Somewhere in Chapter One Metaphysical book - past life story

…..Lindsay practically rolled her eyes. She didn’t like that expression anymore. Gooee had said that too often, especially in pottery class.

She had to stop rolling her eyes, she was seeing little light bubbles clustered in front of her chest like the ones she noticed on moving day. She tried blowing them away but they didn’t swish, didn’t blow, only grew like a swell of snowflakes frozen in place. She pulled the vacuum out of the closet and turned the hose on them. They gathered into a tight cluster and refused to move. Now she knew her vision had pushed her to the point of glasses.

She wandered right into the bubbles, through the French doors into the bedroom. Her room. Through another set of aligned French doors to the outside deck, she noticed a woman with long blonde hair strolling the lake lane. She wore a lavender jacket and long skirt.

Gooee the aggravating psychic - Lindsay the terrified dream intuitive - Heather Laurel the phobic death doula

Gooee the aggravating psychic - Lindsay the terrified dream intuitive - Heather Laurel the phobic death doula

Gooee always wore long skirts. Stop that! Stop thinking about Gooee.

As she closed another window, she could hear the woman singing a hypnotic tune that swelled on the stinging lake wind. She almost expected something to happen, felt a surge into a predictable moment. A familiar moment. A dream… from long ago? No, no.

She dressed as she would have even if Daniel wasn’t on his way. Fluffy cream-colored socks that kept her shins warm. Matching cardigan buttoned to her chin, long French jersey skirt in stormy gray. Her rounded figure was warmly shrouded, nothing visible but her thick fingers and indistinct, flat-planed face. Gray eyes with charcoal lashes blinked in the reflection of the white chifforobe mirror as she studied a new scar under her right jaw, her tiny reminder from misjudging the car door corner. Still another mishap. Goodness, she knew she needed glasses, but she looked kinder without them.

A near-to-elderly woman with pale copper hair glided behind her in the reflection, wearing short shorts and bifocals.

How does one ride a bike with bifocals? And the woman looked Lindsay right in the eye, right into her reflection, as if she heard the question. More chilling than Uncle Herron standing in her kitchen when he really wasn’t.

The woman did not hear the question, Clara Rose, she reasoned, using her given name, just like her husband did only too often. No, that woman doesn’t read minds. Only Gooee is capable of such adept invasions of privacy at long distances. And though Lindsay could feel Gooee out there tracking her like the robust polar after the wayward seal, she lied to herself. She told herself she was secure in a new home. She was.

Calm now. But what was there to be calm about, she wondered. She tried detangling her hair with her fingers, then gave up and touched the rounded cheeks dolloped too high on broad, flat cheekbones. Was it the new mirror, or did her cheeks seem more pink than ever, too healthy, too happy when her husband was dying?

She smoothed the new silken bedspread with sage-colored leaves under burgundy and pink roses. Before long Sam would be sleeping on this bed instead of upstairs. She knew he wouldn’t stand for it, but she wanted him sleeping downstairs. The steep climb hurt him. He could see their view of the sliver of lake from her bed, same as from his room. Her sister had a daybed to loan them when he needed her with him. Meanwhile, Lindsay would sleep upstairs.

This had been Sam’s vacation. A major household move in seven days. The auction company made this easy, simply hauling away their furniture. Of course, they started to pack two weeks ago when they were told he had prostate cancer.

Sam knew a few months before he went to the doctor but hadn’t told her. He had decided not to do anything. A lifelong experience with the disease taking his grandfather, father, and an uncle, all before they turned fifty, that made Sam stubborn. More truthful, Sam was terrorized after the medical treatments he witnessed….

Dr. Schalen, the urologist, confirmed through a bone biopsy, CT scans and MRIs that his severe bone and hip pain was prostate cancer, stage D-three, spread to the bones and lymph nodes.

…they settled them for the long wait. Just this morning they unpacked the last treasures. Then Sam hung their new slate plaque with a lake and moose etching, and their name, ‘The Davinsons.’

Lindsay hadn’t deliberated much on ordering from her favorite catalog. She just made certain they had what was needed to get through the next two-hundred and forty-four days. Eight months broken down without being outrageous, like hours or minutes.

Only, now, two hundred and thirty-four days.

No panic yet, she cautioned herself. He needed her to get them through financially and emotionally. Then panic, then dying.

Or was it dying then panic? Priorities….

Lindsay was still smiling from Haidee’s call as she took the leftover chicken stir fry into the white tongue-and-grooved backroom she and Sam dubbed the mudroom.

A woman with floppy gray hair stood outside the back door. Lindsay gaped at her through the glass pane. The woman didn’t look at her, she just walked away. Now that was spying, certainly that was. Shocked at the nerve, Lindsay checked the door. Locked…

She smiled at the perfection of how all their problems were answered through a cottage that truly infatuated her….

They were stuck here, Lindsay and Sam, with all the newly collected vintage cottage furnishings they could peacefully live with stuffed into this farmhouse-style cottage, awaiting the first breath of spring. And the last breath of life…..

last of Chapter One…

The old woman with floppy gray hair was standing by the cottage when they rounded the corner a block away. She stepped further away from the night post into the shadows before Lindsay pointed her out. Goodness, she really was nosey.

They found Margaret sitting in Daniel’s pickup, patiently reading a magazine. She smiled and waved goodbye with the truck light still on so Lindsay could see every detail of Daniel driving away with another woman. Lindsay knew Margaret didn’t leave the light on to raise her apprehension. Margaret was oblivious.

Even Sam was oblivious.

Lindsay was not. What was Daniel doing? Why now?

She and Sam and the dogs courteously waved the truck away, and she heard Daniel’s favorite folk group, Brookstone, serenading the song Shenandoah on the truck stereo through the deepening night while the song faded away with them.

They went into the toasty cottage and Sam heaved the door shut in a fury, the slam shying her around. The dogs ducked too, protectively curling their tails.

Sam strode through a billow of miniature light bubbles, past the bedroom door toward the kitchen. “Sam hell, just what the sam hell was all that about?” he growled way too loudly to be under his breath.

“What?” she asked, frozen, staring into Uncle Herron’s eyes where he stood at the bedroom’s glass French doors. The skunks were on the other side stomping at him. Her Newfoundlands sat down politely before him to study his face. “What’s all of what about, Sam?” she pressed.

Sam turned and looked right at her, not the old man in the room with them. “What Daniel is pulling, Clara Rose.”

There it was again today, Sam’s protective name. Just why was he so angry with Daniel?

At least she understood the aching turmoil of her offended and worried body. What she needed to understand was why Daniel was with that woman.

And goodness, what did Uncle Herron need from her?

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Categories and genres for A Breath Floats By –

a gentle novel for the awakening world.

reincarnation, reincarnation romance, reincarnation fiction,

reincarnation book, reincarnation reading,

visionary, paranormal fiction, metaphysical,

spiritual, occult, women’s fiction, contemporary fiction, new age,

romance, psychic, mysticism, religion and spirituality.

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