would say next. They could feel the cold of the paranormal encounter—they were in it, all of them, along with her.
“Please, sit down. I need everyone to just stay calm. He’s here. Billy is here for you. Help me bring him through.”
Visibly shaken, angry, and confused, Jeb sat down.
Jamie was gentle: her voice was so soft, it was just more than a whisper. “He is begging you to please stop beating yourself up over the accident. He’s alive, he’s happy where he is … except for your suffering—he can’t bear to see you in the dark.” Suddenly, her voice changed into the voice of a child.
“Please forgive yourself, Daddy-o. I’m here, I’m always close to you … you just can’t see me. I love you, Champ.”
Upon hearing those words, his son’s voice coming from Jamie’s own mouth, Jeb lost it completely: all his walls came crashing downand, with them, the prison doors of his shame and guilt swung open. In front of all his peers, his boss … in front of the woman he was afraid could indeed reach him, he put his head into his hands and sobbed like a baby. It was a scene no one could have remotely imagined—never in a thousand Texan years.
If ever there had been a doubt for any of them that the soul survives death, or that some people can reach through the veil and connect the living with those who have passed over, then surely Jamie had dispelled it all. All their resistance was out the window.
Jamie Hastings was “in.”
She got up from her chair and went to Jeb to comfort him. Like a loving mother, she put her arms around his shoulders, holding him, silent, allowing all those years of pain to finally flow freely—allowing Billy to put his arms around his dad, one last time. In that intimate moment, it was as if nothing else mattered and no one else was in the room.
Overwrought with so much emotion—the guilt and his unbearable sorrow—Jeb scrambled clumsily to extract his wallet from his jacket pocket. From it, he pulled out a photo of the beautiful little boy Jamie had just seen sitting next to him, his hand shaking almost out of control. He held it up to her.
It was signed:
I love you, Champ
.
8
The Deepwater
Jamie would have very little time in San Francisco before she would have to leave again, embarking on her big adventure out at sea. She had only just returned from New Zealand, after so long away, and already she was being pulled from home again. How she had missed hanging out with her mother, going to shows together … socializing with friends. She wanted to fit back in, as much as she ever had or could, and have a personal life. Yet, as much as she longed to set down those roots, with time to dedicate to a number of important projects, including the whale foundation, she seemed to be in some way destined to a life of endless travel. She was forever being called to duty on levels she herself did not fully understand, living out of mismatched suitcases she had never learned to pack efficiently. She sighed at the thought of another flight, another journey, and more time away from the home she so loved, but never managed to enjoy—at least not for any significant stretch of time. And yet, deep down inside, she was thrilled at the prospect of being on a ship out in the Pacific, knowing something important was going to happen out there.
Something was already stirring beneath the waves.
Her mother used to say Jamie had “wanderlust” and that she would never settle down and, indeed, she never really had. The very idea of “settling” in any way, shape, or form held no appealwhatsoever. Some great relationships had come and gone, winding and bending like the path she walked, until they could no longer bend far enough to flow in the direction of her life—and then they would snap. Inevitably, the men she met and fell in love with were never able to handle the intensity of the life she needed to live, and so she walked away—time and time again—until finally she realized
“Please, sit down. I need everyone to just stay calm. He’s here. Billy is here for you. Help me bring him through.”
Visibly shaken, angry, and confused, Jeb sat down.
Jamie was gentle: her voice was so soft, it was just more than a whisper. “He is begging you to please stop beating yourself up over the accident. He’s alive, he’s happy where he is … except for your suffering—he can’t bear to see you in the dark.” Suddenly, her voice changed into the voice of a child.
“Please forgive yourself, Daddy-o. I’m here, I’m always close to you … you just can’t see me. I love you, Champ.”
Upon hearing those words, his son’s voice coming from Jamie’s own mouth, Jeb lost it completely: all his walls came crashing downand, with them, the prison doors of his shame and guilt swung open. In front of all his peers, his boss … in front of the woman he was afraid could indeed reach him, he put his head into his hands and sobbed like a baby. It was a scene no one could have remotely imagined—never in a thousand Texan years.
If ever there had been a doubt for any of them that the soul survives death, or that some people can reach through the veil and connect the living with those who have passed over, then surely Jamie had dispelled it all. All their resistance was out the window.
Jamie Hastings was “in.”
She got up from her chair and went to Jeb to comfort him. Like a loving mother, she put her arms around his shoulders, holding him, silent, allowing all those years of pain to finally flow freely—allowing Billy to put his arms around his dad, one last time. In that intimate moment, it was as if nothing else mattered and no one else was in the room.
Overwrought with so much emotion—the guilt and his unbearable sorrow—Jeb scrambled clumsily to extract his wallet from his jacket pocket. From it, he pulled out a photo of the beautiful little boy Jamie had just seen sitting next to him, his hand shaking almost out of control. He held it up to her.
It was signed:
I love you, Champ
.
8
The Deepwater
Jamie would have very little time in San Francisco before she would have to leave again, embarking on her big adventure out at sea. She had only just returned from New Zealand, after so long away, and already she was being pulled from home again. How she had missed hanging out with her mother, going to shows together … socializing with friends. She wanted to fit back in, as much as she ever had or could, and have a personal life. Yet, as much as she longed to set down those roots, with time to dedicate to a number of important projects, including the whale foundation, she seemed to be in some way destined to a life of endless travel. She was forever being called to duty on levels she herself did not fully understand, living out of mismatched suitcases she had never learned to pack efficiently. She sighed at the thought of another flight, another journey, and more time away from the home she so loved, but never managed to enjoy—at least not for any significant stretch of time. And yet, deep down inside, she was thrilled at the prospect of being on a ship out in the Pacific, knowing something important was going to happen out there.
Something was already stirring beneath the waves.
Her mother used to say Jamie had “wanderlust” and that she would never settle down and, indeed, she never really had. The very idea of “settling” in any way, shape, or form held no appealwhatsoever. Some great relationships had come and gone, winding and bending like the path she walked, until they could no longer bend far enough to flow in the direction of her life—and then they would snap. Inevitably, the men she met and fell in love with were never able to handle the intensity of the life she needed to live, and so she walked away—time and time again—until finally she realized
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