“I’m going to go downstairs, and make you a cup of tea. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Do not try to get up on your own, please.”
As she turned away from him, he took her hand into his. Startled, she turned back to him.
“Listen, Sara-Kate, I don’t know what the hell is going on tonight. Do know that I am very grateful for your help.”
There was an intensity now in his dark eyes that wasn’t there earlier. His shock was wearing off.
“I’m glad that I could help.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Now, let me get that tea.”
As she stood in her quiet kitchen, Sara-Kate set the kettle to boil. Inside the microwave, two lavender infused wheat bags were heating. She used the time to further consider her predicament. Upstairs was a man who didn’t know he was dead. Once again, she felt a certain anger for the Fates putting her in this predicament. What had she done to upset them? What hadn’t she done? And just how would she tell Reed he died and was a living spirit, as she was? Or would he soon figure it out on his own, and if so, how would he react?
So many questions, and no answers.
She removed a china cup and saucer from a cupboard and popped in a blackberry and lemon tea sachet.
Spirit life was a certain kind of duality. Sure, you stayed young and beautiful, and humans were attracted to you like a bee to the intoxicating nectar of a flower in bloom, and they never noticed you didn’t age. You experienced the usual bumps and bruises, the occasional headache, but never any serious physical illness.
On the downside, you couldn’t allow yourself to become too deeply involved with any human. Not only because they would age and die in time, but there were rules in the spirit world against spirits and humans sharing any type of physical or romantic relationships. The lack of a physical connection to another person, even though they were human, often brought about bouts of intense sadness, sometimes bridging on anger. Spirits weren’t immune to emotional heartache or loneliness.
Sadly, someday Reed would understand this as well as she did.
With a deep sigh, Sara-Kate poured boiling water into the cup, and gently swirled the fragrant sachet with the back of a spoon. A feeling a calmness swept away the confusion in her mind. Scent had such an incredible way of soothing her. It was how she first got the idea to start a botanical candle, soap and sachet business. Others obviously thought the same, because she couldn’t keep her creations in stock.
She did have a bit of secret. Each of her lovely creations was bestowed with a dash of love and healing. With that thought, she placed her open palm above the steaming tea, and let her love and healing gifts flow from her fingertips into the cup. Afterwards, with a smile of satisfaction, she dropped an ice cube into the cup to cool the liquid within.
She removed the piping hot wheat bags from the microwave. She placed them alongside the tea cup and saucer onto a pretty tray with a linen napkin, and carefully carried it up the stairs to the guest room where Reed was now sitting up in bed.
Once again, she tried, and failed, to avert her eyes from the dark hair that covered his bare chest, and pushed down the yearning to run her fingers through his silky hair.
She forced herself to look away, and placed the tray on the bedside table. “Here you go, Reed.” She lifted a wheat bag into each hand. “These will warm you up.” She slid one bag under the covers near his feet, and the other near the side of his body. “I’ve got a nice cup of tea for you to drink, and then you can try to get some sleep.”
When she turned back to him, a perplexed look covered his pale features. Was he already figuring out that all was not the same with him any longer? She thought she would have time to prepare for this moment, and the possible onslaught of emotions from Reed that might follow.
“What is it, Reed?” she asked, as she sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m still trying to figure out what happened to me tonight, and how I ended up here.”
A small sense of relief filled her. He didn’t know...not yet. She had a bit of reprieve.
“Well, why don’t you tell me what you do know, and what you remember?”
After a moment of silence, he spoke. “I was on my way to Breezetown. I booked a room at a bed and breakfast...to get it away from everything for a few weeks. No phone, no television, no internet access. I wanted to focus on my writing in total solitude. I planned to write everything long handed as well.”
“You’re a writer?” She lifted the tea cup into her hand, and held it to his lips.
He paused to take a sip of the dark liquid. “Yes, mysteries and such. Lately, I’ve felt so...disconnected, disillusioned even, with everything and everyone.”
Little did he realize that the Fates were already preparing him for some time for a new life, she thought silently.
“Well, this is Fallen Oak. I don’t know where Breezetown is located.”
He shook his head. “I think I fell asleep behind the wheel, which is so unlike me. I’m usually so careful. I never take even a sip of alcohol before getting behind the wheel. I would never even consider taking a call, let alone texting while I’m driving, like I see so many other people doing. Yet it’s me who falls asleep, and crashes my rental car.”
No, the Fates took the wheel.
This thought
