Sure. Why don’t you go?” I said, carefully omitting use of the word “home” this time.
“I think I will,” Afi said. “There’s a can of fish chowder and a bottle of beer calling me.”
Again with the “calling” reference.
Afi started toward the coatrack and then stopped, scratching his whiskers. “Of course, the only place to get real chowder is Café Riis.”
“Where’s that?” Jack asked. I knew better.
“Holmavik, of course,” Afi said.
Jack looked at me, confused.
“In Iceland,” I mouthed.
Afi shrugged his coat over his spare shoulders and left, muttering something about Viking beer.
“Are you going to take your hat off?” Jack asked.
“No.”
He took a swipe at my head, but I was too fast for him. “I want to see it.”
“No way.” I clamped a hand on my hat.
Jack’s cell phone rang, distracting him. I listened to his brief replies: “Hello. Good. Now? I can be there in a half hour.”
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Stanley. There’s a big announcement he’s giving to his staff. He wants me to be there.”
“He didn’t say what it’s about?” I asked.
“No. Some big surprise.”
Jack was out the door so quickly I didn’t have a chance to ask him about plans for later — or who else would be present at the meeting.
With a half hour to go until meeting time, I sat at the register removing portions of my scalp with the fingernails of one hand, while flipping through
The Snow Queen
picture book. The first few pages were a prologue, something long and boring. Prologues, if you asked me, were like base coats of nail polish, not worth the time or effort. The book’s illustrations, on the other hand, were beautiful: glittery and silk-spun and all kinds of inspiring. I looked up and got spook-bumps to find Ofelia an arm’s length away. I’d heard nothing, seen nothing.
“You startled me.”
“I’m early,” was all she offered by way of reply.
I noticed the soft brown hat was tucked under her arm; her scalp had no angry lesions; and she appeared torment-free, calm even. So why did her presence now, as on that very first day in Afi’s store, fluster me?
“How do you do it?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Avoid the cap.”
“Ah.” She turned the Thomas book to face her. “My previous council were renegades in this respect.”
“Renegades?” The word itself had a nice zip to it. “In what way?”
She placed her palm flat on the book, covering the little engine’s body. “What emotion, above all, do you suppose a renegade or maverick — or however you want to term those who effect change — overcomes?”
I was taken aback.
“What is it that grips you the moment the cap appears?” Ofelia asked.
“Pain,” I blurted out.
“But is the pain manageable at first?”
“At first, yes. But, by now, I know what’s coming.” Realization dawned. “Wait, I change my answer to fear,” I said in a choky voice.
“Precisely.” She removed her hand from the book. “Such a sweet story.”
I blinked. She made it seem like she’d absorbed it as we were speaking.
“Do you know the book?”
“I do now.”
I got the willies, one stop past goose bumps on the scare train. And I wasn’t a wait-and-see kinda gal.
“Ofelia, do you have some kind of psychic ability?”
“Ah. You recognize a kindred spirit.”
Kindred? Spirit?
We were now pulling into the heebie-jeebies station. And I didn’t even want to think about a final destination. What was it with her?
“Are you talking about me?” I asked.
“Of course.” Her finger ran the length of the Thomas book’s spine, yet it was my own that felt a cold digit trail from nape to waist. “This book is a medium of sorts, right?”
A medium? Hardly. More like a small, as in a small voice that was telling me to run fast and far.
“Kat, your humor is just one of your many gifts.”
Kind of a compliment, sure, except that the only funny bits had been in my head. And the last time someone —
“I think I will,” Afi said. “There’s a can of fish chowder and a bottle of beer calling me.”
Again with the “calling” reference.
Afi started toward the coatrack and then stopped, scratching his whiskers. “Of course, the only place to get real chowder is Café Riis.”
“Where’s that?” Jack asked. I knew better.
“Holmavik, of course,” Afi said.
Jack looked at me, confused.
“In Iceland,” I mouthed.
Afi shrugged his coat over his spare shoulders and left, muttering something about Viking beer.
“Are you going to take your hat off?” Jack asked.
“No.”
He took a swipe at my head, but I was too fast for him. “I want to see it.”
“No way.” I clamped a hand on my hat.
Jack’s cell phone rang, distracting him. I listened to his brief replies: “Hello. Good. Now? I can be there in a half hour.”
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Stanley. There’s a big announcement he’s giving to his staff. He wants me to be there.”
“He didn’t say what it’s about?” I asked.
“No. Some big surprise.”
Jack was out the door so quickly I didn’t have a chance to ask him about plans for later — or who else would be present at the meeting.
With a half hour to go until meeting time, I sat at the register removing portions of my scalp with the fingernails of one hand, while flipping through
The Snow Queen
picture book. The first few pages were a prologue, something long and boring. Prologues, if you asked me, were like base coats of nail polish, not worth the time or effort. The book’s illustrations, on the other hand, were beautiful: glittery and silk-spun and all kinds of inspiring. I looked up and got spook-bumps to find Ofelia an arm’s length away. I’d heard nothing, seen nothing.
“You startled me.”
“I’m early,” was all she offered by way of reply.
I noticed the soft brown hat was tucked under her arm; her scalp had no angry lesions; and she appeared torment-free, calm even. So why did her presence now, as on that very first day in Afi’s store, fluster me?
“How do you do it?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Avoid the cap.”
“Ah.” She turned the Thomas book to face her. “My previous council were renegades in this respect.”
“Renegades?” The word itself had a nice zip to it. “In what way?”
She placed her palm flat on the book, covering the little engine’s body. “What emotion, above all, do you suppose a renegade or maverick — or however you want to term those who effect change — overcomes?”
I was taken aback.
“What is it that grips you the moment the cap appears?” Ofelia asked.
“Pain,” I blurted out.
“But is the pain manageable at first?”
“At first, yes. But, by now, I know what’s coming.” Realization dawned. “Wait, I change my answer to fear,” I said in a choky voice.
“Precisely.” She removed her hand from the book. “Such a sweet story.”
I blinked. She made it seem like she’d absorbed it as we were speaking.
“Do you know the book?”
“I do now.”
I got the willies, one stop past goose bumps on the scare train. And I wasn’t a wait-and-see kinda gal.
“Ofelia, do you have some kind of psychic ability?”
“Ah. You recognize a kindred spirit.”
Kindred? Spirit?
We were now pulling into the heebie-jeebies station. And I didn’t even want to think about a final destination. What was it with her?
“Are you talking about me?” I asked.
“Of course.” Her finger ran the length of the Thomas book’s spine, yet it was my own that felt a cold digit trail from nape to waist. “This book is a medium of sorts, right?”
A medium? Hardly. More like a small, as in a small voice that was telling me to run fast and far.
“Kat, your humor is just one of your many gifts.”
Kind of a compliment, sure, except that the only funny bits had been in my head. And the last time someone —
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