They stepped inside the house. It was an older home, with a parlor entry. Just inside, there was a desk, with a young, very attractive brunette sitting behind it.
“May I help you?”
How very official.
Tucker gave his and Aubry’s first names. The woman clicked on her laptop. “Yes, Madame Sheila will see you both shortly. I have you booked with a group appointment. Is that correct?”
Tucker turned to her. “I thought it would be more fun that way, but you can go in alone if you have some deep dark secrets you’d like to keep from me.”
She laughed. “No, we can go together.”
Considering the woman would likely tell her she was going to meet a tall, dark stranger, she figured her secrets—since she didn’t have any—were safe.
They took a seat and waited about five minutes. It gave her time to appreciate what had to be original wood floors and the gorgeous crown molding. The solid wood archway leading into the alcove just behind Madame Sheila’s assistant was something to covet. It would make a lovely sitting area—or even an office. It made Aubry want a house of her own.
Someday. Once her residency was finished and she was settled in, she’d be able to house shop, and then she’d have the place of her dreams.
“We’re ready for you now,” the brunette said, having appeared from down the hall. “Please come this way.”
She spoke in hushed tones, like they had an audience with the Pope or something. Aubry rolled her eyes at Tucker.
“Hey, this is serious business,” he said, his lips curving.
“I can hardly wait.”
They were taken to a room just to the right off the hall. The room was brightly lit, surprisingly. Aubry expected complete darkness, candles, and maybe a crystal ball on the table. And of course Madame Sheila wearing robes and a turban.
Instead, there were two sofas and several comfortable chairs. And an older woman with short brown hair who smiled when they entered. She was wearing slacks and an orange blouse. No turban in sight.
“Good evening. My name is Sheila. You are Tucker and Aubry?”
Tucker walked in and shook her hand. “Yes. I’m Tucker.”
“And I’m Aubry.” She shook Sheila’s hand.
“Please, sit down. Would you care for some coffee or tea? Or some water?”
“Nothing for me, thank you,” Aubry said.
“I’m good,” Tucker said.
Sheila nodded. “That’ll be all for now, Brenda.”
The brunette shut the door behind them.
“Well, then, I’ll start my speech. I’m Sheila Aveila. I’m a psychic medium, which means I can see the past, plus the future. You booked your appointment through my assistant, Brenda, who is also my daughter. Other than that, I know nothing about the two of you. Can you confirm that?”
“Yeah. I gave her my first name and Aubry’s first name and my cell phone number. Nothing else,” Tucker said.
“Good. Then we’ll get started.” Sheila closed her eyes for a few seconds and took several deep breaths. Then she opened her eyes and stared at Aubry.
“You lost someone you loved not too long ago. Someone you cared very deeply about.”
Aubry was about to say something, but Sheila held up her hand to stop her.
“Your grandmother?”
Aubry didn’t know how Sheila would be aware of that. “I . . . yes.”
“You have her bracelet. A charm bracelet. You keep it in your jewelry box, and when you’re stressed or upset, you take it out and put it on. It gives you comfort.”
No one would know that. Even Aubry’s mother didn’t know about her ritual. “Yes.”
“That makes your grandmother happy. She’s with you when you do that, and she wants you to know that someday soon, your life will get easier. But in the meantime, take comfort, because she’s always with you.”
Aubry didn’t want to believe in this. She didn’t believe in these kinds of things. Still . . .
“Thank you.”
Sheila looked over at Tucker. “You . . . chaos.”
Tucker laughed. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“You have many relatives from your past. They look out for you. But they say you’re a difficult one to manage.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“You have to live down a legacy, but you chose to lead your own path. It troubles you at times.”
She looked over at Tucker, who was frowning. He didn’t say anything to Sheila.
“Your grandfather wants me to tell you that he’s so proud of your choice of career, that he appreciates you keeping the old baseball glove in . . .” Sheila frowned. “You keep it somewhere safe.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “A trunk . . . a trunk in your room?”
Tucker’s lips ticked up. “He knows that, does he?”
Sheila nodded. “He also wants me to tell you, like the father, goes the son. The path may be a different one, but the end result is the same. You’re walking the correct road.”
Tucker nodded. “Okay, I get that.”
Sheila looked from Tucker to Aubry, her gaze settling between them.