An excerpt from Connor

The shadows were growing longer, and more people were leaving than arriving. She supposed the family supper hour was drawing near. Her legs were getting numb from sitting on the swing. She stood up and stretched, thinking she would go for another short walk when she spotted him. It had to be him. He was a tall man with sandy colored hair and broad shoulders—and he was walking a beagle puppy. As she got closer she could see he was wearing faded jeans and a dark blue, short-sleeved shirt.

She was on the path now and as she got closer his sadness was evident in the way he carried himself. His head was down, his shoulders slumped forward as if they bore the weight of the world. Without looking up he automatically moved to his right to allow her room to pass. She stepped to her left and blocked him.

He looked up with startled green eyes. Green. They were the ancient barren green of glacial ice and water. Sea foam green, like a vast sad sea, endlessly empty on the surface and out of touch with the explosion of life below.

“Sorry,” he said and moved left. Mireya moved right to counter.

“Are you Mr. Coakley?”

He held out his hand to stop her. “Please. No press. I need a little peace.”

“I’m not the press. I’m Mireya Richardson and I’m an animal communicator.” She held out her right hand.

As he took her hand in a firm grasp, he looked into her eyes. They were dark, fathomless, mesmerizing. For a moment he felt as though he were being drawn into their depths, like he was being pulled outside of himself, floating downward. . .

He stepped back abruptly and looked away, mildly alarmed and confused. “Ah. . . sorry. What’s an animal communicator?”

“Someone who can communicate with animals in a telepathic way.”

“You’re an animal psychic?”

“No. I’m not a psychic. I can’t predict the future. I can only communicate with them concerning present and past events.”

“Right. Very interesting. Nice meeting you.” He stepped around her and walked away.

She turned and watched him continue on his way with the puppy trotting along beside him. She knew it wouldn't work. He was obviously a nice guy, politely excusing himself when he had really wanted to laugh in her face. She longed to go home, but the image of his daughter screaming and beating her hands against the window rooted her to the spot.

“YOU’LL WANT TO LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY BECAUSE I HAVE INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR DAUGHTER!”