“So?  Did you have the dream again last night?

Betty Lou’s excitement left an uneasy feeling in the pit of Christine’s stomach.  Yet she knew her friend had her best interest at heart.  Along with a good dose of curiosity.

“Yes.”  Christine tried to smile, but couldn’t get her mouth to tip upwards.  She treasured her dreams of Johnny and didn’t want to share the details with anyone.  Even her best friend.  “You know I don’t like talking about this.”

Betty Lou flipped her long blonde hair away from her cherub face.  “I know.  And I know I shouldn’t bug you, but shoot, girl, you get more action from your dead husband than I get from my living boyfriend.”  At Christine’s wince, she added, “Shoot, I’m sorry.  That didn’t come out like I wanted it to.”

Christine hooked her arm through her friend’s to keep them moving toward the office.  “Don’t worry about it.  Still, we’d better get back to the office or Mr. Plaxton will fire both of us.”

Betty Lou’s lilting laugh and flowing hair caught the attention of a man passing by them.  But Christine was used to her friend being the center of attention.  Being the average-looking brunette friend of a blonde bombshell had its challenges.

“Christine Rogers, don’t you think it’s about time for you to get your little tushy back in the game?”

Tears sprang to her eyes as an image of Johnny in his military uniform flashed through her mind.  If only he hadn’t enlisted…  “Why bother?  No one could ever compete with him.”

“Maybe not.  But it’s been a year since he was killed in Iraq.  Besides, knowing Johnny as I did, I know he’d want you to have a happy life.  With someone else.”

Why wouldn’t Betty Lou let this alone?  Unwilling to listen to her friend’s persistent harangue, she let go of her arm and shooed her in front of her.  “You go on ahead of me.  I’m going to pop into the coffee shop and snag us a couple of lattes.”

Betty Lou frowned, started to object, then shut her mouth.  “Fine.  I can take a hint.  I’ll go on without you and pretend you’re in the restroom if old Mr. Poophead asks.”

“Good idea.”  Christine waited until she crossed the busy street before she entered the coffee shop.  Luckily, the lunch hour rush had subsided allowing her to move quickly to the counter.  After ordering two coffees, she let her mind wander while she went into automated mode to pay. 

She knew Betty Lou had a point.  She couldn’t stay locked inside herself forever.  But how could she go on dates, much less have a real relationship, when all she wanted was to sleep and dream of Johnny?  Would a life without Johnny be enough for her?

She nodded at whatever the cashier had said to her and pivoted to exit the shop.  Once outside, she squinted in the bright summer sunlight, waited for the traffic light to change and started across the street.

“Missy!”

Christine heard the call, but continued crossing to the other side. 

“Oh, Missy-woman!”

The voice was closer this time.  Whoever Missy was, she wasn’t answering.  Still, it was no business of hers.

“Missy-woman, Christine, you stop right there!”

Someone gripped her arm, spinning her around and sloshing a bit of hot coffee onto her hand.  “Shit!”  Thankfully, the cover on the coffee had kept most of the scalding liquid inside the cup.  She wiped her hand with a napkin and glared at the person holding her arm.

Glared, then gaped at her.

An ancient-looking oriental woman, as wide as she was tall, narrowed her eyes and glowered at Christine above round reading glasses.  “Why didn’t you stop when I called for you?”  Glossy black hair, cut short and spiked with tons of hair product barely jiggled as she shook her head back and forth in dismay.  “I called and I called and I called.  You’re one rude girl, missy-woman Christine.”

Who the hell was this woman?  Christine yanked her arm away from the strange lady and stepped back.  Was she some kind of nutcase?  “How do you know my name?”

“You’re missy-woman Christine Rogers, yes?”

“Yes.  But—”

“No but.  You shush and listen because I have an urgent message for you.”

Catching sight of a police car cruising by, Christine started to raise her arm to wave at the policeman.  Yet at the word message she dropped her arm and confronted the woman.  “Look, if you’re trying to sell me something, it won’t work.  What do you mean by urgent message?”  She studied the brightly colored dress of the woman—clothes more suited to someone of African American heritage—and added, “And you still haven’t told me how you know my name.”

The woman cackled and sported a toothy grin.  “I’m Mother Lamb.  I know lots of things.  I know you because your husband told me about you last night.  And the night before that, and the night before that.  He won’t shut up about you.”

Pain stabbed through her at Mother Lamb’s statement and Christine fought to keep her vision from blurring.  Yet the world grew glaringly clear when anger welled up inside of her. 

“What do you mean?  How dare you talk about my husband!  Check your facts, lady, before you try conning the next person.  My husband couldn’t have told you anything because he’s dead.  He’s been dead for a year.  Get away from me before I call the cops.”  To show she meant what she said, she dropped one of the coffees and reached into her purse for her cell phone.

“I know your husband’s dead, you silly child.  Don’t you think I know when I’m talking to a spirit?”  She rolled her eyes and puffed out an irritated sound.  “Your Johnny man told me your name and where to find you.  He described you perfect-like, but he didn’t tell me how silly you are.  What’s the matter with you?  Don’t you believe in spirits?”

“I think you’ve been talking to too many spirits already.  The kind of spirits that come in a bottle.”  Christine took two steps back and spun on her heel.  The warning bells in her head sent her scurrying toward her office.

“You and your Johnny-man make love every night.  Well, almost.  You two never get the job done all the way, do you?  And he never stays, does he?”

Christine whirled around, very aware that people passing by her had heard the comments about her sex life.  Men stopped to scan her body as if wondering what she was like in bed while the women around her either threw her scornful looks or pretended they hadn’t overheard the conversation. She whirled around to Mother Lamb as fast as she could.  “Keep your voice down. What’d you just say?”

“I said, Johnny-man and you are together every night.  In dreams.  Dreams of making love.  But the dream never lasts, does it?  Johnny-man never comes inside you, does he?”

Heat rushing up her neck raced against the queasiness swirling in her gut.  How could this woman know?  “Have you been spying on me?”  She glanced toward the office where Betty Lou sat next to the front window, diligently working at her computer.  Would her friend have told her secret to the woman?  “Who told you about my dreams?”  Surely, her best friend hadn’t told a complete stranger.  Or had she?

“Humph.  I don’t understand you.”  The woman’s contempt radiated from her gaze.  “You don’t look like a silly woman.  But you talk like one.  I already told you.  Listen with your heart and your ears.  Your Johnny-man told me.”

Christine paused, hoping to take the hitch out of her breath if she could only calm down.  Could this woman be telling the truth?  She scrutinized Mother Lamb again, studying her with renewed interest.

She and Johnny had shared an incredible love.  A love stronger than any she’d ever dreamed of having.  In fact, they’d considered themselves soul mates, lovers for eternity.  When he’d received his orders to leave for Iraq, he’d promised he’d come back to her any way he could.  The dreams were real enough to make her think he was really there, so why couldn’t he contact someone else, too? 

“Tell me about Johnny.  How did he tell you?” 

“He told me like I’m telling you now.  With words.”  She shook her head, but continued.  “Like in the movies.  I see people.  But the spirits don’t usually talk to me.  Johnny, though, he’s been bothering me and won’t leave me alone until I give you something.”

Maybe I’ve gone insane.  Or maybe I have a tumor in my head.  Or maybe I need a lobotomy perhaps?  Because if I listen to this woman, someone should call me crazy and sign me up for a brain operation.  Yet, she couldn’t help herself.  She had to find out more.  “Give me what?”

The woman’s chubby hand disappeared into the folds of her garment and reappeared with something in her fist.  Opening her fingers, Mother Lamb held out a small round, green stone, similar to many that could be found in North Carolina.  “This is what he wants you to have.”

Christine frowned, reached out for the stone, hesitated, then took it out of the woman’s palm.  “Why does he want me to have a rock?”  She held it up, trying to see anything special about it.  “It looks like a normal rock to me.”

Mother Lamb shot her another you-are-such-a-silly-woman expression.  “It’s a stone.  Not a rock.  And it’s not a normal stone at all.  This stone is special.”

“How is it special?”

“This stone can bring your husband to you for real.”

Christine wasn’t sure she’d heard clearly.  “What are you saying?  That this stone has powers?  That my Johnny can come back to me if I have this stone?”  Okay, now she knew the woman had mental problems.  Or she did. 

“I see the disbelief in your eyes, you silly woman.  But it doesn’t matter if you believe or not.  You take the stone home and put in under your pillow.  Then you open your bedroom window so the wind can bring Johnny-man to you.  You do what I tell you and you’ll see.”

Christine chuckled, half amused to find herself considering the woman’s instructions.  “And I suppose Johnny wants me to pay you a bunch of money for this magical stone, right?”

Waving her hands in front of her, Mother Lamb took a step backwards.  “Oh, no, no.  I can’t take money for helping the spirits.  Taking money would make bad karma.”

“So what do you get out of helping them?”

Mother Lamb reached out to close Christine’s fingers over the stone.  “You do what I say and Johnny-man will quit bothering me all night.”  She yawned and added, “I’ll get to sleep.”