Visions of Hope Read online

  "Computers and school. That's all he has time for. He's not coming home from Stanford either. I doubt if he'd notice anything his mother does. He's becoming his father's clone."

  "What about Mel?"

  "What about him?"

  "You'll have to spend time with him."

  "You mean, bedroom time? So what. I could use a little roll in the hay after all this talk about you and Kipp." Ellen patted her heart and sighed.

  Libby huffed, "There is no me and Kipp."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 5

  On Thursday Kipp tried to make sense of the notes he'd scribbled during the interview and cursed himself for leaving his recorder behind. He pounded out what he could decipher, but recalling the feel of Libby's hand on his knee and the intoxicating rose scent, which seemed as real now as it was then, he pushed away from his desk.

  He wanted to pace, but he could barely maneuver around the stacks of books and papers and the crumpled Pepsi cans scattered about. He thought about calling his editor and begging off the assignment, but he couldn't think of a reason Jerry would buy, save coming down with the plague.

  He picked up the pop cans on his way to the kitchen, tossed them into the recycling, and checked the refrigerator for something to eat. Macaroni and cheese and leftover spaghetti held no interest, plus he was too restless to cook.

  He grabbed his wallet and keys and drove down the hill to The Fish and Ale, a local hangout by the bay. On summer days the salty air drifted into the restaurant and commingled with the odors of fried fish.

  Kipp sat at the bar and ordered a basket of fish and chips, the house specialty, to go. Sam, the owner, a middle-aged man with an abundance of dark curly hair and mischievous eyes, wiped the counter in front of Kipp and asked how things were going.

  "To tell you the truth, Sam, I can't seem to get a certain woman out of my mind."

  Sam grunted. "Woman problems, huh? Right up my alley."

  "It's not what you're thinking. This woman is smart, attractive, and under any other circumstances, I'd be interested, but she is also a professed psychic."

  "Yeah, so?"

  "She seems to have a way of making me do things I don't particularly want to do."

  "That sounds like every woman to me, psychic or not." Sam chuckled.

  "This is different. It's like I'm determined not to see her, then I hear her voice and I'm a goner."

  Sam grinned. "You've got the bug, man."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The love bug. You're halfway there."

  "You have an overactive imagination. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

  Sam laughed all the way into the kitchen. When he returned with Kipp's order, his face was still lit up with an impish smile. "Yep. You've got the bug."

  Kipp slid a ten across the counter. "You should be paying me for the entertainment I'm providing you. You're enjoying my predicament way too much. But, Sam, you're way off base."

  As he wove his way around tables filled with the dinner crowd, he heard Sam shouting after him, "Give her my regards."

  At home Kipp wolfed down the coleslaw and the ale-battered fillets and chucked the fries. He had worn himself out worrying about seeing Libby again and decided to turn in early. He set his glasses on the nightstand and tugged the disheveled covers toward the headboard.

  His fatigue was overwhelming, but when he closed his eyes, sleep became a stranger. Libby's face was as clear as if she were in the room. He rolled onto his stomach, punched the pillow over his head, and hoped for the best, but in the morning the truth was evident: Libby had been on his mind, and he was as tired as the night before.

  On this Friday morning he'd planned to get up at seven, but he'd dozed on and off, and now it was past eight. At least he wouldn't have time to think it over, and as he got into his car, he was resigned to making the best of an undesirable situation.

  On the way down the freeway, it dawned on him he may have worn the same shirt he had on Wednesday, but then he recalled that shirt was blue, not green. Why did he even care? One thing he knew for sure: an apology was in order for his despicable past behavior.

  Towering firs and alders lined the winding driveway to Libby's house. He inched the Jeep forward with the thought that a person could lose themselves, living alone in these woods. Still, the surroundings were beautiful, especially with the sun glistening through the trees.

  Libby was on the porch, watering petunias in colorful flowerpots, wearing a dress that matched her unusual blue eyes. Approaching the porch steps, he was too anxious to return her smile. Small talk was impossible. He refused her offer of iced tea, even though the lump in his throat was thickening.

  In her office--he in the recliner and she in the desk chair--she handed him his recorder and told him he could tape the session if he was so inclined.

  "First, I need to clear something up," he said, causing her to tip her head in a puzzled manner. "It's about high school. I want you to know I'm sorry for how I treated you, the name calling and everything."

  "Oh."

  "When I came here Wednesday and discovered you were the Elizabeth from high school, I felt terrible about it. I didn't realize--"

  "That's why you were having such a hard time looking at me?"

  He answered with a sheepish grin.

  "And I thought I disgusted you."

  "Oh, no. Far from it. I'm just nervous about all this."

  Libby touched his arm in that tender way of hers. "Please don't be. I'll try to make it easy on you."

  "Like that's supposed to help."

  "Really. There's nothing to be afraid of," she said. "Let's get started. Why don't you lean back and try to relax as much as possible. You can close your eyes if you want. What I'll do is tell you what I see, give you my interpretation. You let me know if it rings true or not, but don't tell me too much, just yes or no. I'll ask for more information if I need it. Are you ready?"

  He gave her a sharp affirmative nod, but in reality he wanted to get as far away as possible. Many times in his career he'd been placed in dangerous situations--war zones, earthquake disasters--but nothing matched the angst he felt in this moment. He fiddled with his recorder while Libby dimmed the lights. To satisfy himself no tricks were involved, he kept his eyes open.

  "I'd like to say a silent prayer before I begin." Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she inhaled deeply.

  On edge, yet curious, he stared at her and waited for her to speak. If nothing else, she was fascinating to look at.

  "Will you state your full name?"

  "Kipp--" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Kipp Sanders Reed."

  She took another deep breath, her eyes closed. "You love the outdoors, the wide open spaces. Traveling has been a way of life for you. Is that correct?"

  That was nothing profound, but he answered in the affirmative.

  "I sense that you are very independent, you like to take charge of things, but you can be a bit stubborn at times. Is that true?"

  Again, nothing profound, and he answered yes.

  "I see you as a child, walking alone. You are an only child. Your parents live far away from you, and I feel there is a great distance between you, not only in miles, but in the way you interact. Is this correct?"

  "Yes and no."

  "Are you an only child, and do they live far from you?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you estranged?"

  "No."

  "I don't see you having much contact with them."

  "It's been a while. That's all."

  "Hmm, I feel there's something else there, but let's move on." She paused for a moment. "It feels to me you've lived a whole lifetime in a short period of time. Does that make sense?"

  "I don't know. Maybe." He wondered where she was going with this line of questioning.

  "It seems your life has changed in the last few years," she said. "What I'm seeing is you holding an inflated balloon. It represents your life. It's like you lived your life large in every wa
y, but the balloon punctures, and the air has come out of it. I see you on a path with a fork in the road. You've had to make an important choice. Is that so?"

  Kipp shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Balloons, forks in the road. What she was saying was all so vague, yet so close to the truth. "Somewhat," he said.

  "Who is the woman younger than you who is close to you?"

  Kipp was silent.

  "She has blond hair the color of straw. Very thin, very beautiful. The name starts with a D or a T."

  "My wife, Tanya. My ex-wife."

  "I feel there was a rift between you. Something happened. I see you both weeping. Was there a child?"

  Kipp's stomach clenched. "Yes."

  "I feel there was a loss. Did you lose custody?"

  "No. I had custody."

  "There's definitely a loss of some kind. I sense that, I see a child being ripped from your arms. I feel indescribable anger and sadness. You have been suffering from the loss of your child. You long for this child. Is that correct?"

  Kipp's eyes widened. She'd jabbed the nerve that was so raw it stung with unbelievable pain. Tears flooded his eyes. It had been months since he'd cried openly, but opening the wound that had been sewn up for so long allowed the tears to flow with an ease that shocked him. He removed his glasses and wept.

  The next thing he knew, Libby was handing him a tissue and telling him she understood. The touch of her hand on his was a shock to his system, his emotions laid bare. Anger rose from the middle of his belly with such force he jockeyed his glasses into place and leaped to his feet. "You don't understand anything."

  She hastened to back out of his way. "I didn't mean--"

  "You think you know everything, how I feel, you and your dog and pony show." His eyes burned from the tears and the rage. "You don't understand. You don't know anything. You're a quack, lady. You're a quack and a misfit."

  He gathered his belongings--dropping his pen in the process and having to pick it up, juggling his notebook and recorder, stuffing it all into his briefcase--and stomped out of the room. He slammed the front door on his way out and never looked back to see if she'd followed him.

  His tires sprayed gravel all the way to the two-lane highway. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he was so bleary-eyed he had to pull over to the side of the road. In no condition to drive on the freeway, he picked up his cell phone and called Charlie.

  Charlie was off duty and agreed to meet him on the outskirts of town at a hole-in-the-wall tavern, known for its dart tournaments and frequented by the after-work crowd. The short drive gave Kipp enough time to compose himself. In the parking lot of Barney's Place, he spotted Charlie's black pickup near the entrance, alongside three other vehicles.

  Inside, a man and woman sat at the bar, and two younger men were playing a game of pool at one of two pool tables in the far side of the room. Barney's was less airy than The Fish and Ale and had the stench of cigarette smoke embedded in the walls from a time when smoking in public places was legal. Kipp stopped at the bar and paid for a draft.

  Charlie waved from a corner booth. He had on a Mariner's tee shirt. "Hey, buddy, I already ordered onion rings and a couple of beers."

  "Good. Two beers will do just fine."

  "You sounded pretty shook up on the phone."

  "Yeah, well, you don't know the half of it."

  Charlie watched Kipp gulp down the better part of his beer. "What are you doing in Harbordale?"

  "You're not going to believe this, but you know that business card you gave me with that psychic's number on it?"

  "Yeah."

  "The psychic happens to be Libby McGraw."

  Charlie's eyebrows shot up. "No shit."

  The waitress brought their order, and Kipp stalled until she left them alone. "I just came from seeing her."

  "No shit."

  Kipp explained about the article he was writing, his reason for seeing Libby, and the personal reading that had him so upset.

  "You didn't go there to ask about Kelly?"

  "No, but she knew all about her. At least she knew I'd lost a child. I didn't let her go any further."

  "Why not?"

  "I lost it." The gut-wrenching emotions threatened to surface again, and Kipp had to work at staying in control. He stared at his glass. "She poked around where she shouldn't have, and I lashed out at her, called her names. Then I took off. She shouldn't have gone there, Charlie."

  When he looked up, Charlie was shaking his head.

  "What?"

  "When are you going to accept someone's help?"

  "I hired a P.I. That didn't go anywhere."

  "That's not what I meant."

  "Then what?"

  "Why didn't you give this woman a chance?"

  "A chance to do what?"

  "I don't know. Give you some emotional support. Maybe she can help you deal with this. I mean, you've been going it alone. Everyone leans on you."

  "You mean Tanya."

  "Who do you get to lean on?"

  "I've got you, friend."

  "You know what I mean."

  "I don't know what you're getting at."

  "I'm talking about letting her help in anyway she can. If you would have let her finish, maybe she could have given you some clues. If it were my kid, I'd do anything."

  "That's not fair, Charlie."

  "I'm sorry, man, but going to a psychic is just one more stone to turn over."

  "Since when are you such a big fan of this psychic crap. You're a cop, for chrissakes."

  "I don't know. I just think if she were my kid, I'd put my prejudices aside."

  "Well, she isn't your kid. She's mine. And I'll do what I think is best." Kipp stood up while struggling to get his wallet out of his pocket. "I can see I'm not going to get any sympathy from you. And I don't need your advice." He threw a twenty down and left his friend at the table.

  Charlie caught up with him outside and clamped onto his shoulder. Kipp was fighting back tears.

  "Why don't you come to my place and chill out before you head home. You're in no condition to drive."

  Kipp proceeded to jam the key in the lock.

  Charlie clutched his arm. "As a cop, I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. I don't want you driving. Come on, I'll follow you to my house."

  * * *

  After napping an hour on Charlie's couch, Kipp left for home. He'd told Charlie he felt better, but thoughts of his daughter never left him.

  The emptiness he felt when he entered his house was like a boulder--hard, cold, and heavy. The light on his answering machine blinked on and off. The caller was Libby. "I wanted to make sure you got home all right," she'd said. The hypnotic sound of her voice flooded his mind with the feelings he'd tried so very hard to extinguish.

  He erased the message and sank into his leather chair. Damn her. Damn the Witch of Harbordale High.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  Over the weekend Libby had no time to think about Kipp's outburst. She had phone readings to do and a workshop to prepare for. His anger did concern her, but she'd seen this reaction before and didn't take it personally. Even though she was tempted to call him whenever she had a spare moment, she talked herself out of it. She sensed he needed the space to be with his feelings.

  On Monday Libby was in her office, checking her appointment book, and Kipp's name popped into her head. Should she call him? She closed her eyes and pictured his face. A sinking feeling, as if the energy in her body suddenly had more weight to it, gave her the answer she sought. She turned to the next page in her appointment book, preparing to make another call, when the screen door banged shut.

  "Libby, it's me." Ellen appeared in the doorway, dressed in a tee shirt and shorts unflatteringly too tight.

  "Come in, Ellen. I didn't hear you drive up."

  Ellen plopped in the recliner and propped up the footrest. "So, how'd it go?"

  "You mean with Kipp."

  "Who else?"

  "Let's just say
it was very enlightening."

  "What did you find out?"

  "That's client privilege. You know I can't divulge any information about him."

  "Not even to little ol' me?"

  "Not even to little ol' you."

  "Can you tell me anything at all, like how long he stayed?"

  "Not very long."

  "Why not?"

  "Let's just say I hit a nerve."

  "Really. You do have a way of doing that. So, when's he coming back?"

  "I don't expect him anytime soon."

  "Oh, you hit a giant nerve."

  Libby nodded.

  "Why don't you call him?"

  "I don't think that would be wise."

  "I could call him and feel him out."

  "I really think he needs time to take it all in."

  Ellen squeezed her chin and narrowed her eyes. "Hmm..."

  "Leave it alone, Ellen, and tell me about your weekend."

  "You mean with Mel, the man from hell?"

  "If that's what you want to call him."

  "I do and I don't. Jennie and I had a blast together. We went shopping and did a lot of talking."

  "About the separation?"

  "Yup."

  "How'd she take it?"

  "She loves her dad, you know, so it's going to be hard on her, but she seemed to understand. She knew more than I gave her credit for."

  "And what about Mel?"

  "He stuck around all weekend. We took Jennie out to dinner and had a great time. That's the good part."

  "And the bad?"

  "He doesn't want a divorce, but he's more than okay with me staying here for a while. It makes it so much easier for him to stray in all the wrong places."

  "I'm sorry, Ellen."

  "Don't be."

  Libby wheeled her chair directly across from Ellen and held her hands. "Do you want to know what I think?"

  "Shoot, kid."

  "I think as soon as you make up your mind what you want to do, and I mean do for yourself, the world will open up to you."

  "You are always the optimist." Ellen disengaged from Libby and pushed the footrest down. "So, what's on your agenda this week?"