she knew there was a nice loaf of bread in the freezer, and . . .

There was something resembling a meal ready when Christine rang the front doorbell. Abby had alerted Ned to expect her and told him he was welcome to join them for lunch. Christine came into the kitchen, followed by Ned. She was smiling, but she looked tired. Was it rude to ask if there were more deaths at this time of year than, say, in summer? Abby decided to hold her tongue.

They settled around the kitchen table and ate, making pleasant chat. Soup consumed, Christine finally asked, “So, do you have anything new to report?”

Abby and Ned exchanged looks. “As a matter of fact, we do,” Abby said. She and Ned proceeded to give a jumbled duet explaining their encounter with Jack and Bill Maguire, and what had happened in their attic, and how Ellie had happened to see it and respond. Which of course segued into Abby meeting Ellie’s new friend Danny at school, and the problems that autism presented, and why the mean girls had chosen to bully him and how such things could be managed, and at what level—personal? schoolwide?

“My, you have been busy!” Christine said, sounding almost jealous. “You know, you’ve been quite lucky to encounter these people spontaneously.”

“I know,” Abby admitted. “But sometimes I wonder if most people possess the ability, and these are only the ones whose force is strong.”

“Have you talked to Ellie about these things?”

“Yes, but cautiously. You have to remember she’s only eight, but she sees things far beyond her understanding. I keep wondering how we can keep Leslie in the dark about all this. I don’t want Ellie to hide things from her, but selfishly I’m afraid if Leslie knows even half of it, she’ll cut off contact between Ellie and Ned and me. Luckily Ellie’s smart and she uses good judgment.”

Christine looked down at her plate, and then back at Abby. “Do you have a plan? I know you’re still exploring the biological or physiological basis for all this, but what do you do when you find it? Are you content just to discover like-minded people by bumping into them, the way you did the Maguires?”

“I’ve been kicking around some ideas,” Abby began. “How much time do you have?”

“You’re lucky—my afternoon is free, which is kind of rare.”

“Then let me give you the bare outlines and you can tell me what you think.” Abby went on to sketch our her still-vague ideas about a school or an after-school program, realizing how flimsy they sounded even as she spoke. After maybe half an hour she ran out of steam. “So, what do you think?”

“I think you need to take a deep breath and a step back. And I think we all need more coffee,” Christine said.

Abby turned to Ned. “Would you mind making it?”

“No problem,” he told her, and stood up and filled the hotpot with water.

Abby turned back to Christine. “That bad? Am I completely off base?”

Christine was pleating her napkin in her lap. “Abby, I’m not usually the kind of person to give advice, but I’ll try. First, you’re a smart young woman with a lot of energy, and I get the feeling that you don’t have enough to keep both your mind and your body busy. You’re looking for something constructive to do that goes beyond the borders of this house. Am I right?”

“Yes. Sorry, Ned, but I am kind of bored. I love fixing things up around the house, and planning projects, and of course I love being with you, but I need something more.”

“Abby, I understand,” he said, setting the coffee carafe on the table. “I have a job, one that I created and that I love doing. But you need something for yourself, that you value, that makes you value yourself.”

“Another reason why I love you,” Abby said, smiling at him. She turned back to Christine. “And I am extraordinarily lucky that Ned has enough money not only to support the roof over our heads but also to invest in projects that might not otherwise happen. I did nothing to earn any of it, but I’d like to put the money—and my time—to good use.”

“Another gold star for you,” Christine said. “But you’re still flailing around trying to figure out what. Now, take a look at what your first ideas have in common.”

For a moment Abby wasn’t sure what Christine meant, but then it hit her. “Children.”

“Exactly. If I recall, you told me you started out as a teacher of young children. You liked it, didn’t you?”

“I loved it! I only gave it up because Brad the jerk didn’t think it was important enough to suit him. Sorry, Ned.”

He held up both hands. “Don’t apologize to me. You had the good sense to dump the guy.”

“So I did,” Abby said, cheered. “And then I, or sort of Ned and I together, found me that job at the museum, which was sort of a hybrid, but at least it got me back to teaching children.”

“So you’ve always had some empathy, a kind of connection, for young children, even though you didn’t know why, right?” Christine asked.

“I guess so. I never looked at it that way before. What do I do with it?”

Christine refilled her coffee cup. “I found my niche almost by accident, much as you have. But I think in some ways we’re a lot alike. People who are making the transition to whatever comes after life as we know it are more open to this kind of phenomenon. Oh, they’re scared, and that’s where I come in. The unknown can be terrifying, but they can hear me, even when they’re no longer able to speak, and I can give them some assurance that they don’t need to be afraid—and they’re not alone. You, Abby, seem to have an affinity for the opposite end of life: the children, who haven’t lost their openness. All of their experiences are equal, whether they’re psychic or tangible. They don’t judge yet. It’s only when the grown-ups around them tell them to stop daydreaming or making up stories that they shut it down.”

“I agree. But I can’t go around saying a psychic ‘hi’ to every child I meet, hoping there’s a connection. As you know, it’s touch that makes that connection. Their parents or minders will think I’m a pervert and have me arrested.”

“Did I say I was finished?” Christine asked with a half smile. “I think Danny’s your key. I can’t claim to know a lot about autism and how it affects children, but my general impression is that the consensus is that it’s not correlated directly with intelligence. An autistic child can have a normal intelligence, or even above normal, but there’s something wrong with how he or she interacts with the rest of the people in the world. It’s a communication problem. It may be that they’re overwhelmed by too much data all at once, but they’re born without the right filter so they shut down to protect themselves mentally. Or they may have difficulty processing that information in time to use it, so they get labeled ‘slow’ or whatever the politically correct term is these days. But if what you and Ellie have experienced with Danny is accurate, you—and probably others—have a chance to reach them, to communicate with them, and maybe to make their lives easier. What do you think?”

After a few moments, Abby said, “I think you’ve just put into words what I’ve been struggling with ever since I met Danny. He’s in there—Ellie knew it first, and I knew it when I shook his hand. But how do we find a way to help these children without being treated like loonies or witches and driven out of town?”

“That’s the tricky part,” Christine admitted. “My thumbnail response is: don’t go to the established schools, because they won’t know what to do with you. Don’t try to create your own school, because there would be too much paperwork and red tape, money issues aside, and you still wouldn’t be able to advertise what you’re doing. But you’re overlooking one possible avenue: working at an independent school for differently abled children. There are a couple of good ones right around here. You’d still have to be careful how you present yourself and what you’re offering, but you could be labeled a consultant or counselor, or a communications specialist. Will your prior teaching credentials support that?”

“I’ll bet they do,” Abby said with something like wonder. “Christine, you’re a genius! I’ll get right on that.”

“Happy to help,” Christine said. “And now that I think about it, I may have one more suggestion. I know someone who runs a small independent school about a mile from here who deals with the kind of problems you’re looking at. Maybe we could get together and talk about what might be possible for you.”

“That would be wonderful. But . . . she’s not psychic, is she?”

“No, or not that we’ve ever talked about. I might go so far as to call her intuitive. She’s not a by-the-book kind of teacher or administrator, but she’s great with the kids. I think you’d get along well, but I won’t tell her about our ability, not right away. Let me give her a call and see what I can set up, okay?”

Christine checked her watch. “Good heavens, look at the time! I have a shift at the hospice tonight, so I should go home and get some rest first. Look, you do a little homework and learn something about current teaching methods, if you haven’t already. I’ll call my friend and see if I can get you two together. And Abby? Thanks for making me part of this.”