knowing when I was going to suggest
a walk before the thought actually entered my mind.
We went downstairs and I grabbed his leash from the hook in the hallway. My mother’s door was still closed, though I could
hear voices now. What was going on in there? Nobody ever showed up for a session without a car. Maybe they’d taken a taxi?
Max pulled me gently toward the door. Jac brushed past me, bent to kiss Max on the nose, and opened the door, bounding lightly
down the steps to the walkway. Max and I followed, almost colliding with Jac, who had come to a dead stop where the sidewalk
began.
“Cripes, Maestra, make up your mind—are you running or standing still?”
Jac said nothing. I felt her stiffen, or more like I sensed her energy freezing. She was staring down the street in the direction
of Julius’s stop sign.
“Don’t tell me you actually see something,” I said cheerfully. “Just because you’ve quit the cello doesn’t mean you can start
seeing ghosts. That’s my unique brand of insanity. Jac?”
She wasn’t smiling. Looking down the street in the direction of her gaze, I immediately realized why.
A car was approaching. I could see the driver’s face—Jac’s mother. The car pulled up alongside our driveway. The door opened,
and Jac’s mother stepped out of the car. She was thin and red-haired like Jac, but much taller. She was dressed in her usual
conservative fashion: khaki pants, a pale pink oxford shirt, and a sweater draped over her shoulders. Pearls. Espadrille shoes.
Her face was white, frozen, and her expression was one of silent and dangerous anger.
“Get in the car, Jackie,” she said in a low voice.
“Hi, Mrs. Gray—Jac’s actually partnering with me on the basic communications project. We’re doing a mixed media history of
that —”
“Get in the car now,” Jac’s mother repeated. It was as if I hadn’t spoken. It was as if I wasn’t standing there at all.
There was this moment when everything was frozen. Nobody spoke. Even Max didn’t seem to be breathing. Anything could have
happened. I braced myself for an explosion.
But what happened next was the last thing I expected.
Without a word, Jac climbed into the back of the car.
Seconds later, Jac’s mother started the ignition, and they sped off down the street. Jac’s face, small and white, peered out
the rear window at me. I stood there, speechless. It was absolutely quiet, like the world was trying to adjust to what had
just happened. The silence was interrupted by the sound of my front door closing. I turned around to look.
Someone was coming out of my house.
Chapter 9
It was the shaggy-haired man that I’d stalked with my camera.
We stared at each other. His face was pleasant and open, lips turned up in a smile that accentuated the lines on his face.
I don’t know what my expression said. What I was thinking was—
What in the world was that guy doing in my mother’s office? A guy? A . . . somewhat hot guy?
My father left Mom and me abruptly three years ago. You hear a lot about a thing called a “mid-life crisis,” and it sounds
totally hokey. But I’m here to tell you it is real. There’s just no other excuse for what he did to us. My father was really
different than my mom. He didn’t believe in God, let alone spirit guides and trans-dimensional communication. But I guess
they cared about each other. Once. They had fun. Until they stopped having fun. And the mid-life crisis started.
First it was an earring. My father, who worked for an accounting firm and was pretty much a suit-and-tie guy, came home with
a silver stud in his ear. Mom and I thought it was great. Then he started running every morning. Lifting weights. Went to
a tanning salon. Bought a motorcycle. That was about the time he started working late. And even though he seemed to be totally
indulging his every whim and desire (it was a very big motorcycle), he went to my mom one day and told her he
a walk before the thought actually entered my mind.
We went downstairs and I grabbed his leash from the hook in the hallway. My mother’s door was still closed, though I could
hear voices now. What was going on in there? Nobody ever showed up for a session without a car. Maybe they’d taken a taxi?
Max pulled me gently toward the door. Jac brushed past me, bent to kiss Max on the nose, and opened the door, bounding lightly
down the steps to the walkway. Max and I followed, almost colliding with Jac, who had come to a dead stop where the sidewalk
began.
“Cripes, Maestra, make up your mind—are you running or standing still?”
Jac said nothing. I felt her stiffen, or more like I sensed her energy freezing. She was staring down the street in the direction
of Julius’s stop sign.
“Don’t tell me you actually see something,” I said cheerfully. “Just because you’ve quit the cello doesn’t mean you can start
seeing ghosts. That’s my unique brand of insanity. Jac?”
She wasn’t smiling. Looking down the street in the direction of her gaze, I immediately realized why.
A car was approaching. I could see the driver’s face—Jac’s mother. The car pulled up alongside our driveway. The door opened,
and Jac’s mother stepped out of the car. She was thin and red-haired like Jac, but much taller. She was dressed in her usual
conservative fashion: khaki pants, a pale pink oxford shirt, and a sweater draped over her shoulders. Pearls. Espadrille shoes.
Her face was white, frozen, and her expression was one of silent and dangerous anger.
“Get in the car, Jackie,” she said in a low voice.
“Hi, Mrs. Gray—Jac’s actually partnering with me on the basic communications project. We’re doing a mixed media history of
that —”
“Get in the car now,” Jac’s mother repeated. It was as if I hadn’t spoken. It was as if I wasn’t standing there at all.
There was this moment when everything was frozen. Nobody spoke. Even Max didn’t seem to be breathing. Anything could have
happened. I braced myself for an explosion.
But what happened next was the last thing I expected.
Without a word, Jac climbed into the back of the car.
Seconds later, Jac’s mother started the ignition, and they sped off down the street. Jac’s face, small and white, peered out
the rear window at me. I stood there, speechless. It was absolutely quiet, like the world was trying to adjust to what had
just happened. The silence was interrupted by the sound of my front door closing. I turned around to look.
Someone was coming out of my house.
Chapter 9
It was the shaggy-haired man that I’d stalked with my camera.
We stared at each other. His face was pleasant and open, lips turned up in a smile that accentuated the lines on his face.
I don’t know what my expression said. What I was thinking was—
What in the world was that guy doing in my mother’s office? A guy? A . . . somewhat hot guy?
My father left Mom and me abruptly three years ago. You hear a lot about a thing called a “mid-life crisis,” and it sounds
totally hokey. But I’m here to tell you it is real. There’s just no other excuse for what he did to us. My father was really
different than my mom. He didn’t believe in God, let alone spirit guides and trans-dimensional communication. But I guess
they cared about each other. Once. They had fun. Until they stopped having fun. And the mid-life crisis started.
First it was an earring. My father, who worked for an accounting firm and was pretty much a suit-and-tie guy, came home with
a silver stud in his ear. Mom and I thought it was great. Then he started running every morning. Lifting weights. Went to
a tanning salon. Bought a motorcycle. That was about the time he started working late. And even though he seemed to be totally
indulging his every whim and desire (it was a very big motorcycle), he went to my mom one day and told her he
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