“I’m not through,” she said, determination putting lines on her forehead. Her knitted eyebrows exposed her cornflower blue eyes and made them seem somehow larger. “I couldn’t help you. Do you understand? I tried to heal you. Iris and Connor brought you to me before taking you to the hospital. It should have been easy. You had a jolt, but you’re young and strong and healthy, and I should have been able to heal you. Instead, I could have let you die.” The tears flowed heavily down her cheeks.
“I wasn’t hurt that bad!” I exclaimed. “Just knocked for a loop.”
“You were unconscious for days,” Ellen said.
It was true, helping me should have been a no-brainer for her. Out of my mother’s three siblings, I was most in awe of Ellen’s talents. I’d seen her stop bleeding cold and regulate the beat of a heart. Once I witnessed her bring someone back from the brink of death. I was scared to go near her for days after that. And maybe she had caught death’s attention by straddling the threshold between life and death for too long, because her own son and husband were killed in a traffic pileup a week later. I was certain that she blamed herself for what had happened. Nowadays she spent most of her time hiding from the sun with a cold glass of something strong in her hand.
“I don’t know what’s happened to me. I can barely patch up a scraped knee on my own these days,” Ellen continued. “You were in the hospital for a full day before I could locate your essence. Even then, I needed Maisie’s help to pull you back from your coma. But you wait and see; I’m going to get things back together. You have faith in me even if no one else will, okay, darlin’?”
“I do have faith in you.” This time she didn’t resist when I pulled her into my arms. I didn’t think the alcohol could be the only thing interfering with her powers, but I knew now was not the time to kick out any of Ellen’s supports.
“Will you walk me back into the house?” she asked. “I can’t face that bunch of buzzards on my own.” We took a few more steps, and she stopped again. “What do you think she wanted? Why did Ginny want to see you?”
“Honestly,” I lied, “I haven’t the darnedest.” We turned down Perry and headed home.
Folk usually chose to cross the street rather than passing directly in front of our house, an almost embarrassingly large, but still graceful, Victorian that took up the better part of the block. Maybe they crossed out of respect or fear, or maybe a century and a half of people doing so had carved some kind of psychic groove into the walkway. Which is why it was an entirely new experience to see a stranger sitting on the front steps.
“Adam Cook! Although it’s Detective Cook now, isn’t it?” Ellen addressed the man. A policeman. I knew without asking that he was there to interview me. I’d been expecting this conversation, but I had hoped that the police would find Ginny’s killer before I was forced to relive the morning I found her body. Unrealistic, I knew, but it would neither be the first nor last time I fell prey to foolish optimism.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s correct,” the officer said, standing and taking Ellen’s hand. “Thank you for remembering. It’s good to see you again.” Even after stepping down onto the sidewalk, he towered over the both of us. Mixed African American, American Indian, and Caucasian blood played in his handsome features. A high forehead, straight nose, and nearly cinnamon skin came together in an extremely eye-pleasing way.
“Oliver is going to be so pleased to see you,” Ellen said, then remembered herself. “Good heavens, don’t tell me you were left out here on the doorstep! Did no one respond when you rang the bell?”