Fog Heart by Thomas Tessier

had seeped out of him. He felt bewildered. He had expected some pudgy, middle-aged pudding of a woman, not this tasty little nymph all decked out to wow the boys at the mall and give dirty old men like himself warm and liquid dreams.
    â€˜How much does it cost?’
    Oona instantly looked disappointed in him.
    â€˜If you want to make a gift, you may,’ Rosalind said. ‘But it’s not expected or required. This is not a business.’
    â€˜You have to invest yourself in it,’ Oona added. ‘Money is of no consequence in these matters.’ She came around the coffee table, and stood closer to him. She smiled forgivingly. ‘I know what you’re thinking about me, and I have a fair idea what you’re going through over your daughter. You’re not ready, but you will be soon. Come back and see me then.’
    â€˜Maybe,’ Charley said, his voice dry.
    â€˜You must,’ Oona told him, as she turned and started to leave the room. ‘I’m the only one who can help you.’

8
    The interval didn’t last. After Carrie met Scott Crawford, she decided to wait a day or two before doing anything, to think about it some more. She wasn’t sure quite what to make of him. Crawford believed in parapsychology and the paranormal, he took Carrie seriously, and he had been helpful. But he’d also tried to discourage her.
    He was probably right. You could get your hopes up too high and spend a lot of money for nothing. It could turn into an unhealthy obsession, an endless quest that never pans out. Scott wanted her to understand that. Fair enough.
    The suggestion that these experiences could have their roots in a personal matter, that it could all be in her head, still bothered Carrie. It had to mean some sexual problem between her and Oliver or, even less likely, something between her and Daddy dating back to childhood.
    Carrie could understand why Crawford considered this angle, but it was wrong. It had no basis in fact, so it could not be an explanation for the apparitions she’d witnessed. Her father was a fine and honourable man who had never done anything improper in his diplomatic career, let alone with Carrie. And as far as her marriage was concerned, she decided to confront Oliver about it. Just to make sure.
    â€˜What was that?’ He was reading And England’s Dreaming. He peered at her over the top of the book.
    â€˜Is there anything bothering you?’ she repeated.
    â€˜No, not at all.’
    â€˜Are you sure?’
    â€˜Positive. Why do you ask?’
    â€˜Is there anything you’re not telling me?’
    â€˜Oh, lots. My other wife in Cleveland, the secret jobs I do for the CIA. But nothing important, no.’
    Carrie smiled. ‘And you’re happy with our marriage?’
    â€˜Yes, of course I am.’
    â€˜Our relationship? The sex is still good for you?’
    â€˜You’re terrific, love, you really are.’ He placed the open book flat on his chest. ‘What’s this all about anyway?’
    â€˜I just needed to hear it.’
    â€˜Something’s bothering you. ’
    â€˜Not really. It’s just that thing with my father, you know, and it got me wondering about me, and you, and I wanted to be sure there wasn’t some problem we need to face.’
    â€˜It says here there isn’t.’
    She felt a little better. ‘Same here.’
    Maybe Scott Crawford was right. Maybe it was just a one-off thing that had happened to her. Two-off, to be exact. It had lasted less than ten seconds, combined. Maybe that was all there was to it, over and done with. One of those things, odd and mysterious, but ultimately meaningless.
    So Carrie decided to hold off on consulting that woman up in Connecticut. A day. Two. The interval went on. Oliver seemed more attentive and considerate but without making her feel as if she were some kind of a mental patient who required special care. They had a wonderful