"We're going to meet our medium today," I say, holding my iPhone closer to my ear, and turning on the radio in my car.
"Okay, don't wait up," Art says, shuffling around on the other side of the call. "I'll be there a little late."
"Why?"
"Personal stuff," she says, sounding hoarse, suspicious.
"Personal stuff like what?"
"Like none of your business," she growls playfully.
"Okay."
•••
I arrive at the cabin around noon. Marcy Dunn, our medium is waiting outside, gloved hands tucked inside the pockets of her bomber jacket, hair dyed a shocking, almost theatrical red.
"You're early," I joke, leading her inside.
But, she's stoic, face blank, looking like she just wants everything to be over.
"Have a seat." I scratch around in the kitchen cupboards for some tea to make and offer her a cup when it's ready.
She sips it carefully. She places her cup to the side, gently tucking her red hair behind her ear. "When will your partner arrive?"
"I thought you were a medium," I said sarcastically, sitting down adjacent to her at the kitchen table.
She looks at me. "I can't see the living. I can only communicate with spirits. I only know about the world what they tell me."
"And what are they telling you right now?"
"I'm getting an impression from this cup. It belonged to someone who your partner holds dear. Someone who died a year ago. A parent."
I lean forward in my seat, chest right, anxious. "How do you know that?"
She simply stares at me.
I tuck my hair behind my ears, leaning backwards in my seat, wanting to be far away from her. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm getting an impression. She wants comfort. Love. But, you are resisting her advances."
"That's not true. I... She doesn't even speak to me about it... She..."
"You're afraid to get close to her. You don't want to get involved with anyone. All you want to do is focus on your work."
I rise to my feet, pacing, burning holes into the carpet. I can't. "Are you a relationship coach or a psychic?"
There's a knock on the front door.