The Counseling by Marley Gibson

Author:Marley Gibson [Gibson, Marley]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 2011-06-15T09:04:26+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

THE YOUNG WOMAN lifts her eyes to my face. "I'm waiting to be found."

"What does that mean?"

"Please help me," she begs.

I shove my hands into my hair and rub at my scalp. "Help you what? Stop talking to me in riddles! If you want help, then talk to me."

She stares at me with her wide, sad eyes. I have to remember that spirits are delicate souls somewhere on a transitional plane. And they were people too, after all. I need to be more sensitive. I gather my thoughts, take a deep breath, and ask, "Where are you? Did you die here at the inn? Is that why you're here?"

She seems perplexed. "I'm here because of you. You're supposed to find me. They said you would"

I am? Is this the "they" that Oliver relayed to me? The "find them" that Emily was referring to? Is this some sort of calling that Emily is directing me to through this retreat? My heart is heavy with love and loss and loyalty to the woman who gave me life while losing her own.

"Did someone named Emily say I'd assist you?"

"I don't know their names," Hailey explains. "There were a bunch of them and they said you were the one. Are you or not?"

Gulp. I suppose I am.

For the sake of Emily, a woman missing forever to her family and to the baby she'd never had a real relationship with, I rotate to survey Hailey. Her eyes are even sadder than before, and somehow, it's up to me to fix all that ails her.

I don't know if I can.

I don't know if I want to.

I don't know if I'm capable anymore.

My eyes flutter shut; I'm trying to block Hailey from my mind. Her face still appears on the insides of my lids, though. Loreen's voice is strong in my head, telling me God has given me the skill to reach the deceased because they need my help. Emily told Oliver Bates that there's more for me to do, but part of me wants Mom's boss to prescribe me a big old colorful pill with lots of milligrams that erases this "talent" from my mental hard drive.

Suddenly, Celia's in my thoughts, particularly something she wrote on one of my get-well cards when I was in the hospital. Of course it was encouraging, and from the pen of the Bard himself. In Richard III, the king calls out, "O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!"

Slamming my fists to the bench, I swallow down the heartburn-y taste of apprehension. Kendall Moorehead may be a lot of things, but she's not a chicken, faint heart, fraidy cat, jellyfish, lily liver, malingerer, quitter, scaredy-cat, or yellow-bellied anything. Geesh, there I go, speaking of myself in the third person again. D'oh!

Hailey is not here to injure me in any way. She honestly needs my aid, and I will give it to her. I scan her thoughts and I'm assured that she doesn't mean to harm me, like Sherry Biddison did.

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