Visions of Hope

  Visions of Hope

  Published by Candace Murrow at Smashwords

  Copyright 2011 Candace Murrow

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * * * * *

  CHAPTER 1

  A whispering crept into Libby's dream. The whispers grew louder until the crying out of her name scattered the dream and pulled her out of a deep sleep, startled her, woke her. An icy draft swept through, and the warmth of the summer night vanished in an instant, causing her to shudder.

  She clutched the covers to her chin, fighting the urge to open her eyes, but the urge to look grew stronger. She peered at the corner of the room. There, in a glowing light, the remnants of a blue mist trailed away, leaving no discernible image, no clue to her unexpected waking.

  She reached for the lamp's ceramic base and fumbled for the light switch. No breeze from the opened window rustled the curtains. No shadows quivered in the corner. The room was eerily still.

  She grasped her clothbound journal. This was not the first time she'd had this mysterious flight from sleep. She paged forward and spotted two entries: June 21, July 10. On a blank page she penciled in the date and time, July 20, 4:00 a.m., made a notation, and set the book aside.

  Sleeping now was impossible. The incident had unnerved her with an urgency she could not explain. She slipped her robe over her silk pajamas and padded toward the kitchen in search of something to settle her anxiety.

  She switched on the stove light, opened a drawer nearby, and rummaged through the spare change, paper clips, and pencils until she found a stray cigarette. She positioned it between the fingers of her left hand, reached for a book of matches, then paused and recalled her doctor's words.

  To ground herself, she breathed in the tobacco odor, as stale as it was, and massaged the cigarette between her thumb and forefinger all the way to the living room. Being surrounded by the familiar--the beige couch, the oak furniture, the cozy window seat with its oversized pillows--further steadied her in the present.

  She sat in her rocking chair, prepared to wait for daybreak to fully illuminate her Pacific Northwest retreat. Already the veil of night was lifting, flushing the walls in a pale light.

  Just as she began to relax, a creak and snap of the floorboards drew her attention to the hallway. Expecting nothing less than another otherworldly experience, she calmed at the sight of her friend, Ellen Davis, emerging from the shadows in her pink nightgown, fluffing her cropped hair.

  "Did I wake you?"

  Ellen stationed herself with fists on hips, eyes skewered on Libby. "You've had one of those visions again, haven't you?" She pulled the hassock close, her gaze settling on the cigarette. She snatched it out of Libby's hand and set it on the end table.

  "I wasn't going to light it," Libby said. "But if these unrelenting visions keep waking me up, I'm not promising anything. I have a business to run and a good night's sleep is essential."

  Ellen clucked her tongue while rubbing Libby's hands. "They're like ice. My goodness, it's the middle of summer. Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Same as last time, only the feeling is getting stronger."

  "I can tell that. You're so chilled."

  Libby shuddered again, thinking about the totality of the incident. "There's something about it, Ellen. I can't describe it, except to say something or someone desperately wants to break through."

  "Who do you think it is?"

  "I'm not sure yet," Libby said. "I haven't had anything like this happen for years, not since I worked with the police. But during that time most of the information came to me in dreams. Now my dreams seem to be manifesting outwardly."

  "What do you think it means?"

  "It might have something to do with a client," Libby said. "I don't sense it has anything to do with me directly, but it's too soon to tell. I'll have to wait for the entity to manifest to know for sure."

  "I don't know how you handle all this psychic stuff. It's a wonder you're still sane. Let me get you some tea, warm you up." Ellen extended her hand to Libby.

  Libby gladly followed Ellen through the great room into the kitchen where Ellen snapped on the overhead light.

  "In high school you were always there for me when anything like this happened, remember?"

  "Someone had to take over for your mother," Ellen said, "but this entity stuff makes my skin crawl." She filled the teakettle with water and placed it on the stove to heat.

  Libby retrieved the chamomile teabags from the pantry and placed them in the cups Ellen had taken out of the cupboard.

  Ellen took hold of Libby's hands. "They're getting warmer."

  "The energy has dissipated, and I'm fine now, thanks to you." Libby gave her a squeeze. "You know, Ellen, it's nice having you here, even if it is only for the reunion."

  "You were in bed last night when I got back from decorating. I want to know what the doc said."

  Libby splayed the fingers of her right hand. "Five years now. I've reached a milestone. It looks good as far as he's concerned."

  "That's so great." Ellen returned Libby's hug. "You're free now. So what are you going to do, bed every eligible man in town?"

  "Ellen."

  "You know what I mean."

  "I feel great physically. I've expanded my consulting business, and I'll probably take on more clients, do more readings."

  "How boring," Ellen said. "What about men? You've been so, you know--"

  "Celibate?"

  "Well, yes, and alone, to yourself."

  Libby replaced the tea box in the cupboard.

  "All men are not like Dan," Ellen said.

  "I know, but I'm not interested in starting up anything new." Libby smoothed the wrinkles of her robe on the left side.

  Ellen eyed Libby. "It's your breast, isn't it? You're afraid they won't be able to love you the way your breasts look now."

  "That's something I have to consider, Ellen."

  "It's not that bad."

  "How can you say that, with all the scars and they don't even match in size anymore."

  "Whose do? But I wish you had taken better care of yourself, especially when you were married to Dan."

  "I should've never married him, and I should've been more proactive about getting regular breast exams."

  "You could always have reconstructive surgery. You know there are options out there. Why don't you talk to your doctor again?"

  "Ellen, let's just drop it. I've got my business. That's all I need."

  "But Libby..."

  Libby pressed a finger to Ellen's lips. "What about you? Have you decided to leave Mel?"

  The kettle's shrill whistle interrupted them. Ellen poured the water into each cup and returned the kettle without answering her.

  "Well?"

  "I'm still thinking about it," Ellen said. "The kids are in college. They don't need family like they used to. But I'm not sure. It's such a big step."

  "I don't know how you can forgive him for all he's put you through."

  "Do you mean the women or the gambling?" Ellen lowered her voice, almost to a whisper. "Sometimes you have to make sacri
fices because of the kids. I guess that's what I've been doing."

  "Oh, Ellen. I'd love to have you back in town. In fact, you can stay here as long as you want to."

  "You're a doll, you know that? We'll see, after the reunion."

  "How are the preparations going, by the way?"

  "It's hectic," Ellen said, "but things are getting done. Still, I'm wondering if I should have volunteered. It's so much work, especially with my living an hour north of here. I'm so glad I could stay in Harbordale with you these last few days."

  "You were always into everything in high school, all the clubs, cheerleader. I envied you back then."

  "Cheerleader, hah! Look at me now." Ellen aimed her index fingers at her body. "Size 14. You, on the other hand."

  "Oh, right. I've got a figure like my mother. Narrow shoulders, skinny legs, hips that could bear a litter."

  "You have a poor image of yourself, Libby. You do take after your mother, but she had a fabulous figure."

  "At least she had children."

  Before Libby could turn away, Ellen cupped Libby's face. "You can still have kids, honey. Don't give up that dream."

  "At forty-three? I still have to be vigilant about the cancer. Besides, look at the legacy. Mom died of breast cancer. So did Aunt Lolly."

  "But you didn't."

  "I know, Ellen, but it's too late for children, and men."

  "It's never too late." Ellen took a cautious sip of her tea. "Have you decided to go to the reunion?"

  "I suppose, but I'm not looking forward to it. The past is better left alone."

  "Oh, don't worry about the past. It's been twenty-five years. People grow up, lose their memories as they get older. They won't be thinking about you and your psychic gift. They'll be worrying about how they look."

  "I know, but--"

  "I'd hate to see you miss out on new opportunities. Mister Right could show up. Who knows?"

  "So who's the psychic now?"

  "You always told me you can't read your own future. Maybe I need to step in, give you a nudge."

  "I'm not looking, and that's that."

  "Maybe I'll look for you." Ellen jutted her chin.

  Libby responded to Ellen's playful look of defiance with a good-natured shove. Ellen picked up her teacup and strolled out of the kitchen.

  Libby loved Ellen for looking out for her, but even with the best of Ellen's intentions, and after all Libby had gone through--the scarring cancer, the abusive marriage--there was no way she would be nudged into any situation she wasn't ready for.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 2

  Kipp Reed checked the clock on the dashboard. The time was six-thirty. If he hurried, he could make it to Harbordale in forty-five minutes, an hour max. Not one to worry about speed traps, he pushed the accelerator of his Jeep, swung into the fast lane, and sped up to seventy-five miles per hour. Even though flying down I-5 was not an issue, being late was, especially to his twenty-fifth high school reunion.

  He hated the thought of waltzing into the room and being stared at by his old classmates, even though he'd spent most of his adult life working as a reporter on national TV. Maybe it had something to do with his new, more secluded lifestyle, working as a freelance journalist. Maybe it was because of Kelly. The thought of answering questions about his daughter nauseated him. He hoped Charlie Bender, his closest friend, would be sensitive enough to leave the subject alone.

  Whatever the reason, tonight he wanted to blend in and not become a spectacle, yet he chuckled to himself because he could remember a time he would have loved the attention, especially with a twenty-three-year-old model on his arm. Those days were long gone, and he mused how life's circumstances had taken him in such a different direction. Why was he even going to this reunion?

  By the time he parked at the Harbordale Inn and saw people moving toward the entrance, he'd made up his mind to make the best of the evening and enjoy himself. Before joining the others, he undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie. The hell with it. He flung the tie into the backseat and grabbed his sport jacket. He slipped on his jacket on the way to the door.

  The hotel held a spectacular view of a sprawling lake that emptied into Puget Sound, but for the most part Kipp ignored the view and went directly downstairs. A white banner, decorated in red lettering, hung over the entrance to the ballroom: HARBORDALE VIKINGS 25th REUNION. Tables and chairs hugged the sides of the large, dimly lit room, and people gathered in small groups or milled around in the center. From a quick scan Kipp guessed about half of the two hundred fifty seniors who had attended the public school, the only high school in Harbordale, were present. Sounds of the chattering crowd turned Kipp's stomach queasy, and he wished he'd stayed home.

  As soon as he moved through the doorway, an anorexic woman in a low-cut dress charged him. "Kipp Reed!"

  Kipp smiled and searched his memory for a name to put with the face.

  "You don't remember me, do you?" His puzzled expression compelled her to continue, "Jan Pierson. Math class, junior year?" She tapped at her name tag.

  He nodded but grasped for more information. She, however, seemed undaunted by his lack of recognition.

  "Well, I remember you. Who wouldn't? Your face has been all over the TV. But I haven't seen you on the news lately. Where have you been? My goodness, you look as handsome as ever."

  Kipp spied a group of men huddled next to a bar on the far side of the room and saw his escape. "Will you excuse me, Jan?" He made an effort to slide past her.

  "Oh, sure, but you need this." She located his name tag on a table nearby and reached for his shirt in an attempt to pin the tag on his pocket.

  Kipp picked the tag out of her hand. "If it's all the same to you. Thanks anyway."

  "Sure. Whatever."

  He relegated the tag to his jacket pocket. When he reached the bar, a group of four men greeted him with handshakes and slaps on the back.

  "Damn. Practically the whole team's here tonight," said a man with thinning blond hair, taller than Kipp. "I never thought that would happen, especially with you traveling all over the world, Reed. You were the only one of us who had any smarts."

  "Put on a few pounds, eh Bill?" With a playful touch, Kipp fisted Bill Turner's belly.

  "Yeah. Pam cooks too good. I wouldn't be able to get off the ball if my life depended on it."

  "So, where's Charlie?"

  "He stopped by earlier. Said he had some paperwork to catch up on. How 'bout a Bud?"

  Holding the cold bottle of beer helped ease the rising temperature caused by the gathering crowd and the August heat. While listening to his buddies hash over the good old days of football, Kipp scanned the room to see if he recognized any other classmates. When a lull in the conversation arose, he gestured toward the entrance. "Who's the woman in the white suit?"

  "You don't recognize her?"

  Kipp took a swallow of beer, his gaze on the woman.

  "That's Chicken-legs McGraw." Bill flapped his arms like a bird. "Cluck, cluck, cluck."

  The other men laughed while Kipp squinted to get a better view of her. "You've got to be kidding. She never looked like that."

  "She shed that long hair and filled out in all the right places, if you know what I mean."

  "I can see that," Kipp said. "What's her story?"

  "Don't you remember what happened our junior year?"

  "You'll have to refresh my memory."

  Bill leaned in. "Remember the fire incident when she told the principal there was going to be a fire the night of the homecoming dance? No one got hurt because they were prepared? We started calling her--"

  "The Witch of Harbordale High. I remember," Kipp said. "What's her story now?"

  "You mean besides the sexy bod? Pam heard she went to graduate school, got an MBA. Does some kind of counseling. That's all I know."

  Kipp eyed Libby until several of his classmates surrounded him, vying for his attention.

  * * *

  Libby clutched
a glass of iced tea and wished she could leave. She'd moved away from the crowd, found an empty chair near the door for a quick exit if need be, and waited for Ellen, who was flitting from one person to another. Classmates wandered by and glanced her way, but no one approached her. Either they didn't recognize her, or they remembered her reputation. The lighting was dim, but not that dim.

  She tried to get comfortable, but she still felt as though she were in a fishbowl. When Ellen joined her, Libby voiced her distress. "This must be what the Salem witches felt like."

  "You're nuts," Ellen said. "They're looking at you because you're so damn stunning in that white suit with your black hair. They probably don't even recognize you."

  "I didn't have time to change," Libby said. "I barely got back here from Seattle in time for this thing. I don't know how you battle that freeway up north all the time."

  "Don't change the subject."

  "What?"

  "The subject of how stunning you are. People are probably intimidated by you."

  "You're full of it, Ellen. They remember things."

  "So what if they do? Come on. I'll walk you around."

  "No, thanks. The energy in this place is chaotic. I feel better seated."

  "Suit yourself. I'm going to talk to that hunk over there." Ellen nodded toward the group of men gathered by the bar.

  "What hunk?"

  "The cross between Clint Eastwood and Robert Redford. The one with the reddish-blond hair. Kipp Reed. Don't you recognize him?"

  "No."

  "Oh, that's right. You didn't have a TV back then. He was a reporter. I don't know what he does now. He kind of dropped off the radar screen. He was the Viking quarterback and a buddy of mine. Don't you remember?"

  "I do now. He and his friends used to heckle me."

  "Maybe they did, but I remember Kipp as a really nice guy. I'm going to say hi. Want to come?"

  When Libby leaned back and folded her arms, Ellen marched off.