I let out a sharp exhale, feeling a cocktail of frustration and disbelief wash over me. Despite myself, a small, involuntary smile finds its way onto my lips.
I shake my head slightly. “Unbelievable.”
What did I entangle myself in here?
FIVE
My homeworkfor this week is brutal. I’m sitting at my desk, attempting to solve some math equations that are completely scrambling my brain.
Math is for bitches.
I’m just about to throw my notebook out of my window in frustration when there is a knock on the door.
“Sloany, the Walkers are here. Can you come down?” Nan’s voice is muffled through the wood.
I stand and walk to the door, opening it and trying hard not to sound as annoyed as I am. “Do I have to?”
“We talked about this. You have to learn. Someday, you will do the readings alone,” Nan says, reaching out to push a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I don’t want to do them, you know that,” I mutter, gritting my teeth and looking at the floor.
“You only say that because you are scared. It is our gift, Sloan. There is a reason why our family was chosen to help the spirits cross and their families cope,” she tells me, her voice gentle and reassuring. I look back up into her eyes, and she gives me a small smile. “If you give it a chance and learn, you will understand.”
I nod, knowing I won’t get out of this anyway, so I motion for her to lead the way. The chill begins to run down my neck when we reach the stairs.
An older, motherly-looking woman is sitting at our kitchen table. Next to her appears to be her son, a guy in his early twenties. They both look sad, but the mother looks exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, and she’s even trembling slightly.
Seated to her right is a ghost, an older man with a balding head and kind face. He’s looking at his wife with a mixture of sadness and love.
“Charlotte, Matthew, this is my granddaughter, Sloan.” Nan introduces. “She’s a very strong medium but still learning since she’s only sixteen. But I would like for her to hold the reading while I’m here by her side, of course, and I can intervene or help if needed. Would that be okay?”
The woman named Charlotte gives me a small, appreciative smile. “I would love you to help me, dear.”
I turn my attention to the ghost and ask, “And what’s your name?”
Charlotte’s head snaps to her right, eyes widening in surprise. The ghost huffs a laugh and replies, “My name is David. Nice to meet you, Sloan.”
“Nice to meet you too, David,” I respond politely as I take my seat.
“He’s here?” Matthew, the son, asks with disbelief, his eyes darting between his mother and the empty chair beside her.
“Well, that is the whole reason you guys are in our kitchen, right?” I ask Matthew, a brow raised. It’s not difficult to sense that David is bothering his loved ones—out of love, of course—but one feel of his intense presence and one look at their exhausted state tells it all.
“Sloany, tone down your smart-ass comments. Those people need help,” Nan chides.
“I like the girl.” David laughs, his gaze fixed on his wife, but his happy expression falls when he remembers she can’t hear him.
“I’m sorry, please share what the problem is,” I state, glancing at Nan, and she nods.
Charlotte starts to cry, her tears flowing, so Matthew takes a deep breath before he starts, “My father battled cancer for about two years. My mother and he were very close. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave my mother. He fought until his last breath. He started visiting my mother a few days later, always at night. She feels him tossing and turning throughout the night. Sometimes she hears him breathing, but his normal breathing before it was so labored from the cancer.” I glance over at David, who looks a little sheepish, while Matthew continues, “It happens when she’s in a deep sleep, but also when she’s just lying there awake.”
Charlotte nods as she speaks, her voice filled with concern. “I’m scared that he’s restless in the afterlife and thinks he needs to stay to watch over me. I speak to him to reassure him, but he still visits me every night. I tell him that I’m not sure what is bothering him. I hug the air where I think he is,” she says with a watery laugh. “And as soon as I hug him, it will stop.”
David chimes in,“We never started a day without a hug.”
“You never started a day without a hug,” I recite to Charlotte.
Her eyes widen before a sob breaks out of her, and Matthew puts an arm around her shoulders. “That is why? Oh my God,” Charlotte exclaims through her tears. “It mostly happens around four a.m., and I can’t go back to sleep afterward. I work during the day, and I’m exhausted. I love that he’s still here andvisits me, but I believe in heaven, and I want him to cross over and be happy.”
