you had a bad feeling about one of your clients? You aren’t a registered psychic, they would have ignored you. And Sandra, you didn’t have any premonitions. You’ve convinced yourself you knew beforehand, but it isn’t true. You never mentioned it to anyone in the office.” Abbie tried to get her to smile. “And get real, girl, if you had news that important, you couldn’t keep it to yourself. You are the original gossip. A kind gossip, but still a gossip.”
Sandra didn’t smile, but she nodded. “True, I don’t keep secrets very well.”
Abbie put her arm around her and hugged her. “Stop beating yourself up over something you had nothing to do with. Cut the guilt off; it isn’t your guilt to deal with.”
Sandra leaned into her and began to cry.
They stayed there like that until it was full dark and Sandra was hoarse from crying.
Sandra said, “I’ve made you late getting home.” “Charles will understand.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I have a very understanding husband.”
She nodded and snuffled into the last Kleenex in the room. “Thanks.”
“It’s what friends are for, Sandra. Now go home and feel good about yourself, you deserve it.”
Abbie called her husband before locking up the office, to assure him that she was coming home. He was very understanding, but he tended to worry about her. Then she escorted Sandra to her car and made sure she drove away.
It was weeks later before Abbie stood in the newly carpeted living room. Fresh hex signs had been painted over the doors and windows. A priest had blessed the house. A medium had come and told Brian Garner’s ghost that it was dead. Abbie did not know, or want to know, if the ghost had been stubborn about leaving.
The house felt clean and new, as if it had just been built. Perhaps a registered psychic could have picked up some lingering traces of evil and horror, but Abbie couldn’t.
The kitchen door stood white and pure. There were no stains today, everything had been fixed, everything had been hidden. And wonder of wonders, she had a client coming to see it.
The client knew all about the house and its history. But then Mr. Channing and his family had been having difficulties of their own. No one wanted to sell them a house.
But Abbie had no problem with selling to them. They were people, after all; the law said so.
She had turned the lights in the living room and kitchen on. Their yellow glow chased back the night.
Charles had been unhappy about her meeting the clients alone, at night. But Abbie knew you couldn’t sell to people if they didn’t think you trusted and liked them. So she waited alone in the artificial light, trying not to think too much about old superstitions. As a show of great good faith, she had no protection on her.
At exactly ten o’clock the doorbell rang. She had not heard a car drive up.
Abbie opened the door with her best professional smile on her face. And it wasn’t hard to keep the smile because they looked like a very normal family. Mr. and Mrs. Channing were a young handsome couple. He was well over six feet with thick chestnut hair and clear blue eyes. She was only slightly shorter and blond. But they did not smile. It was the boy who smiled. He was perhaps fourteen and had his father’s chestnut hair, but his eyes were dark brown, and Abbie found herself staring into those eyes. They were the most perfect color she had ever seen, solid, without a trace … she was falling. A hand steadied her, and when she looked, it was the boy who touched her, but he did not meet her eyes.
The three stood waiting for something as Abbie held the door. Finally, she asked them in. “Won’t you please come inside?”
They seemed to relax and stepped through the door with the boy a little in front.
She smiled again and put a hand out to Mr. Channing and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Channing.”
The three exchanged glances and then polite laughter.
The man said, “I’m not Channing; call me Rick.”
“Oh, of course.” Abbie tried to cover her confusion as the woman introduced herself simply as “Isabel.”
It left Abbie with only one other client, but she offered her hand and her smile. “Mr. Channing.”
He took it in a surprisingly strong grip and said, “I have looked forward to meeting you, Ms. McDonnell. And please, it’s just Channing, no Mr.”
“As you like, Channing.