you said that,” said Nina, and Branson only smiled.
Angie was waiting for her in the outer office, perched on a chair and frowning. Nina took her hand and led her outside. “The doctor says you’re fine, honey. He says you’ll talk to me when you’re ready to. We’re going to see a lady who might help you with that.”
Angie scowled at her, but didn’t pull back.
“I’m not trying to rush you, hon, but if I don’t do this now I won’t do it at all.”
The walk was short, and a door opened as they reached it. A tall woman stood there, white hair, handsome, a rainbow of colors in blouse and skirt. “Come in, come in. Your doctor just called.”
They entered a place with comfortable chairs and couches. The room smelled like lavender. Soft music and the tinkle of chimes came from somewhere, and water tumbled from a desktop fountain. “I’m Ellen Barstead, and you must be Nina,” said the woman, and extended a hand. When Nina took it she felt a liquid warmth flow from fingers to wrist and up her arm. She started to introduce her daughter, but Ellen was already leaning over to look closely at her.
“Hello Angie. You’ll always be welcome here.” It was said softly, but seemed to echo from a distant wall in the room. Angie looked up at Ellen with full moon eyes.
They sat. Ellen gave Nina a brochure describing the work she did, and asked about the problems Nina was having. It was uncomfortable at first with Angie sitting right there, but the child seemed mesmerized by Ellen and kept staring at her. Nina talked about the accident, the long period of physical healing, the longer period of complete silence and an imaginary friend. She was surprised when Ellen reached over and put a warm hand on hers.
“And how is mom doing? You’ve lost something too.”
“I’m working through it,” said Nina, her vision blurring.
“Dreams?”
“Yes.”
“Vivid dreams? They can be healing or hurtful, depending on how you construct them. The Field can be used for good or bad.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Field is everywhere,” said Ellen, “and we use it without thought. A vaster source of energy and information cannot be imagined. It can produce tiny forces, drive miniscule chemical reactions or accelerate the expansion rate of the entire universe.”
Nina glanced at the brochure in her hand. “The vacuum state?”
“Some call it that. We see it so indirectly, a kind of flickering disorder beneath our reality, but connected to us. Many of us believe everything that has ever existed, or will exist, anywhere in the universe, is stored as information in The Field and can be retrieved from it. Some believe we come from The Field, and will return to it when we die. Death is only a change in form.”
“I’m sorry,” said Nina, “but I’m just not a believer in this sort of thing. I’ve never been a religious person.”
“This isn’t about religion, and you don’t have to believe in The Field to use it. A part of you is using it now, and knows what to do. You’re both sensitives, I could feel that right away. All you need to do is worry less, love each other and yourselves, and your healing will proceed nicely. Angie is actually making good progress at this point, but now her mother needs to begin healing.”
Nina’s face flushed. “That’s it, then? No meditations or mantras or the holding of hands? And how much do I owe you for this consultation?”
“There’s no charge for this interview,” said Ellen, “and I will include your case in my own meditations.”
“Well thanks for that, anyway.” Nina stood up and took Angie’s hand in hers. “Come on, hon, there’s nothing more for us here.”
“You’re disappointed,” said Ellen.
“Yes, I am, but this isn’t the first time I’ve hurt myself by having expectations that were too high. I’ll get over it.”
Angie pulled back a bit, seemed hesitant to leave, and kept looking back at Ellen. And as they reached the door, Ellen said, “Say hi to Betina for me, Angie.”
Outside, Nina looked down at Angie, and squeezed her hand. “Who’s Betina?” she asked.
Angie’s face was a portrait of pure astonishment, and for the first time in over a year she was smiling.
* * * *
Nina awoke sobbing, and it was late morning. Sunlight streamed in from the window. The alarm had gone off and run down, and she hadn’t heard it, but it seemed she’d been wide awake only moments before. Mark had been sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her hand; she could feel his warmth and smell his familiar musk, and it had been so real, not like a dream at all. “Hold me,” she’d said to him, and he looked sad.
“I want to, but I can’t, not the way you want me to. I love you, Nina, I’ll always love you, but we can’t go on this way. There are things we need to talk about.”
“What’s so important to talk about?” she asked, and felt, not imagined, the squeeze of his fingers on her hand.
“About letting go, darling. You have to let me go.”
The shock had awakened her with a gush of tears, and she sat bolt upright, hearing a sound, a voice. It was Angie talking to herself or someone else in the other bedroom. Nina slipped out of bed, put on a robe and opened her bedroom door slowly without a sound. Angie’s bedroom door was ajar, and the child was still chattering away. Nina crept up to the door and listened, one part of her cautious, the other joyous at the sound of Angie’s voice.
“Mom won’t believe anything she says, now. It won’t work,” said Angie.
Nina peeked in along the partially open door and saw Angie sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the door. She gestured with her hands, looked to her right as if talking to someone sitting there with her.
“Well, you’re real to me, sort of. I wish you wouldn’t fade in and out like that. Why can’t you be solid so mom can see you too?”
There was a pause, Angie listening, and then, “I don’t know what energy is. Missus Barstead talked about that Field thing, but I don’t understand that either. I’m not as old as you. If mom could see she wouldn’t think I’m lying, and I could talk to her again.”
It was only a tiny touch, a lean too close, a wave of hair touching the edge of the door. The door moved, and creaked. Angie looked up in fright. “Oh,” she said.
Nina pushed the door open, and stepped into the room. “Sorry, but I’ve been listening. Are you talking to your friend?” she asked, and held her breath.
Angie’s expression went from surprise to fear, and suddenly to defiance. “Yes,” she said.
“I can’t see her,” said Nina.
“I know. You don’t have the right resonance, she says. You don’t overlap, like I don’t overlap with daddy.” Angie’s eyes suddenly glistened.
Nina’s heart thumped hard. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Betina.”
Another shock. “Is she right there beside you?”
“Yes.”
“Hello, Betina. I’m sorry I can’t see you. And I don’t understand what’s going on.” A tear ran down Nina’s cheek, and she sniffled.
“She’s sorry too,” said Angie, near tears. She turned and shouted, “Well, can’t you at least try?”
Nina stepped forward, held out her arms and Angie rushed into her embrace.
“I’m not lying, mom.”
“I believe you, honey. Why did