CHAPTER 1

ANNE

Freak is a nasty word. It burns like a slap.

A group of teenagers sit behind me at the coffee shop tucked inside the superstore.

"Isn't that the psychic freak?" one of them asks the others.

My quiet evening of people-watching with a mocha latte ruined, I turn out the teenagers.

"Didn't your parents teach you better manners?" I demand from my seat at the next table.

The two males and a young girl with a nose ring stare in shock that I confronted them. The boys look startled, the young woman has the good grace to look ashamed.

"We're sorry," she says, fidgeting with her hair.

"Tell her you're sorry," she says to her companions.

They mumble something that can loosely be described as an apology.

I turned back to my latte, my cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

They whisper together, thinking I can't hear them.

"Ask her," one boy urges the other.

"Leave her alone," the girl scolds.

I know what's coming next. The question everyone asks.

I beat them to the punch.

"I don't know if you will win the lottery," I say loudly.

The girl giggles.

Choosing people-watching from the coffee shop as a fun activity says more about me than it does about River Bend , Indiana, but isn't too much to do here. We do have an antique covered bridge and an amazing park nestled along a bend of the St. Joe River. I often run at the park, but a rainstorm took the park off my list of options for tonight.

The rain must have driven the kids inside as well. At least they have friends to hang out with.

My latte and a book keep me company.

A very young boy wanders by the half-wall separating the coffee shop from the rest of the store.

I forget the teenagers and focus on the child.

His hair is the improbable shade of blond only the very young are blessed with and women spend hundreds of dollars trying to reproduce. His chubby face looks curiously around him, not scared yet, but working towards it. The closer I get to thirty, the more I enjoy watching children, and this little guy radiates cuteness.

Instinctively, I look for his mother, but he walks alone. He wanders past the half-wall separating the coffee shop from the store then totters towards the produce section and its bright colours.

The delicate cross tattoo on my left inner forearm begins to tingle, telling me to act. Rubbing it through the fabric of my jean jacket doesn't make the tingle stop. I down the last of my coffee and leave the teenagers twittering behind me.

I find the little boy near a display of dried fruit.

Scanning the produce section, I still don't see a mother looking for a lost child. The fact annoys me. I kneel close to the little boy. We are alone between the dried fruit display and the organic tomatoes.

"Hi there, are you lost?"

He turns his angelic face to me, cocks his head sideways.

"Don't think so," his tiny voice as cute as his face.

"Where's your mommy?"

"Around." He points to a package of dried apricots. "Can I have this candy?"

"That's not candy, hunny."

Looking around one more time, I can't find a frantic parent.

I slip the glove off my left hand, the only hand tha actually needs one.

I rarely make a contact on purpose, but the insistent tingle of my tattoo forces me to make an exception.

The boy puts his chubby palm on mine. I close my eyes and open my mind.

Laughing, running, a shaggy dog, the sweet taste of candy, snuggling with mommy.

So far nothing helpful, just fuzzy impressions of a young boy's mind. I focus harder on mommy.

Tall, blonde, safe , smells like vanilla.

"What was mommy doing when you last saw her?" I ask the boy.

"Talking." he answers simply. I do what I can with that, try to see what he saw.

Tall blond, wearing a red jacket. Talking to another woman, not paying attention to the baby boy. Boxes of cereal behind her.

"Let's go find mommy, okay?" I slip the glove back on and take his chubby hand in mine, ignoring the pang of longing stirring inside me.

The blonde mother talks to another woman in the cereal aisle, completely unaware her son had run off.

He pulls away and run to his mom. "Mommy!" I recognise the woman and sign. Emily Rose. She's on the evening news now, but I knew her before the nose job. She never needed one. Emily was the prettiest girl in High school and make sure you knew it.

I approach slowly, although I'd rather run away. Emily finally notices me and nearly breaks out laughing. "Hey look," she says to her companion. "It's Anne Caillon," she makes my name sound like a bad word. I know the other woman, too. Audrey and Emily were tight friends back in school.

I force my feet to walk closer to them.

"I found him in the produce section," I say by way of explanation.

"Really? Eric did you wander off again?" Emily says sweetly to the boy, unconcered.

"Hi, Anne ," Audrey says, politely. "How you doing?"

I shrug, not trusting her.

Audrey pushes on," How's your mom?"

"She's doing as well as can be expected," I answer vaguely.

"I've thought about you guys a lot over the years." Audrey glances at Emily, then leans closer and lowers her voice, " I always wanted to tell you how sorry-."

"Stop any fires lately?" Emily interrupts with the old joke, laughing openly at me. Audrey looks away uncomfortable.

"Well, now you have your son back." I motion to Eric and shove my gloved hands deep into my jacket pockets. Emily doesn't say thankyou. I walk away, calling "You're welcome," over my shoulder.

"Nice gloves, Anne," Emily calls after me. Her laughter echoes off the cereal boxes as I leave.

I resist the urge to run down the aisle.

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