“Yes, have a good flight.”
With deliberate calm, Jason walks away, savoring the sweet taste of victory. In the event he’s being watched, he stops, and with practiced nonchalance fishes the burner he’s carrying out of his pocket, ostensibly to check his messages. He smiles when he reads a new text. “c u soon.”
CYNTHIA
I need time away after this last case, Cynthia Winters thinks. The little girl was found where I said she would be, but they were too late. She was dead. The look of devastation in her parent’s eyes was gut-wrenching. She remembers her mother telling her, “Children are their mother’s heart walking around outside her body.”
Life is hard when your heart dies before you do.
In this morning’s television interview, Cynthia said, “I recognize that it’s difficult for some people to understand what an intuitive does.”
The newscaster explained to the viewing audience, “Several law enforcement agencies use Cynthia’s skill of psychometry, a form of extra-sensory perception that allows a person to read the energy of an object.”
When asked to explain further, Cynthia says, “Every item has an energy field that can transfer knowledge about its history. As an intuitive, I can ‘see’ physical places associated with an object, in real time or the past. The detailed imagery I receive often helps law enforcement agencies to locate an item or a person.”
After an impressive on-air demonstration, the newscaster asks, “What does it feel like to be an intuitive?” Cynthia responds, “The work of an intuitive consultant can be draining. In particular, when a missing person is found dead. However, it’s rewarding when they’re alive, or when the police find the perpetrator.” She went on to say, “In addition to psychometry, I love to read people’s palms. It’s gratifying when I’m able to help someone by reading the lines on their hands.” After another on-air demonstration, this time reading the newscaster’s palm, she’s asked, “What’s next for you?”
“From here I’m catching a flight to a writing retreat in the Pacific Northwest to complete the book I’m working on.”
In the limo that takes her from the news station to the airport, Cynthia smiles as she thinks about the title of her manuscript, Guide Lines: The World in the Palm of Your Hand. Close to the end, she’s hoping to finish it while at Pines & Quill. She’s not surprised there’s a waiting list for the retreat, because she’s heard and read rave reviews about the MacCulloughs, the husband and wife team who own it.
The glowing online praise says, “Libby provides guidance for writing that authors find inspiring. She offers insightful teaching and discussion of the writing process, as well as provides feedback on participants’ writing. And she offers tai chi classes in the morning as a way to prime the writing pump.”
The many enthusiastic reviews for Niall’s cuisine agree. “He’s an incredible gourmet chef who also possesses the working knowledge of a sommelier.” One person wrote, “His food tastes like heaven!” And several people admitted to gaining weight during their month in residence because they couldn’t resist his delicious meals, desserts, and wine pairings.
I’m looking forward to the nonstop flight from Tucson to Seattle. It’s short at two hours and forty-five minutes. And I always enjoy picking up on the energy of passengers sitting near me when I fly. It’s like “people watching,” but at a much deeper level.
But there’s something else about the destination. I can’t explain it, but I feel drawn. I’ve never been to the location before, nor do I have any ties in that area, so it doesn’t make any sense. Yet the sensation is intense; it’s like I’m being summoned.
FRAN
I think it was Eleanor Roosevelt who said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Well, she was wrong, Fran Davies thinks, packing her suitcase. My ex-husband took my self-esteem. When he found out that I can’t have children, he pulled it right out from under me, just like a rug. And I fell flat on my backside and haven’t gotten up since.
Fran looked into surrogacy, but her husband said, “No.” She looked into adoption. Again, he said “no.” And that’s when he also said, “No” to her. That’s when he announced that he didn’t love her anymore and that he wanted a divorce. His disappointment in me—my infertility—trumped his love for me.
“You can have the house, the car, and the bank account,” he told her. “But you can’t have children, and that’s a deal breaker.”
“But it’s not my choice,” she cried. “This is out of my control.”
Do I hate him? No. Do I hate myself? Yes. But not for that reason. I’m angry that I’ve allowed myself to become a rigid, dried up old prune. I’m forty-one, but to look at me, you’d think I’m well into my fifties.
Upon learning that she couldn’t have children, something out of her control, Fran became obsessed with controlling things she could. Her hair, weight, and wardrobe—precise and exacting—bear evidence of a choke hold, of being beat into submission.
Some people don’t understand how hard it is for a woman to watch her friends and family members conceive and have babies, while she can’t seem to. And when the attempts to conceive fail month after month and it becomes a case of infertility, it’s even worse.
Fran thinks about being overwhelmed by failure. That’s when I started seeing a therapist, Traci Schneider, she remembers. One of the most important things Traci told me was, “Fran, while you’re dealing with infertility, you need support to help you vent your frustrations, worries, and fears.” She went on to say, “Support is key for women struggling with infertility. It’s a disease that affects a women’s core, and it can affect their relationships with family, friends, and even people at work.”
“Okay,” Fran agrees. “I’ll attend an emotional support group for infertility.”
At Fran’s first meeting, it becomes clear that the director, Maddy Shea, is a proponent of journaling. Maddy is fond of saying, “Writing your way to the heart of a
