Diomedes' Dilemma

 

“Oh.”

Writer Lady shifts under her blankets.

“Ooh.”

She moves on to her back just as she begins dreaming a rag tag group of cat burglars have shuffled up the hall and entered her bedroom.

A voice says, “I’m sorry Sir. This just isn’t working. Oh.”

Writer Lady realizes she knows the voice calling out in pain. “Diomedes?” She calls as she opens her eyes. Reaching out she turns on the bedroom light. Her eyes adjust to the sudden burst of light, then focus to reveal the identities of the figures standing at the foot of her bed. Dobby, Ray, TP floating in the air above Dobby’s head and Diomedes. “Diomedes are you in pain?”

The seven foot dragon shakes his large head. “I am.”

“What’s wrong? Has House been refusing to raise her ceiling for you when you enter a room again?”

“No, not at all. House has always been thoughtful and accommodating.” He responds.

“Is it your stomach again?” She asks recalling the Stomach Bug Incident of 2015.

“No.” He responds. “It’s my...it’s my.” The dragon turns a soft blushing pink color. “It’s my wings. They appear to be stuck.”

Writer Lady sits up, propping her bed pillows in front of her headboard, she leans her back against them. “You have wings?” She asks.

“Yes Mi’lady. I use them only for flight.”

Writer Lady tries to imagine a set of wings that would keep Diomedes in flight.

“Considering my size and weight as you can imagine my wings are quite large.” He explains. “Mi’lady, you look perplexed. Do you not believe me?”

Writer Lady gets out of bed and approaches her very early morning visitors. She looks at Diomedes. “Of course I believe you. It’s just, I’ve never seen anything that indicates you have wings.” She walks behind the group, studying Diomedes closely. “There’s nothing laying against your back. Even if the wings are not extended shouldn’t we be able to see them?”

“No Ma’am. I am not descended from one of your Earth dragons, I was born in Faerie. Being from Faerie I have the ability to store them underneath my scales.”

“He keeps them inside. Deep inside.” TP adds.

“May I?” She asks.

“Yes.” The dragon responds.

Reaching out, Writer Lady lifts the edge of one of Diomedes’ scales and sees nothing but skin. “There’s nothing here.”

“Be most assured Mi’lady, they are definitely there.”

“How can we help you?” She asks. “Do you need more space? House…”

Creaking can be heard as House begins rearranging the dimensions of the room.

“It’s not that simple Mom.” Dobby says.

“You can stop moving House.”

The ginger tabby looks at Writer Lady, “Diomedes has kept his wings tucked in for so long, they’re stuck.”

“How stuck?”

“We’ve been trying for hours. They just won’t come out.” Ray says.

“What if we give him a back rub?” She asks.

“That was what we did during the first two hours.” Dobby says.

“Hot bath or shower?”

“We couldn’t get it under his scales.”

“What if we applied heat to the area?”

“We were talking about that. Diomedes says humans don’t have anything that can put out that kind of heat Mom. But TP has an idea.”

“I’m sure he does.”Writer Lady says. “What’s the catch?”

TP flutters around Diomedes pretending to be tuned out of the conversation. He attempts to appear innocent. The faerie looks up and stares at her like she’s speaking Bocce.

“There’s no catch.” The ginger tabby counters.

“It’s TP. When TP’s involved there’s always a catch.”

“Lil’ Dude says Diomedes needs sunlight to loosen his muscles, once they’re loose he can jump start them again.”

Writer Lady rubs her face. “It’s two am there isn’t much sun right now.”

“We need to take him outside tomorrow Mom, at midday.”

“High Noon!” TP giggles.

Writer Lady looks from Ray to TP to Dobby then to Diomedes. She reaches up and pats Diomedes as reassuringly as possible on a front leg or is it the arm? Putting on her robe she leaves the room. Entering the kitchen, she fills the kettle with water and prepares a cup for tea. “What a mess.” She mutters.

“It’s not all that bad.” A voice says from behind. Writer Lady turns to find Tinkletoes at the table perusing a newspaper. A coffee mug sits on the table next to him at the ready.

“What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep, decided to come over.”

“The mug?”

“Thought I’d bring it with me. Wanted to beat the morning rush.”

Writer Lady gestures to the empty kitchen. “The line is so long. How will you ever manage?”

“You?” The self-claimed mercenary asks.

“My bedroom is... crowded.”

Tinkletoes nods. “That thing with Diomedes? Dobby said they were going to ask you for help.”

Writer Lady turns her attention away from her cup. She looks at Tinkletoes.

“He’s been having a problem for a while now. Poor guy.”

The kettle sings. She turns off the flame and pours the boiling water into her cup. Returning the kettle back to its resting place on the burner she asks, “If this has been going on for a while why didn’t someone say something?”

Tinkletoes shrugs. “It seemed like a simple problem. Diomedes kinda looks up to you, he didn’t want to bother his creator if he didn’t have to.” He turns a newspaper page. “TP says he has a plan.”

“TP and his plans.” Writer Lady says as she fiddles with the string on her tea bag. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“You’re not supposed to do that.” Tinkletoes says. The self-proclaimed mercenary steps over to Writer Lady and her cup. Taking charge of the string he picks up the spoon she left resting on the counter, he lowers the tea bag into the cup and sets the bowl of the spoon on the bag weighing it down. “That’s how to brew a cup of tea. TP thinks if we get Diomedes out into the sun when it’s at its brightest his muscles will loosen up. When the outer edges of the wings become accessible we can pull them out. TP will give the wings a boost of magic, Diomedes can take flight and everything’ll be okay again.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. She is not convinced.

“He says if we put sunblock on Diomedes’ back he can enchant the lotion to pull in the energy from the sun’s rays instead of blocking it out. As far as plans go it sounds pretty solid.” Tinkletoes says turning back to his seat and the newspaper.

“You think we can take a seven foot dragon that changes colors like some big ol’ mood ring, traipse him out where everyone in the neighborhood can see him, get his wings extended, and allow him to take flight without any of the other humans freaking out?”

“Wont’ be a problem.” The self-proclaimed mercenary says pointing to the paper in front of him. “This weekend is the Summer Lovin’ Festival. The streets are going to be full of people dressed up like hippies. They’ll be so busy dancing in the street to “Gimme Some Lovin’” by the Spencer Davis Group that no one will notice a thing.”

Exploring The Farm With A Hound Dog As Your Guide

 

TP points his stick at the screen door. It opens wide. Accepting the universal sign for “Let’s Play,” the hound dog runs over the threshold, crosses the small porch, and jumps over the steps skipping them completely. Landing on the grass she takes off at full throttle. Veering to the right she runs across the gravel drive stopping under a tree in front of the house.

“Whoa...whoa…” the faerie calls hanging on to the ends of the hound’s ears. TP’s body is stretched out full length like a water skier who’s lost his skis. TP lets go when the hound comes to a sudden and abrupt halt. His furry guide lays down oblivious to her responsibilities.

TP studies her for a moment. He flutters down, picks up an ear and tugs. “Come on doggy, time to go.”

The dog ignores him. She closes her eyes, turns her face to the sun and opens her mouth, her tongue rolls out to rest across the edge of her open mouth.

TP flies around to her eye and knocks on her forehead. The eye opens. He points to himself. “TP great explorer. You, my lady, are my trusted guide.”

The bloodhound mix looks at the faerie. Her tongue reaches up, she wipes down the faerie with doggy slobbers in acknowledgment.

Retrieving a kerchief from his pocket the faerie wipes down his face. “Farms are messy.” He looks back into the eye. “Exploring is fun. Don’t you want to play?” He asks.

Something rustles in the bush behind them. The faerie hears a rush of paws on the ground and flies up across the grass, then along a porch, stopping at the opposite edge of it well out of the feline’s reach. He looks down at a white cat with black and brown spots. “No touchy touchy. Bad kitty.”

The cat studies the faerie. She sits down in front of him to patiently await her next opportunity. A second cat wanders into the yard. It stops to wash its back leg a few feet from the dog who rolls on to her stomach then takes off after it, chasing both cats away from TP and the house.

“Belle!”

TP hears someone calling.

“Belle.” A few seconds later the call is repeated. “Belle!”

The yard grows quiet.

The dog returns just as TP is settling himself on the header of the porch next to an abandoned nest to have a think. Faeries tend to act quickly, relying on instinct, thinking is unusual for them. Faeries must take great care when doing so.

The hound looks up at the faerie, she barks joyfully.

TP floats down and looks at his less than reliable guide. “Ready to go now?” He asks.

“Woof!”

TP looks at the dog’s smile, her lolling tongue and wagging tail. He hears an engine rumble, it grows louder then grows more quiet, three sets of hooves gallop nearby, a strange clackety clacking noise can be heard coming from further away. Somewhere in between is the sound of shots being fired. TP wonders if Tinkletoes followed Writer Lady out to the country and has gotten himself lost. The faerie closes his eyes and uses his energy to search for traces of Faerie hidden deep within the self-proclaimed mercenary’s bloodline but feels nothing.

The sound of the rumbling engine travels further away. The faerie hears a voice call out, “Wait. Wait. Stop!” Both TP and the dog look in the direction of the sound then look at each other.

“Belle? Belle!”

The yard falls silent.

“Where is that dog when I need her? Belle come chase these cats out of the orchard!”
“Belle.” TP says looking at the hound dog. “Is that what they call you?”

“Woof.”

“It seems you are being paged good lady, called to the exact place TP wants to be.” The faerie takes a seat on the dog’s collar. Taking hold of the tips of her ears, TP calls, “To the orchard. Tallyho!”

“Woof!”

Belle takes off, turning right to circle back in the opposite direction. The dog runs straight into an empty field.

TP hangs on with both hands as his legs stretch out behind him. Belle’s shoulders rise and fall as the dog runs over the uneven ground bouncing the faerie up and down against her back.

“My…my...la-dy...slow...down.”

Belle keeps running. Eyes wide, tongue lolling. She smells something and slows down stopping to sniff the ground.

TP hangs on to one ear with both hands. He breathes a sigh of relief as he hangs over the ground watching the dog sniff.

Belle continues her trek moving at a slower pace, TP’s body bouncing against her, the dog increases speed when she catches a scent then stops to investigate the scent.

“TP said, ‘Orchard.’ This doesn’t look like an or-chard.” The faerie sings.

Belle runs into a stand of trees, startling a wild turkey. The bird takes off flying in a low crooked path as she barks after it.

“You did all that work to scare an ugly bird?” TP asks.

“Woof!”

“TP will send Belle an ogre to chase. Ogres are uglier but way more interesting.”

“Woof! Woof!”

Seeing an orchard was more of a challenge than the faerie anticipated. Using the ear as a safety rope, the faerie climbs the dog’s body and settles himself back on to her collar. Belle liked finding things, perhaps an orchard is too big. The faerie decided to simplify it. “Can you find Writer Lady?”

The dog did not answer, she just ran in the direction of the house with a winded faerie bouncing against her collar. Seeing Writer Lady’s car in the drive, TP let go, flying alongside the farm dog. Belle ran directly to Writer Lady without stopping who greets her, giving the dog a hug and a treat.

“Here she is. Good girl.”

Thunder rolls in the distance as the sky grows dark above.

“You’d better get going. This storm is going to hit any minute.” Writer Lady's mother says.

Writer Lady nods.

TP flies into her bag as she unlocks the car.

TP is still dry when he and Writer Lady cross House’s threshold. Blowing rain has coated Writer Lady’s hair and clothes with water. She tiptoes through the kitchen only to be stopped in the living room.

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady as he pauses his game controller, “What’s going on? Is it rainin’ or something?”

“Why are you playing games in here? There’s a huge set up in Dobby’s room.”

“You weren’t here. We thought it would be fun to go old school.”

Writer Lady continues to her bedroom, tripping on a cord, she rights herself before she can fall. “How thoughtful of you.”

“Yep.”

Writer Lady enters the hallway off of the living room grumbling.

TP pops into the living room as she exits it.

Tinkletoes turns to TP, “So what’s out there? What did you see?”

“A house, trees, a yard. Animals. A dog named Belle.”

“Was there any funny stuff going on?”

TP looks at Tinkletoes and shakes his head.

“Were there any, you know, men?"

The faerie shakes his head.

Tinkletoes lowers his voice, "Monitor Man?"

 Writer Lady’s voice calls from the other side of House. “Monitor Man is not here! Let that shit go!”

“How does she did she do that?”

“You have a really big mouth!”

“She just rolled her eyes didn’t she?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” House teases.

TP mutters, "Humans."

Dylan looks at TP, "Grown-ups are exhausting. Wanna play?"

TP'S SECRET MISSION

 

“You can’t go to your mom’s today.” Tinkletoes says. He watches as Writer Lady assembles a box of freshly baked triple chocolate cupcakes decorated with dark chocolate frosting and miniature bunny sprinkles.

“Yes I can.” Writer Lady responds. “It’s spring. There's a lot of work on the farm this time of year. She needs help. Why wouldn’t I go?” She asks.

“Because it’s spring here too. It’s busy and I…” the self-proclaimed mercenary says as he gestures to Carp, Ray, Diomedes etc… “...we have a lot going on. There won’t be anything for us to eat.”

“Aunt Purdy has taken charge of the kitchen today. You’ll be well fed.”

He shifts his stance before making another attempt at getting custody of the cupcakes. “You’re always going out there on the weekends, holidays too. It’s not very nice the way you keep leaving your cats here.”

Writer Lady gestures to the crowded living room, “There's work that needs to be done at the farm. Even if that wasn’t the case if you take into consideration the fact that many of my friends are not of this dimension, I can’t exactly invite my mother here. If she were to see Furnatche, Diomedes or Daemon...Mom would, well, it wouldn’t be a good thing.” She shakes her head. “Besides, Dobby and I have an agreement. We have cuddle time when I get home and he doesn’t have to go to Grandma’s. Dobby and the kittens don’t like road trips.”

“What about? Maybe someone else would like to go with you.”

Writer Lady looks around the house. Everyone is rifling through snacks or playing video games. The sound of cabinets opening and closing can be heard as Aunt Purdy works in the kitchen. Writer Lady hears Paige remind Ray, yet again, that when he’s eaten all the cheese puffs there are no more until someone goes to the store and he should pace himself. “Like who?”

“Like, well, I don’t know...me.” Tinkletoes responds.

Writer Lady shakes her head. “After The Ninja-Zombie War we set up rules regarding your presence in my life. What’s the first rule?’

“Something dumb like I’m never to be seen in public with you.”

“It sounds dumb to you. There’s a reason I made that rule. I made that rule because you make messes. You not only break things, you destroy them. This is a small town, if we’re together when you make a big mess or destroy something people assume that I participated as well or worse...that we’re a couple." Writer Lady thinks for a minute, "Why would you want to go with me, I thought you had plans, maneuvers or war games or whatever it is that you do.”

“Our outdoor survival weekend had to be canceled. Too much rain. Everything’s turned to mud. There’s nothing solid to pitch a tent to. If I go out to the farm with you I could do some scouting in new territory. Show Carp a thing or two.”

“No.”

Tinkletoes opens his mouth.

“No.” Writer Lady repeats before she leaves the room.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

“You don’t understand why she won’t be seen with you?” Carp asks.

Tinkletoes looks at Carp. “No. What’s her problem?”

“Well, you’re loud, obnoxious, selfish, uncouth. When you aren’t acting that way you break stuff.”

“Do not.”

“Correction. You blow things up. When you aren’t blowing things up you make a mess.”

“Name one time.” Tinkletoes says, challenging the assassin-in-training.

“The time her sheds were shot apart.”

“That wasn’t me. It was the old man.”

“Who invited him over to do MAN things?” Carp asked.

“That might have been a little bit me.”

“Who used her unmentionables for homemade experiments?”

“That was a while ago and I replaced them.”

“Going to the store and crying in the feminine napkins aisle because you find it confusing until you’re escorted from the store doesn’t count.”

“I’m a guy! It's confusing!”

“The Ninja-Zombie War.” Carp says looking at Tinkletoes with a raised brow.

“We won that.”

“You let thousands of Ninja-Zombies into the main hall of the convention center when there were only two people to defend it. Writer Lady and Monitor Man were nearly killed.”

“We won that. They didn’t die because I showed up with reinforcements...and explosives.”

“They had a solid plan before you got there.”

Tinkletoes’ eyes grow dark. His jaw tightens. “Monitor Man started it. If that pretty boy hadn’t of pissed off the ninja-zombies and gotten himself kidnapped none of it would have happened.”

Carp rolls his eyes. “You're a big obnoxious gorilla who throws food at people and wonders why they don’t stop at his enclosure to say hello.”

“Poop.” Writer Lady says as she walks through the room. “He’s like a gorilla who throws his poop.” She picks up her bag, then her tote, followed by the box of cupcakes. “I’m going. Have a nice day. See you tonight.”

Ray stops her on her way through the kitchen, “Dude...can you pick up some cheese puffs on the way home?” He asks.

“The store is closed today. We can pick some more up tomorrow.”

Ray nods.

“She keeps too many secrets.” Tinkletoes says as he watches Writer Lady and Ray’s exchange.

Carp rolls his eyes, “She does not keep secrets. She just knows better than to include you.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary watches as Writer Lady gets closer and closer to the door. Tinkletoes looks at TP then jerks his head in Writer Lady’s direction. The faerie nods. A giggle escapes as he disappears. Within seconds there is a faerie sized lump in Writer Lady’s tote bag. TP’s head slowly rises over the bag’s edge. He waves good-bye to Tinkletoes and Carp as Writer Lady walks out the door.

Writer Lady and Dobby Cat’s Grandma’s voices fade as they go outside to do things in something called an orchard. Her tote is left hanging on a hook just inside the door. TP can still smell the cupcakes that have been left sitting on a shelf above him.

“New place, sights and smells. Cupcakes right where TP can get them. Silly human.” TP is deciding whether discovering what an orchard is like or if eating a cupcake is a better option when he hears the sound of something moving from deeper inside the house. The sound grows louder. He flies up and peers over the edge of the bag. He discovers a large wet nose on the other side of it. TP looks down a reddish-brown snout attached to the large nose and find’s the animal’s eyes.

“Canis lupus familiaris, dog...bloodhound mix, female.” The faerie whispers. “Hello canine. I’m TP. I’ll be happy to be your friend if you show me everything. Understand?”

The reddish-brown dog with large floppy ears responds with an enthusiastic “Woof!”

TP floats above the dog, spinning in the air above her, he changes into a pair of close fitting khaki pants, a matching safari shirt and a safari vest. A Stetson safari hat and heavy boots complete the ensemble. TP floats down to sit behind the dog’s head. A faerie size walking stick appears in TP’s left hand, pointing it towards the door leading outside he calls, “Let us go forth into the orchard. Forward my good lady!”

If You Don't Like The Weather Wait A Minute

 

Writer Lady puts on her coat. Staring at the rack next to the door she contemplates a scarf. Deciding against it she opens the door and realizes the bright March sunshine brought a new friend with it: warmth. A warmth she hasn’t felt since last October. A smile crosses her lips, she closes the door and runs back to her bedroom. She removes her heavy pants, shirt and winter underwear replacing them with a pair of jeans and one of her favorite t-shirts. Writer Lady exits the house, running outside only to find the temperature has drastically dropped. The spring like warmth has been replaced with its deceptive winter counterpart. A breeze has arrived. A biting cold that prompts Writer Lady to mutter several choice words as she clumsily runs back indoors to try to dress for current weather conditions yet again.

Carp knocks on the door to the bedroom as he is walking in. “Five minute warning. If you don’t leave in five minutes you will officially be running late.”

A growl comes from beyond the closet door. “I know. I can’t seem to pick out the right clothes. If I dress for winter I’m too hot. When I dress for early spring I’m freezing.”

“Dress in layers. Lay-ers.” Carp says as he absentmindedly inspects his nails. He watches as Writer Lady’s arm flings various pieces of clothing across the room: a sweater, sweatshirt, a thermal hoodie, a light weight hoodie, a tank top, heavy jeans, a pair of leggings and her long underwear. One by one they come to rest on her bed.

“I can dress in layers.” Writer Lady says. “The problem is figuring out how to walk once I get them all on. What happens if Mother Nature decides to make the jump to hyperspace and throw us into summer?”

“It’s probably not going to come to that.”

Writer Lady emerges from the closet wearing her favorite bath robe. She picks up the television remote and turns up the volume on the weather forecast.

“Mother Nature is everybody’s mama. Someone has jumped on her last nerve this time babies!” Tony Johnson, Window Weather Woman announces. “It's anything goes this week boys and girls. But don't worry, Miss Tony's going to tell you what you need to do. Y'all need to be ready for anything so plan ahead. Don’t be surprised if the weather reaches out and whoops yo butt for a minute or two. It could happen.”

Writer Lady turns her attention back to Carp as she turns off the television. “What am I going to do?”

“Stick to layers and you’ll never go wrong. Considering the forecast, you might want to start with your most versatile two piece and build from there.”

Writer Lady disappears back into her closet and steps out wearing a high waisted two piece in neon everything. A blast of pink, yellow, green and blue. “Next.” She says.

“Go get a mailer for that bathing suit because the eighties called and they want their clothes back.”

A blush appears across Writer Lady’s cheeks.“Some people would call it vintage.”

“How much more do you have?” He asks.

“Not much.”

“There is a sweater and matching leg warmers set hiding in this room somewhere isn’t there?”

“Maybe.”

Carp whispers. “Is it...neon?”

“No.”

“You were going to wear it weren’t you?”

“The leg warmers might come in handy.” Writer Lady responds sheepishly.

Carp leaves the room and when the assassin-in-training returns he’s wearing sun glasses.

“What are those for?”

“Between your pale skin and the neon I’m getting a headache.”

Writer Lady rolls her eyes.

“Corey Hart wore sunglasses at night for a reason. T. M. N. Too much neon.”

“What am I supposed to do? It’s not my fault Mother Nature's showing all of her personalities at once.”

Carp lowers his glasses and peers at Writer Lady over the top of them.

“Judge all you want but you’re not the one who has to go out in that mess. If I want to dust off the blue heart sweater and matching leg warmers, I’ll do it.”

Carp shakes his head. “If you want to commit fashion suicide that’s up to you.”

Having just won an argument, any argument, Writer Lady smiles broadly.

“I do have one question for you.” He says. “What are you going to do if those leg warmers get wet?” The assassin-in-training pulls back the curtain and reveals that it has begun raining outside. A heavy blowing rain. A squirrel hanging on to a branch flies by the window just as Writer Lady reaches it. The animal is soaked and does not look happy.

Carp points to the leg warmer in her hand. “What happens after it gets wet?”

“No problem.” Tinkletoes says from the entry. “Her cammos will fit right over them.” The self-proclaimed mercenary looks at Writer Lady.

“I found the cupcakes you left for me but I need coffee.”

“Make some.”

“I can’t make coffee when there’s no coffee pot.”

“It’s on the counter.”

“The coffee maker is there but there’s no pot to catch the coffee.”

A tired sigh is expelled from her lungs. “I washed it. The coffee pot is in the dish drainer.”

“And?”

“You don’t see it?”

“I do not.”

“It is amazing to me how our government let someone who can’t find a dish drainer sitting on a kitchen counter operate heavy equipment.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary shakes his head. "I was never part of an armored vehicle crew, I was a fire support specialist.”

“A what?”

“I determined the exact location of potential targets and proposed plans on how to neutralize them.”

Writer Lady looked at Carp. “Seriously?”

Carp nods. “He was also a sharpshooter.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She asks rolling her eyes. Writer Lady puts on a robe as she heads for the kitchen. She stops at a small section of counter to the right of the sink and points. “Dish drainer.” She says as she lifts the towel laying over the item in it. “Coffee pot.”

 Tinkletoes retrieves the pot from the drainer.

 Writer Lady looks at the clock on the stove. “I’m late.” 

 A bell rings in the distance.

“Text message!” TP’s voice rings throughout the kitchen.

“What’s it say?” Tinkletoes asks.

“There’s an ice storm, stay home! Love Mom.”

Writer Lady pulls back the kitchen curtain. Ice pellets are falling outside leaving a layer of ice on everything. A car slowly creeps by on the street in front of her fish tailing every few inches. “I’m not running late.” She says as she watches the storm outside amazed at how so many changes have taken place so quickly.

Tinkletoes hands the empty coffee pot to Writer Lady. “Beings you’re not going anywhere, we could use some coffee.”

Once Upon A Christmas Wish: ...That's When The Wish Arrives

 

I was mentally and emotionally exhausted when Lisa knocked on the door jamb to the master bedroom. Her brow was knitted and she was slightly pale.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Phoebe's upset because she’s not getting her Christmas wish.”

“I finished writing the book, she has to get her wish now.”

“The odd twist to this is...Phoebe’s Christmas wish was for you and McKinley to fall in love. With each other.”

“When he left she knew there was no way she was going to get her wish.” I said, guessing the rest. “If only she'd confided in me a couple of weeks ago. I could have explained to her that Christmas wishes involving other people don't usually come true.”

“What good would that have done?”

“She could have asked for something else. Most little girls ask for ponies.”

“Phoebe's not most little girls.” Lisa pointed out.

“A snowmobile. She could have wished for a snowmobile.” I looked through the window at the darkness outside. “I feel terrible.”

“She’ll get over the disappointment with a little time.”

“I didn’t.”

“You were coming from a different place and had a different purpose when you made your wish.” Lisa entered the room, reaching out, she gave me a hug. “You did everything you could to help. Every choice was made with love. I know that. Someday Phoebe will see that too.”

“I hope so.”

Lisa placed an envelope on the nightstand on her way out the door.

“What’s that?”

“It came in the mail. I forgot about it with all the excitement.”

“Did you tell anyone about this trip?”

Lisa shook her head. “I'm assuming it’s from one of your new friends here in town.”

“Or maybe one particular friend?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

I stared at the envelope for several minutes before picking it up and opening it. The front of the card depicted a beautiful winter scene with snow, trees native to the area, and a bright dot of warm white showing in the distance much like the light I had seen earlier in the evening. There was no pre-printed sentiment inside the card only a handwritten note.

When all hope is lost...that’s when the wish arrives.

I ran my fingers over the script that reminded me so much of my mother’s. A light illuminated under my hand revealing more words.

Love Mom and Dad

******************

“Your Aunt Jess and I...we love you so much. We’re sorry about the wish.” Lisa said, beginning our agreed upon speech to Phoebe as we sat at the dining table the next morning.

“I know.”

I thought about showing her the card. I remembered all of the times in my life that I seemed to be functioning on false hope, I hated the thought of Phoebe working through the same feelings of embarrassment and remorse later on in her own life.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Phoebe said, taking turns looking at us. “You’ll get over it soon.” The eight-year-old said before changing the subject. “You two had better finish eating your breakfast or you’ll make us late for gift opening.” She instructed as she stood up and left the table.

Lisa and I looked at each other.

“What just happened?” I asked.

“Eight going on thirty-eight.”

Perhaps Phoebe was more resilient than I anticipated, perhaps children bounce back more easily than the rest of us. We decided not to question it and cleaned our plates. Homemade Pain Au Chocolat is something that should ever go to waste.

We made ourselves comfortable in the great room with a second cup of coffee while Phoebe played Santa.

“Who should get the first present?” She asked. Phoebe was reaching under the tree, for a large present in the back when the front door opened. We heard the sound of heavy boots as they walked through the house. When they stopped, McKinley stood on the far side of the room. He looked around, his eyes stopping at me.

“Jess.”

“McKinley.”

“A word?”

I cannot tell you what happened in McKinley’s life during the hours between the time he left the night before and Christmas morning. I won't tell you what he said to me as we stood in the kitchen that morning, I promised him I'd keep it to myself.

I'll say this instead, if this were a fairy tale my next words might be ‘and they lived happily ever after.’ If this were a Bronte novel, I might say, ‘Reader, I married him.’ Our journey to love did not fit either one. The journey we're on now is not always easy or smooth but it is thoroughly and uniquely ours. McKinley found a way to see things from my point of view and I from his. Eventually we found our way, away from the past and into the present with a firm foundation at its center. One that includes a precocious eight-year-old girl and her mother. An eight-year-old girl going on thirty-eight.

"Not Necessarily The End”

I finished reading. It my first public reading of this novel. There have not been many hardcover sales today. The book that became “Once Upon A Christmas Wish” skyrocketed to alarming heights while in presale. The publisher was having a tough time keeping up. Today the store was full of people seeking autographs and selfies. More than a few were not regular fans, they were new to my work. I suspected many were curious to discover what the fuss was all about.

The audience was fully engaged. A few people teared up a bit and one woman was still winding down. She had been openly sobbing. I felt bad the story had upset her so much and I found myself wondering if this book should have been published at all. When one is standing in a bookstore crowded with people who came in because of said book, it's a bit late to question whether publishing had been the best move.

“Questions?” I asked as I pointed to an energetic hand at the front of the room.

“Is McKinley still a part of your life?”

Of course, the most difficult question had to come first. I took a deep breath before giving my pre-planned McKinley approved answer. The positive yet non-specific one crafted to protect McKinley’s privacy.

“Damn right he is.”

I looked in the direction of the all too familiar voice. To the dark hair, hazel eyes and well trimmed beard. McKinley was standing behind the audience near the display window of the store next to a sign that read:

Book Signing

Jess Windstrom

Once Upon A Christmas Wish and A Mountain Man’s Christmas Miracle

Today Only!

When all hope was lost Phoebe’s Christmas wish did come true. It's something we  are both truly grateful for.

 “He’s still here.” I answered with a grin. McKinley and I smiled at each other for a moment before I moved on to the next question.  

                                           Phoebe’s Christmas Movie List

1. The Muppet’s Christmas Carol

2. The Nightmare Before Christmas

3. Elf

4. Prancer

5. A Christmas Carol (1938)

6. White Christmas

7. Christmas Vacation

8. A Christmas Story

9. It’s A Wonderful Life

10. Miracle On 34^th Street (1934)

11. The Santa Clause

12. Home Alone

                                                                          Honorable Mention : Die Hard

 

Once Upon A Christmas Wish: When All Hope Is Lost...

 

“That clarifies things.”

We walked in silence for several minutes.

“Do you have any theories?” McKinley asked.

“Nothing that is developed completely, no.”

“Is there an E.T.A. on when you might have it figured out?”

I thought about it and I couldn’t quite make the words “He’s a ghost,” come out of my mouth. Luckily nature helped me out, my foot found a bit of ice. “I’m busy trying not to fall on my ass at the moment if you don’t mind.”

McKinley moved in closer, ready to reach out and offer support if needed. Shifting my weight, I regained my balance. The original search formation we established earlier resumed. We took turns calling for Phoebe. We found two sheds and one abandoned tree stand. Both showed no evidence anyone had been inside or on them in quite some time.

“Why do I get the feeling she’s not out here?” McKinley asked.

“Because a perfectly happy eight-year-old who absolutely loves everything Christmas and sticks to her holiday movie list better than most people follow traffic laws would not run away.”

“If she did it wouldn’t be on Christmas Eve.”

“Precisely. I wonder if she found a new tradition. Something she would need to be outside to observe. Are there any?”

“Christmas traditions unique to these mountains?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“No. Not that I know of.”

We made our way to the cabin McKinley and I previously taken refuge in. There were no signs anyone had been there. It was exactly as we had left it.

“This feels like a wild goose chase.” McKinley observed. “Who sends people on a wild goose chase on Christmas Eve?”

I wandered over to the window while McKinley checked the back of the cabin. I spotted a light in the distance, it was dim at first, reminding me a bit of a lighthouse, the way the light seemed to move closer, further away, then closer once again. I felt something pulling me, urging me to walk towards it. I turned away, looking for McKinley. From the distant sounds I was hearing he was checking the back. He would probably check the shed where he kept his snowmobile next.

When I reached for the doorknob and turned it, the light I was watching began to flicker more brightly. I stepped outside. On the next pass the light had grown brighter still. With each passing moment, each step I took, the light grew brighter, pulling me forward. I kept walking and when the light dimmed I found myself face to face with Edward Miller.

“It’s difficult isn’t it?” The young man asked. “Not knowing if the person you’re facing is friend or foe. Not knowing what to say to them.”

I realized whether this was my father’s ghost or just a disturbed person intent on doing me harm, there was only a brief period of time to get answers. I counted to three, took a deep breath, and asked,“Where’s Phoebe?”

“The little girl who’s been staying with you?” He asked. “She’s not with me. She’s in no danger. You’ll be notified soon.”

“What’s going on? Why did you say the things you did in the bookstore? Why did you follow me here? Why did you push me?”

“It was my job as the keeper of your Christmas wish to watch from a distance and wait, to deliver your wish to you at the right time.”

“It’s not my wish any more, I gave it to Phoebe.”

“Yes. About the binding thing, binding your wish to hers was a kind gesture, full of love. What you didn’t know is binding one Christmas wish to another can have unforeseen consequences.” He said.

“Like what?” I asked.

“The requirement for fulfilling your wish has become the requirement for fulfilling Phoebe’s.”

“If I don’t finish writing my story by midnight…”

“...the child’s wish will not be granted.” Edward Miller said.

Shock, anger, and frustration began to well in my stomach. “Why would you do that? What good comes from hurting a child?”

He held up both hands, palms facing me. “I don’t make the rules. When your mother and I found out about your Christmas wish and the stipulations for fulfilling it, we decided we wanted to help you get your wish. We came to the conclusion that the best way to do this was if one of us volunteered to be the wish’s caretaker. To be a guiding hand.”

With four words, your mother and I, it was confirmed that I was speaking to my father’s ghost. A ghost that I was mad at, I began pacing. “A guiding hand? Your guiding hand has been aloof, distant, and left me spending way too much of my time wondering if I was losing my freaking mind! Now here we are on Christmas Eve and it comes to this? It comes down to hurting a little girl?”

There was an odd sound. I stopped pacing and looked at the spirit. His eyes had a sadness to them. If was almost as if the ghost sensed my feelings and had deep remorse for how the situation was unfolding.

“I’m sorry. My being the keeper of the wish was your mother’s gift to me. It was a chance for me to do something for my daughter. Something I didn’t have the chance to do while I was alive.”

I focused on the logo on Edward Miller’s t-shirt knowing if I looked at the sadness in his eyes, the pain in his expression, I was going to cry. Crying wasn’t going to get Phoebe her Christmas wish. I thought of a song I was sure my father would think fondly of. I looked at his face and said, “You can’t always get what you want Dad.”

Edward Miller smiled.

I smiled back. “What do I have to do to make Phoebe’s wish come true? What has to happen?”

“Finish writing the book by midnight.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

I nodded. “I guess I’ll be going.”

“You’re almost to the end.” He said.

“After these last few weeks I have to admit I’m a little scared to see what the end of this mess looks like.”

A gentle smile crossed his lips. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Tell Mom...I think of her everyday.”

He nodded before turning away.

“And Dad?”

Edward Miller turned back towards me. “Now that we’ve met. I’ll be thinking of you too.”

“Thanks. I'll be thinking of you.”

“I do have one question before you go.” I said. “What’s with the t-shirt?”

“I was raised in foster care. In one house there was an older boy, he was the closest thing I had to family after my folks died. He loved the Stones. When he aged out of the system, on the day he left, he encouraged me to stay out of trouble. He told me that if I ever missed him or needed him to turn on a Stones album. No matter what we always had The Stones. He gave me my own copy of my favorite Rolling Stones album and my own shirt. I still remember his words on that day, ‘Don’t ever lose your way buddy, don’t ever lose your way.’ Because of Rod I never did.”

I nodded. “I’m glad you had him.”

“Me too.”

I turned back towards McKinley’s cabin.

“Jess?”

“Whatever happens. We’ll always have The Rolling Stones.” He said.

I had to admit the picture of my father in the logo t-shirt was responsible for my recent interest in the band’s music. “We will.”

McKinley pulled up on the snowmobile when I was halfway back to his cabin. “Where did you go?”

“I was...I thought I saw something.”

“I just got a text from Lisa. Phoebe went to visit a friend she made at the rink the other day. They were talking about the Christmas movie list. It seems there was debate as to why “Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town” does not qualify for her movie list.”

“She forgot to tell anyone where she was going, time got away from her.”

“Phoebe is home safe now.”

“Good. What time is it?”

“About nine-thirty.”

“I need to get home, yesterday.”

“Any particular reason?” McKinley asked.

Sure, I met my dead father in the woods and it turns out Phoebe won’t get her Christmas wish if I don’t finish sharing my life story by the stroke of twelve. “It’s a long story, tonight I don’t have that kind of time.” I thought for a moment. “I’m working on something for Phoebe. It’s time sensitive.”

“A special gift? I can take you anywhere you need to go for a present.”

“It’s not that kind of present. It’s more like a Christmas miracle so if you would please get me back to my laptop.”

“Get on.” He ordered.

For once I did not argue.

Thanks to McKinley we made it back to my cabin in record time. Giving him a peck on the cheek, I stopped long enough to give both Lisa and Phoebe hugs, emphasizing to Phoebe that we would be having a talk about telling people where you are going and checking in when running late after the holiday. I left the eight-year-old in the den dozing in front of The Santa Clause.

I locked myself in my bedroom and didn’t come out until 12:30. I found everyone in the den. Phoebe was asleep. Lisa and McKinley must have re-started the movie, they appeared to be half way through. I handed Lisa a folder with a freshly printed copy of the manuscript. She took it from my hand. A look of shock on her face.

“Don’t tell me you’ve finished it.”

“The last period was put into place at 11:58.” I responded.

McKinley looked at us. His eyes were a little darker, his smile flattened into a straight line. “That isn’t more of what I saw the other night is it?”

“This is a really important project for Jess. When I tell you the whole story I’m sure you’ll…”

I placed a hand on the manuscript, a gesture to Lisa that an explanation was not necessary.

“It is.”

“Am I in it?” He asked.

“You are.”

“Take me out.”

“No.” I responded. “I won’t. This isn’t about you. This is something I needed to do, for Phoebe. I’m not editing it, erasing any parts of it, or taking it back.”

“It looks like I’ll be going.” He said.

“Mac, if you’d just let me tell you everything.” Lisa said.

McKinley turned to Lisa, “If your boss can’t see how important this is to me there’s nothing you can say that’s going to change the way I feel. She has to change what she wrote.”

McKinley left the cabin. He would not be returning for Christmas.

Phoebe woke when the front door slammed. “What’s going on? She looked around. “Where’s Mac?”

“He’s gone home to get some sleep, like you should be doing.” Lisa said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Is he coming back?”

“He’s mad at me Phoebes.” I said. “You might not see him until Monday.” I crossed the room, taking a seat next to her on the couch. “I’ll make sure you get to town. Your mom can call Mac and set something up.”

Phoebe’s face fell, tears began to well in the child’s eyes.

“Or I can go to town and Mac can come here. You all can sit in the great room with the Christmas tree and the fire and exchange gifts. Have a nice lunch, play some board games.”

“You don’t understand!” She yelled before running to her room.

“I’ve got it.” Lisa said.

Once Upon A Christmas Wish: A Moonlight Stroll With A Mountain Man...And A Can Of Bear Spray

 

The next morning was a mess of pre-occupation as my mind searched for something that would explain the depth of McKinley’s anger.

The book I was writing was getting closer and closer to the end. Soon I was going to be writing hard and clear about the events currently taking place. The way things were going it would be a shitstorm to write.

All I could do regarding the request for information on Edward Miller, on the other hand, was wait.

I wandered downstairs to refill my coffee hoping to find someone or something to distract me from my thoughts. Everywhere my thoughts were wandering was no place I wanted to be. Lisa entered the kitchen for her own refill before I gave up and headed back upstairs to sit in my bedroom and not write.

“I read the chapter you left for me. I told you Mac’s interested.” She bragged.

“He was interested.”

“Was? What happened?”

“I happened. I gave the notebook with a description of what happened in it to Phoebe and told her to put it where you’d be sure to see it. I failed to specify that Mac should definitely not see it.”

“He’s mad isn’t he.”

“He didn’t give me any specifics but yes he is.”

“I’ll call him.” She said.

“Don’t. When someone is that ready to storm off there are other issues at play. He’ll ask me for an explanation if he really wants one. If he wasn't as interested as you hoped, just you and Phoebe can spend time with him for the rest of our stay."

“I will not!”

I looked Lisa in the eye. “Phoebe is nuts about that man. If it wasn’t for me you’d like him just fine too.” I reached out and placed a hand on Lisa’s arm. “It’s okay.”

I continued on with my day, hoping Lisa would let McKinley's anger and choosing  to put whatever was developing between us aside drop. At least for the time being.

I managed to bump along with the writing until Christmas Eve. With the holiday closing in, I had the perfect excuse to stay downstairs and help with food preparation, laundry and general tidying up so when evening came and computers were turned off, comfy Christmas clothes could be donned and all but holiday festivities could be forgotten until December 26.^th If I knew Phoebe she would have a holiday itinerary all mapped out for us.

We were caught up in no time. By midafternoon, I found myself sitting in bed with notebook and pen trying to write my way through the last three weeks.

It was not long before things fell apart, a matter of minutes actually.

“Have you seen Phoebe?”

I jumped at the question. Lost in my own scribbles I didn’t see Lisa enter the room. There had been no knock on the door frame. Lisa was subtle. This was her way of keeping her concern centered while trying not to overreact.

“I thought she went to town with you.”

“She told me she wanted to stay here and work on her holiday plans.”

I set my notes to the side, it was time to give the house a thorough going over. I took the side we were on which housed the master suite. Lisa took the side with the den and the other two bedrooms. We met downstairs one of us searching the great room and the foyer, the other searching the kitchen, pantry, and mudroom. We checked in with each other in the dining room and moved outside to search the yard, garage, and outbuildings. We talked about searching town and getting started on the wooded areas.

“I don’t understand it.” Lisa said after we returned inside. “Phoebe doesn’t run away.”

“She’s a great kid. A smart kid. This is out of character for her.”

“If she gets too upset with me she always calls you.” Lisa said.

“Not this time.” I thought about Phoebe and who she might turn to on a really bad day if Lisa or I were not a good option. “Have you checked with McKinley? To see if she’s been seen around town or at the ice rink. It is Christmas Eve. Maybe she went out to pick up some last minute Christmas surprise?”

“Can I get back the years I lost worrying about her if this is a simple misunderstanding plucked straight out of a holiday movie?” Lisa asked.

“Only if I can have mine back.” I countered as Lisa picked up her phone.

As it turned out McKinley had not seen Phoebe. He said he would ask around a bit and get back to us. He asked at the rink and the winter market before everything was closed up. McKinley checked around town as well. No one had seen Phoebe all day.

“If no one saw her at the rink or in town she has to be here somewhere.”

“I stopped by her room just before two and asked her if she wanted to go to town with me.”

“I saw you both at lunch. When the house fell quiet this afternoon I assumed she was with you.” I looked out the window at the setting sun. “I should have done a walk through or texted you to verify Phoebe was with you.” Looking around the room, I spotted a message pad sitting on the kitchen counter. Taking up pad and pen, I began to map out all possible scenarios. Tucking that list away, I started a new one writing down every place we had already looked and areas that still needed to be checked. The wooded areas were what was left. The question I found myself grappling with was how far I could venture into the woods safely at night by myself. I looked at Lisa. “I think you should call McKinley and ask him to get a search started in town, then if you would please return to Phoebe’s room and search everything again. This time do a deeper search. You want to look for random notes, diaries, scribbling in her school binder, check her online history, her waste basket. If she did take off or something was bothering her that we didn’t know about you may find it there. While you're busy with that, I’m going to take a flashlight into the woods and see if I can find her.”

“You can’t do that alone.”

“We've checked everywhere else.”

“You aren’t a camper and you have a terrible sense of direction. What if you run into someone or something?”

Ignoring the comment, I went into the mud room for my outerwear and a flashlight.

“What if you don’t come back?”

“This isn’t the wilds of Antarctica.” I grinned as I pulled a boot on. “My will is in a safety deposit box at the bank. There are personal letters for you and Phoebe.”

“What if…”

“Nothing will happen but if something does happen to me you’ll both be okay.” I stood up and put my hat on. “It will be fine.” I said even though my insides were doing intermittent somersaults. “By tomorrow morning Phoebe and I will both be tucked safely in our beds and you’ll be wondering why you were so worried.”

“But…”

“I’m going.” I said as I turned the knob on the door leading to the back porch.

“Not without me you’re not.” McKinley said as he thundered in from the main house.

“Lisa, I need you to call Mr. Baker at the coffeehouse and tell him to organize a search in and around town. Tell him to make sure someone stays at both the ice rink and the winter market. Then you’ll need to go into Phoebe’s room and search it…”

“...thoroughly.” She said. “Look through everything including diaries, electronic devices, reading all notes as well as checking the waste basket for any clues telling us where she might have gone.”

“You’ve heard this before.” He said.

“I said the same thing ten minutes ago.” I said. “All that’s left to do is check the woods.”

“These are mountains.” Lisa said gesturing outside. “Where will you start?”

McKinley pulled a map out of his coat pocket and laid it across the top of the dining table. “This is where we are.” He said as he marked the map. “Here is town. Here is the ice rink. We’ll start here and work our way towards town stopping at any cabins, sheds or abandoned vehicles. We’ll get to the rink first then town. By the time we get to town Baker may have something for us.” McKinley left the room returning with a two way radio. “Use this if you text or call and you can’t get an answer. It’s on four so the channel is already set. Turn it on, push the button and talk.” He says, handing it to Lisa.

“She knows how to use a walkie-talkie McKinley.”

“My mistake.”

“It’s okay. I’m nervous. I might have had trouble later without the reminder.” Lisa responded.

Lisa looked around McKinley and mouthed the words: Be Nice.

I pointed to McKinley and mouthed back: Tell him to be nice.

He raised his head before Lisa had a chance to roll her eyes.

McKinley did not speak as we entered the wooded area behind the house. I didn’t have to be psychic to see that his aura, if he had one, was currently pulsing a deep vibrant red. If he didn’t have an aura the rifle he had slung over his shoulder was not reassuring me that he held nothing but loving feelings towards me.

Clearly he was not happy to be escorting me into the wilderness. I wasn't happy to have him along either. Not after the events of the night before. I felt a hand on my upper arm. I looked up.

“If you see a bear, don’t run. Back away slowly without turning your eyes from it. It the bear comes towards you make yourself look larger.”

I hadn't seen another bear since that first morning but this was a walk in the woods at night. What McKinley told me I already knew, I realized I didn’t know what to do, if I couldn’t make myself look intimidating enough. “If that doesn’t work?”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a canister and handed it to me. “Bear spray.”

“Thanks.”

“If you see a wolf or a mountain lion. Do the same things. Keep in mind the spray doesn’t work on the cat.”

“What is the next step with the big cat?”

“Throw rocks, if it gets physical fight back.”

“If fighting back doesn’t work?”

“That’s what the rifle is for.” He said.

“You wouldn’t hurt an animal would you?”

“Usually a few shots above the animal’s head will run them off but if it comes down to Phoebe or one of us or the animal, I will shoot it.”

We continued walking through snow. The crunch of the frozen water beneath our boots the only sound.

“I hope we don’t see anything in these woods.” I said.

“Me either. I’d like to return from a long cold walk and find Phoebe tucked in her bed. Sleeping.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket, I nearly dropped the canister of bear spray. Reaching into my pocket, I traded the canister for the phone while Brenda Lee belted out “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree” for all the woodland creatures.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Windstrom, this is Beth Simmons from Tamerly Investigations I was calling to let you know the check you requested has been completed. Since your email was marked urgent I wanted to give you a call and let you know what we found.”

McKinley held the flashlight near his face and mouthed: Lisa?

I shook my head. “Go ahead.”

“Edward Miller, born on April 21, 1956 in Newark, New Jersey was an orphan. His parents, Edward Miller Sr. and Jessica Miller were killed in a car accident on December 31, 1961. As all known relatives were no longer living, Edward was placed in the foster care system. He remained there until he reached the age of 18. He joined the military on April 22, 1974.”

“Are there any distant relatives?” I asked.

“We looked for siblings, half siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins and as requested, checked to see if Mr. Miller had any girlfriends or encounters that led to any offspring.”

“And?”

“You are his only child. I am emailing you the entire report before we close for the holiday. I wanted to make sure you got your answer as soon as possible.”

“Thank you for getting back to me with this. Have a wonderful holiday.”

“You as well.”

“Everything alright?” McKinley asked.

We continued walking as I sorted out what I needed to do next. I didn’t know who the man was or why he looked like my father. I didn’t know if he was dangerous or if he would have taken Phoebe. I also didn’t know if he was a living being.

“The man you said knocked me down in the winter market. I’ve seen him before.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Almost everything seems complicated with you.” McKinley responded.

“He showed up on one of the final days of my book tour. At a signing. When he approached, he just complimented me at first. Fans usually do that. Then things turned a bit creepy.”

“How?” McKinley asked.

“He said I never tell people everything. That it hurts my mother.”

“Does it?”

“My mother died 17 years ago. The man in the bookstore looked young. He would have been a little boy when he knew her. If he knew her.”

“The man I saw yesterday was young.”

“There’s more.” I said. “Stop walking for a minute.” I pulled the photo I had taken of the old picture I found and showed it to him.

“That looks like the man I saw.”

“And the man I encountered in the bookstore in November. This is a picture of my father.”

“You must have a nephew. Congratulations.” He said as he started walking.

“That’s the thing. I don’t. That phone call was from an investigations firm I use from time to time. My father is long dead. He has no living relatives other than me.”

“Are you saying you’re being haunted by your father’s ghost?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is I don’t know exactly who this man is. I also don’t know if he’s dangerous.”