then we go and sit down.
Ebony sighs and pushes a strand of auburn-tinted hair away from her face. “Man, when I got up this morning I sure hadn't planned on any of this. I can't believe I just told you that whole story. I hope you don't mind that—”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, it's not easy to hear, but I do appreciate knowing what happened. I had wondered…”
“I would've if I were you.” ft
I take a sip of my soda and try to decide where to begin.
“I'm surprised that you even knew I was handling Kayla's case. It was transferred to me from Detective Ramsay only late yesterday. He leaves on Friday for two weeks' vacation. How did you hear I had it?”
“I didn't.”
She nods as she squeezes a wedge of lemon into her iced tea. “I remember your dad saying that you were gifted, Samantha. He told me that you and your grandmother had some things in common.”
“Grandma McGregor?”
Ebony nods.
“She died a couple years ago.”
“I'm sorry.”
“She lived in Boston, and I didn't really know her very well. But I do remember Dad saying that I was like her. Of course, I thought that was pretty weird at the time. I mean, when you're just a kid and your dad tells you that you're like this old lady who's like seventysome-thing…well, you don't know how to respond.”
Ebony chuckles. “Don't worry; he meant it as a compliment. His mother was a strong Christian woman with a gift for…you know, for seeing things. Your dad seemed to think that maybe you had it too.”
I blink in surprise. “I didn't know that—I mean, about Grandma McGregor.”
She nods. That's what he told me. He had hoped you'd get to spend some time with her.”
“I wish I'd gotten the chance.” I shake my head. “I just never knew.”
There's a quiet lull in our conversation now. So much to process, so much to take in. I study Ebony for a moment. It's weird, but in some ways she seems like a long-lost friend or a relative, and I'm so thankful that I'm getting to spend some time with her. But then just as our sandwiches are delivered, I remember the real reason I'm here.
“Mind if I ask a blessing?” she says.
“Not at all.” I smile and bow my head as she says a quick but sincere-sounding prayer. Then I echo, “Amen.”
“So what about Kayla?” She picks up her pickle spear, holding it like a torch. “What do you know, Samantha?”
“I was worried that what I have to say will sound really bizarre. But based on what you know about me, what you heard from my dad, well, maybe you'll understand.”
“Go ahead,” she says.
And so I do. But even as I tell her these strange things, and even as I go back to the notebook where I've been jotting them down—as if I might forget them, which seems absurd—I think it must sound pretty incredible. And my guess is that the other detective, the one who is going on vacation tomorrow, might've laughed or dismissed me as a lunatic. Finally I think I've pretty much said it all. “Pretty freaky, huh?”
She presses her lips together and slowly nods. “You've barely touched your sandwich, Samantha. Why don't you eat while I make some notes and write down questions about some of the things you just told me?”
So I take a break and begin eating my sandwich. I try not to stare as she jots stuff down. Finally I'm done, and I'm dying to hear her reaction. I mean, I doubt that she thinks I'm seriously crazy, but she might have some concerns.
“What do you think?” I ask her as I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “I should warn you that my mom sent me to a shrink last year. And I'd be worried about telling her any of this…for fear she'd send me back again.”
Ebony nods. “I can understand that.'”
“Do you think I'm nuts?”
“No. I think you're gifted, Samantha.”
“So, do you think this is real? Is it possible that God is trying to tell me something about Kayla? That she's really in trouble? Like my dream last night…do you think someone is holding her against
Ebony sighs and pushes a strand of auburn-tinted hair away from her face. “Man, when I got up this morning I sure hadn't planned on any of this. I can't believe I just told you that whole story. I hope you don't mind that—”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, it's not easy to hear, but I do appreciate knowing what happened. I had wondered…”
“I would've if I were you.” ft
I take a sip of my soda and try to decide where to begin.
“I'm surprised that you even knew I was handling Kayla's case. It was transferred to me from Detective Ramsay only late yesterday. He leaves on Friday for two weeks' vacation. How did you hear I had it?”
“I didn't.”
She nods as she squeezes a wedge of lemon into her iced tea. “I remember your dad saying that you were gifted, Samantha. He told me that you and your grandmother had some things in common.”
“Grandma McGregor?”
Ebony nods.
“She died a couple years ago.”
“I'm sorry.”
“She lived in Boston, and I didn't really know her very well. But I do remember Dad saying that I was like her. Of course, I thought that was pretty weird at the time. I mean, when you're just a kid and your dad tells you that you're like this old lady who's like seventysome-thing…well, you don't know how to respond.”
Ebony chuckles. “Don't worry; he meant it as a compliment. His mother was a strong Christian woman with a gift for…you know, for seeing things. Your dad seemed to think that maybe you had it too.”
I blink in surprise. “I didn't know that—I mean, about Grandma McGregor.”
She nods. That's what he told me. He had hoped you'd get to spend some time with her.”
“I wish I'd gotten the chance.” I shake my head. “I just never knew.”
There's a quiet lull in our conversation now. So much to process, so much to take in. I study Ebony for a moment. It's weird, but in some ways she seems like a long-lost friend or a relative, and I'm so thankful that I'm getting to spend some time with her. But then just as our sandwiches are delivered, I remember the real reason I'm here.
“Mind if I ask a blessing?” she says.
“Not at all.” I smile and bow my head as she says a quick but sincere-sounding prayer. Then I echo, “Amen.”
“So what about Kayla?” She picks up her pickle spear, holding it like a torch. “What do you know, Samantha?”
“I was worried that what I have to say will sound really bizarre. But based on what you know about me, what you heard from my dad, well, maybe you'll understand.”
“Go ahead,” she says.
And so I do. But even as I tell her these strange things, and even as I go back to the notebook where I've been jotting them down—as if I might forget them, which seems absurd—I think it must sound pretty incredible. And my guess is that the other detective, the one who is going on vacation tomorrow, might've laughed or dismissed me as a lunatic. Finally I think I've pretty much said it all. “Pretty freaky, huh?”
She presses her lips together and slowly nods. “You've barely touched your sandwich, Samantha. Why don't you eat while I make some notes and write down questions about some of the things you just told me?”
So I take a break and begin eating my sandwich. I try not to stare as she jots stuff down. Finally I'm done, and I'm dying to hear her reaction. I mean, I doubt that she thinks I'm seriously crazy, but she might have some concerns.
“What do you think?” I ask her as I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “I should warn you that my mom sent me to a shrink last year. And I'd be worried about telling her any of this…for fear she'd send me back again.”
Ebony nods. “I can understand that.'”
“Do you think I'm nuts?”
“No. I think you're gifted, Samantha.”
“So, do you think this is real? Is it possible that God is trying to tell me something about Kayla? That she's really in trouble? Like my dream last night…do you think someone is holding her against
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