She Shall Have Music (The Psychic Seasons Series Book 3)
Contents
Title
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
She Shall Have Music
By ReGina Welling
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2014 ReGina Welling.
All Rights Reserved, worldwide.
No part of this book or any of its contents may be reproduced, copied, modified, or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author, unless otherwise indicated for stand-alone materials.
Chapter One
Tender new grass spread out before her like a carpet as Amethyst curled bare toes into its lush, green fullness. A sun-warmed breeze wafted through her hair, lifting strands dyed a delicate shade of lavender to send them floating around her face. She inhaled deeply letting the earthy scent of summer refresh her as the soothing sound of a waterfall lulled her senses.
Wait a minute. Waterfall? How did that get there? She remembered choosing a guided meditation that had her walking through sunlit fields. The sound of rushing water was completely unexpected and out of place.
Frowning at the distraction, Amethyst opened her eyes, abruptly coming out of the meditation and into the present with an oath. The waterfall noise was real and coming from the laundry room.
A quick dash into the kitchen revealed a growing puddle of water spreading out from under the laundry room door; she pulled it open with a sense of dread to find an absolute gusher cascading out of the top of the machine. Lunging, the petite woman clad entirely in purple punched the button to kill the cycle and stop adding to the flood of sudsy water already swirling around her ankles.
Just what I need today—a disgusting mess, she thought, as a striped purple sock floated past. Amethyst watched the sock drift toward the floor drain under the laundry sink, then swirl around twice and sink below the layer of bubbles. And now she knew what had plugged up the drain. Next to the machine, a sodden pile of clothes, all in various shades of her signature color, humped above the water level looking like a purple mountain rising from the sea.
If the sea was made of dirty, soapy water, that is.
Blowing the hair out of her eyes in disgust she muttered to herself then waded across the room to pull the sock, its mate and two pairs of filmy—also purple—unmentionables out of the drain.
Immediately, the soapy deluge sluiced away leaving a slimy, slippery soap film on the floor.
In a state of total annoyance, Amethyst stomped into the kitchen, yanked open the broom closet door and grabbed the mop, a bucket, and a big sponge before stomping back to the laundry room.
She tried to ignore the baleful, green-eyed glare coming from the ball of ginger fur on the shelf behind the washer. Another thing she did not need today was recrimination from a fat cat. She shot him a narrow-eyed look in return.
“I’m cleaning it up, your majesty. No worries, you won’t have to get your hairy toes wet.” She wrinkled her nose at him. In response, he raised one hind leg and began to clean himself.
Most women would have called a repair service, but Amethyst was not most women. She prided herself on being resourceful—a real do-it-yourself type. It helped that she had a knack for understanding how mechanical things worked.
Simple logic told her whatever mechanism that triggered the machine to stop filling had failed—and that the first step was to empty the machine of water. Holding her breath, she manually selected the spin cycle to activate the pump.
It worked, the water level promptly lowered.
A quick calculation weighing the cost of a repair technician against the chance to see the inner workings of her washing machine was a no-brainer so she booted up her laptop for a quick Internet search and found a video that showed how to troubleshoot the water level workings.
It looked simple enough and all she needed was a screwdriver and a putty knife.
Undoing four screws to remove the control panel cover and check whether the clear vinyl pressure tube was firmly seated at the top was a breeze. Less than five minutes later, she had made visual confirmation—all good.
Back to the video and step two. Remove the front panel and check the other end of the tube.
Following instructions, she poked the putty knife into the seam and gave it a firm push to pop the first clip. With almost no resistance, that side of the front panel jolted loose. Humming to herself, she applied the tool to the second clip then lifted the entire panel right off the machine.
Just below the lip of the drum, the other end of the pressure tube appeared firmly and properly attached.
Step three—test the water level switch. That step required special tools she didn’t own so she settled for doing a visual inspection.
Frugal and conscious of the environmental need to save water, Amethyst rarely ran a load at less than full capacity, which meant the switch usually stayed at the highest setting. Maybe it was just stuck.
To test theory, she twisted the knob. Sure enough, it turned stiffly but after moving it through each setting several times, the motion smoothed out.
Hoping she’d found the problem, Amethyst put everything back together and turned the machine on after setting it to the lowest water level. At least if it overfilled this time, she would be able to tell before it could flood the room again.
What was that old saying about a watched pot never boiling? The same principle applied to watching a washing machine fill with water, it seemed to take forever.
When the water shut off at the proper level, she did a little happy dance and tested the next setting and finally the highest one. Each setting worked properly.
Sixty dollars saved by not calling a repair tech. Minimum. Not bad and all in time for today’s appointment.
Her parents, both frugal by nature, had passed on the trait. Concern for the ecology of her planet helped her hone frugality into a skill.
Living in an underground house reduced her carbon footprint considerably since it required very little energy to heat and none at all to cool.
She’d bought the place for not much more than the cost of a good, used car. Quite a deal, really. It was a cozy home shared with Tommy the cat; an excellent roommate who kept the place mouse-free. And even if he did occasionally lose his mind and chase a housefly up the curtains, he was a champion at cuddling.
What more could a woman want?
***
Dread slowed his footsteps as Reid Grayson made his way along a series of empty cubicles. Well past the end of the working day on a Friday afternoon, he knew that he and the CEO, who was also the owner of the business, would be virtually alone.
He paused to mentally roll up his sleeves before knocking on the door. The corner office was situated to allow its occupant a full view of the rest of the space. Floor to ceiling glass kept scrupulously clean signaled an open door policy.
Wishing the o
rdeal was already over; Reid scrubbed a hand across his face, rubbing tiredness from his eyes.
Months of agonizing had gone into this decision but this job was sucking the life out of him and he needed to move on.
Hearing the annoyance evident in the muffled, “Come in,” did nothing to change his mind. Six years was enough time spent in a job he hated.
Resolve sent a shot of steel up his spine and straightening his shoulders, Reid strode through the door to place a handwritten letter of resignation on his father’s desk. Lionel Grayson gave the paper a quick glance, balled it up, and tossed it in the trash before standing and leveling a steely-eyed gaze at his only son.
“No,” he said, gray eyes flashing aggressively, “I will not accept your resignation.” Lionel placed both hands on his desk and leaned forward to emphasize his displeasure. Wearing a perfectly cut and fitted Italian suit over a crisp white shirt and tie, his dark hair just graying at the temples, Lionel was the perfect picture of a successful executive. With customers, he projected a calm, almost comforting presence that led to trust and ultimately to sales.
With employees, he was stern but approachable. Fair. Unless said employee was his progeny and then he was rigid and inflexible.
In order to avoid any semblance of nepotism, Lionel treated his son and daughter differently than the rest; they were the ones who dealt with problem clients. Whatever the snafu, it would be turned over to one of his children to handle. Consequently, both worked long hours and rarely got more than a day’s vacation each year.
Reid never minded hard work; he loved the challenge of being given a problem to solve. However, the insurance business was not right for him, or he was not right for it; either way you wanted to look at it. He had no passion for the work and the constant pressure to find loopholes in order to avoid paying a claim went against his very nature.
When he had agreed to take this job, the knowledge that he would be helping people had been its only redeeming quality. If he had known he would spend six years trying to do the opposite, he would have done something—anything—different.
Instead, he had married young and wanted to provide for his wife, to have babies with her and to support a family. Reid preferred to give Jane the opportunity to be a stay-at-home wife and mother if that was what she wanted.
If his son found Lionel unyielding, it was only in two areas: work and Reid’s aborted marriage. Lionel wanted—no—required his son to take over the company at some point and he had not approved of his daughter-in-law. Not one little bit. With her bizarre ways and penchant toward altruism, Lionel assumed she had been the one behind Reid’s choice to take a job at a non-profit agency.
Lionel had used his connections to put a stop to that and to any other unsuitable job opportunity. Reid belonged in the family business and left with essentially no other choice, had come to work with and be groomed by his father. Lionel thought his son had accepted his rightful place, but now he knew better.
“Nevertheless, I’m leaving at the end of the month.” Reid was adamant. Three years ago, he’d come home to find his wife gone. No note, no explanation, just the bleak, echoing emptiness she left behind in their small home. Not that he had really needed an explanation.
He knew exactly what had happened that day. She had left because he had asked her to betray herself, to deny one of the things that made her special to him and to become someone she never wanted to be. All for the sake of his job.
He missed her still.
With a sigh, he slumped in the slightly uncomfortable chair opposite his father’s desk and let the misery wash over him. He hated this job and with no wife or family to provide for, his reasons for taking it no longer existed.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I would rather not fight with you over this but I can’t do it anymore. I’m leaving the agency with or without your blessing.”
Lionel looked away. A mile wide stubborn streak made him want to force the issue—to prove he knew best—just as he thought he had when he brought Reid into the agency but he loved his son. Turning his gaze back, Lionel studied Reid, seeing his determination and admiring the younger man for standing up for himself, he capitulated.
Better to let Reid leave the company than to lose him forever.
Sighing he asked, “Who will run this place when I’m gone if you’re not here? This was supposed to be my legacy.”
The answer to that one seemed blindingly obvious. “Why not groom Cassie for the position? She loves the company and more importantly, she wants it. Haven’t you ever noticed?”
Caught up in the notion of leaving the company to his son, Lionel had missed all the signs that his daughter was the one with the ambition, the drive to take over. Knowing the company would stay in the family went a long way toward keeping the peace.
Waving a hand to indicate that Reid should leave, Lionel said. “Go. Never mind the months’ notice. Take an extended vacation or something. I’ll see that you get a generous severance package.”
Thankful this had gone better than expected, Reid grinned at his father who smiled back at him. “If she’s still here, send your sister in on your way out. We’ll see if she can sink or swim.”
Reid had no doubt Cassie would swim.
Even in shark-infested waters, he would trust his sister to come out on top.
Lighter in his heart than he’d been in years, Reid stepped around the desk to shake his father’s hand, then pulled the older man into a hug before walking out the door before he changed his mind.
Chapter Two
Everything that he had amassed in in his office over the past six years fit into a smallish cardboard box: school trophies, sales plaques and his favorite stapler—so little to mark a life lived in this space. It surprised him to realize he would miss it a little—the familiar smell of coffee brewing in the break room, the sound of phones ringing, fax machines beeping, fingers tapping on keyboards
An unexpected sense of nostalgia settled over him as he made his way toward the lobby. As much as he knew it was time to move on, there were people he would miss seeing every day. When he next walked through these doors, it would be as the owner’s son, visiting his father, not as the future CEO.
That was a promise he made to himself—here and now. This chapter of his life was over. He was thankful Lionel had capitulated so easily but Reid was under no illusions that his father had an ulterior motive and fully expected to lure his son back into the fold at some future date.
Reid balanced the box in one hand while fishing out his car keys with the other. Once the box was stashed in his trunk, he slid into the leather seats of his only toy and gunning the engine, shot out of the parking lot.
The way he drove, it only took minutes to cover the distance between work and home while his mind raced through various possibilities. He could break out that box of video games he used to love and dive into it for a week or take the vacation his father had suggested. For the first time in his life, he was not required to be anywhere. The freedom intoxicated while it also overwhelmed.
Stepping through his front door, the emptiness on the other side slapped Reid in the face as it had every day for the past three years.
In a haze of young love, he had married his high school sweetheart only days after graduation. Even now, though, he refused to admit they had been too young. With what few resources they had, Jane had managed to make a nice home for them here and after she left, he’d stayed on—partly because he was too broken to leave and partly because he thought she might come back.
Looking around at the place, memories overlaid the emptiness and even though he knew how unhealthy it was to live with them, up until now, he could not contemplate leaving those bits of the past behind. After today, though—after leaving the company—he thought it might finally be time to move on completely. Start a new life in a new place.
The kitchen. He could still picture her there, cookbook open on the counter, steam—and sometimes smoke—wafting from the stove while she laughed at her o
wn inability to learn how to cook.
Reid wondered where she was, what she looked like now, how she had changed.
As soon as he realized she was gone, he had begun a frantic search and found her twice. Both times, after watching her from a distance, he had found himself unable to face her. The pain had been too raw.
Jane had made her choice to leave and now he had to live with it.
Half of a rented duplex, the single bedroom unit was small. Tiny, really. Lionel considered the home disgracefully inadequate for a man in an executive position and had voiced that particular opinion at every opportunity. Nonetheless, Reid had stayed all this time. It was the last place he remembered being truly happy.
From his vantage point by the door, he could see the entire space. A single bedroom, galley kitchen, bathroom, and a seating area Jane had eagerly decorated with flea market finds.
It would probably take less than a whole day to pack everything up and move on. And he knew he should.
Instead, he put off making the decision and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything in there worth eating. Chinese takeout. Had that been from Tuesday or Wednesday? It passed the sniff test so he grabbed a fork and booted up his laptop, not even bothering to heat up the leftover food.
There were already emails from headhunters. Word traveled fast in the insurance business. Most of the offers were from rival companies; those he answered with a polite thanks-but-no-thanks letter. After just leaving what, for him, had been a soul-sucking position, taking another one just like it was not the plan.
An email from Cassie:
Thanks for being an idiot and getting out of my way. But seriously, I know this was your nightmare even if it’s my dream come true. I’ll make you proud, I promise.
Another from his friend Tyler:
Hey man, it’s been awhile. I know you’re busy but we should get together. I’ll be in the city one day next week, or better yet, you could take some time off and come out to the lake for a visit. You could probably use the break and we have plenty of room.