Chapter Two

Approximately three-thousand people inhabited the village of Freedom. The residents’ primary support came from logging and lumber.

Its main street sported an independent grocery store that also housed a pharmacy, a movie theater, two bars, a hardware store, a pizzeria, a Chinese takeout, and a thrift shop.  Just around the corner on a small side street was Mildred’s Cafe.  On the outskirts of town, near the entrance to the highway, was a gas station that had a McDonalds and a Dunkin Donuts inside the store cavity.

Feeling lonely and out of place after unpacking my meager belongings that came nowhere near completing the furnishing of my newly purchased, three-thousand square foot Victorian style home, I’d decided to step out for lunch.  I tended to eat light in the midday, so all I wanted was a bowl of soup and a cup of herbal tea.  The only place in town to get that was  Mildred’s Cafe.

Little did I realize when I eagerly made my way to the cozy diner that Mildred’s cooking was famed within the area.  The tiny establishment offered breakfast and lunch, but was closed for dinner.  If residents wanted something to supper on other than what Freedom had to offer, they had to drive twenty miles east to the small city of Wilkes-Barre.

There was exactly one seat left vacant in the crowded café when I entered.  It was at the counter.  Under normal circumstances, I preferred to sit at a table or a booth. Sitting at the counter made me feel exposed and conspicuous. Since I had no choice if I wanted that bowl of soup -which my stomach was now growling for-, I slid onto the stool and peered at the chalk board where the choices for the soup of the day were neatly written.

“The broccoli cheese is my favorite,” said a friendly voice coming from the woman seated to my left.  “I’d get that if I were you. It’s what I ordered.”

The stocky, plain looking woman with short-cropped sandy-blonde hair, no makeup, and clothes that were in typical lumberjack style who was making the suggestion for the soup de jour was Kenzie  McGregor.  Being the only veterinarian for miles, she was very accustomed to carrying on small talk with people who she barely knew but who knew her or, at least, knew of her, whenever she stepped out.

I found the woman who was my senior by only a few years both entertaining and likable and fell into easy conversation with her. By the time we’d finished our lunch, we’d become fast friends.

Wrestling with animals both big and small provided a semblance of strength in Kenzie that both surprised and impressed me. It was that strength behind the knocking on my door that made it vibrate like someone was trying to beat it down.

“Lisa, are you home?” Kenzie bellowed from the opposite side of the thick barrier.  “I only have a few minutes.  Open up if you’re home, will you?”

Forcing my body to move, I stepped away from the door and swung it opened.

“I have exactly fifteen minutes before I have to get back to the office,” Kenzie barked as she marched past me toward the kitchen. “Is there coffee made?” she asked over her shoulder without looking back.

“In the pot, but it’s not fresh” I called after her.

I closed the door and made my way to the kitchen in a far less rushed fashion.  When I reached it, I found my friend filling a mug with the hours old brew.

Taking a huge gulp of the dark, thickened liquid, she wrinkled her nose and said, “There’s no comparison to freshly brewed java, but beggars can’t be choosers.  It’s the caffeine kick that I’m after, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you stop and get a cup from Mildred’s or the gas station?” I asked with curiosity.

“I can’t stand that rag water they try to pass off as coffee at the gas station and you know what Mildred’s is like at this time of day,” Kenzie replied.  “I swear, the whole population of Freedom eats out for lunch.   I didn’t have time to wait in line.”

“What’s the big hurry?”  I asked, with genuine curiosity as I poured out the rest of the old coffee and filled the pot with fresh water to brew a new batch.

“That’s why I’m here,” she said with excited animation.  “An old buddy of mine, Oscar Spears, is in town. We went to veterinary school together.  We were quite close for a long time.  I’m not sure why, but we lost touch over the last year.”

I knit my brows together in thought.  “I think you’ve mentioned him.”

She nodded.

“I’m sure I have,” she said as she pulled the carafe out from the steam of freshly brewed coffee and held her now empty mug beneath it until it was half-full.  Placing the carafe back in its rightful place, she splashed a bit of cream into her rich, dark brew and sniffed it appreciatively.  “He’s meeting me for dinner to discuss some sort of proposition that he has.”

“Romance or business?” I asked.

Kenzie vigorously shook her head as she admitted that there had never been romance between them.

“He’s very good looking,” she said with a hefty sigh, “but we just never took it past friendship.  Not that I would have minded, mind you…”

“Maybe he’s ready,” I wistfully mused.

She threw her head back in laughter.

Her fondness for me was apparent as she good naturedly said,  “For someone who is anti-relationship, you seem pretty hell bent on pairing me up with this guy.”

I scowled at the remark.  I didn’t like to think of myself as being anti-relationship.  Yet, in many ways I was still recovering from my breakup so I wasn’t in a rush to get involved again.  I could see where that could be construed as anti-relationship, but I didn’t like it.

“It’s not that,” I explained.  “It’s just that I sometimes get lonely so I figure you do too.  Having a man on occasion to fill in that loneliness might be nice.”

“Are you telling me that you’re ready to jump back onto the dating train?” she asked with surprise.

“Not yet,” I replied, “but that doesn’t mean that you need to stay alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Kenzie informed her.  “I just don’t talk about my private business.

I gave a mockingly innocent smile, “Not even to me?”

“Especially not to you, you mind reading witch,” my friend teased back.

Our light-hearted bantering brought back thoughts of my last client and I sighed.

“Did I offend you?” she apologetically asked.  “I’m sorry. It was a joke.”

I gave a slight shake of my head.  Even though I didn’t do the psychic reading for Samantha Greene, I still withheld her name as I proceeded to explain what had occurred just minutes before Kenzie had arrived.  Knowing how strongly I felt about client confidentiality, she never asked for the identity of the cheating married woman who had no idea who the father of her baby was.

“I thought you said that you were stopping the readings for people,” Kenzie said with a scowl. “Isn’t that one of the things you wanted to leave behind when you moved here?  I mean, it’s not like you need the money or anything.  Your inheritance is enough to last beyond your years on this earth if you stay in this little town.  Plus, you get your book royalties.  Why bother with readings?”

“This was a special request from Cali, a friend from back home.  The woman traveled ninety minutes to see me.  She shouldn’t have wasted her time,” I said. “The shame is on me. I should have checked to see what the reading would be about when I was scheduling her.  I usually do, but I thought Cali knew better.”

“Perhaps this Cali didn’t think to find out what the woman wanted before asking you to do the favor.  Anyway, I don’t know how you are able to know things about people like that,” Kenzie said. “I know it’s becoming more and more acceptable with society, but it kind of freaks me out.”

“It did me for years,” I admitted.  “It was Rob who finally got me to be comfortable with my abilities and who taught me how to use them correctly.  I never enjoyed it, though. I did it mainly to appease him.  After breaking up with him, I wanted nothing more to do with it.  Unfortunately, things like that have a tendency to follow a person.  Once a psychic, always a psychic, I guess.”

“Not if you don’t want it,” Kenzie said with a smile.

“I don’t, but then, there are times when I do,” I mused.  “I think I’d like to only use my abilities if and when I feel like it instead of on demand by strangers.”

Setting down her coffee mug, Kenzie headed for the door. “That’s completely understandable.  I have to run, but I thought you’d like to meet Oscar.  Join us for dinner tonight?”

“Where?” I asked.

With a sheepish grin, Kenzie said, “How about your back patio?  I’ll bring takeout.”

After a roll of my eyes, a friendly, knowing  smile, a slow shake of my head, and a slight sigh of resignation, I nodded in agreement.

“It will be late,” Kenzie said.  “I have surgery this afternoon.  Shall we say eight?”

“Let me guess,” I chuckled.  “Chinese or pizza.”

“I thought Chinese,” she good naturedly replied as she raced out of the house toward her car.