Occult Suspense for Mothers Boxset: The Nostalgia Effect by EJ Valson and Mother's by Michelle Read (2 ebooks for one price) (52 page)

CHAPTER 94

We are leisurely strolling down the river walk after the hectic birthday party. The day is quiet, the sun is brightly shining and the late afternoon warmth is pleasant. Stella and Olivia walk a few feet ahead of us, enjoying cones of gelato as we head toward the fountains. Michael and I walk hand-in-hand in silence. I am still in the afterglow of being back home, seeing my family and seeing Joe and Rachel. – I’m grateful we were all able to be together.

I breathe in the sweet smelling air. There is a bakery nearby, and I can smell a hint of cinnamon. As we continue our casual walk, I gaze at the shops and restaurants across the small cobblestone street. They are all where they should be, where I remember them.

Stella begins to run as we approach the water fountains. Olivia tries to run after her but quickly gives up. In Stella’s daring nature, she dashes quickly into a sprouting stream of water, not caring about getting wet. I laugh out loud as she squeals and screams with joy.

Olivia and I sit down next to Michael on a stone bench so we can watch Stella play. I’m immediately drawn into observing people milling about in the closed off street as they meander through the Farmer’s Market and Craft fair that is taking place on this lovely Sunday afternoon. This moment is a little slice of heaven for me.

I hear the vaguely familiar laugh of a woman from across the way. I look around to try to identify where it is coming from. My eyes quickly shift to a small booth covered by a white canopy to block the sun. Inside stands an older woman with a younger man, perhaps in his thirties. I squint to try to get a better look at her. My heart jolts. I stand up quickly.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Michael and Olivia. They nod and continue watching Stella play.

I’m
stunned as I deliberately make my way towards the stand that is adorned by fresh herbs, flowers and knitted hats and scarves. As I get closer, I can see her more clearly. It’s Astrid. I slowly approach her booth. My heart is in my throat, pounding away. My mouth feels dry. I swallow hard, preparing to speak.

Astrid is placing some herbs into a mason jar and handing it to a gentleman. He hands her cash in return, thanks her and walks away. She puts the money in a cashier box and turns to face me.

“Hello there!” she says in her friendly tone. She doesn’t appear to be phased by my presence.

“Hi,” I manage to squeak out. I’m wide-eyed in amazement at my dear friend standing before me. Does she not recognize me?

“Are you looking for something specific?” she asks.

I shake my head, peering at her for some sign of recognition. “No, just curious as to what you have,” I answer offhandedly.

“Well, we have fresh herbs, lavender, and as you can see some fun hats and scarves. I knitted them myself!” she exclaims proudly, with a chuckle.

I reach up and touch one of the scarves she has hanging on a rack. It is soft, purple and finely knitted. It feels just like the ones I remember, in fact, one very specifically. How is this possible? I begin to wonder if I have seen Astrid here at this market before. And if so, did I manifest her into my dream?

“Oh, that would be pretty on you,” she says.

I smile at her comment. She is cheerful, just the way I remember the Astrid I knew to be. “I’ll take it,” I say.

“Wonderful!” she says and takes it down. I watch her as she grabs a small bag and nicely folds the scarf.

The younger man I saw with her earlier steps back into the booth after being absent for a few minutes. He is holding a box of herbs.
“Where do you want these, Mom?” he asks her.

“Oh, right over there, Sweetie,” she says, pointing to another table.

My eyes are wide with surprise my breath catches in my throat. It is her son. He is alive and looks visibly healthy. I watch in amazement as they engage in short conversation. The sight before me is surreal.

“OK, that will be five dollars,” she says
, handing me the bag.

I quickly recover and fumble through my purse to find some cash. I hand her a ten dollar bill and wait for change. I want to ask her what her name is. I want to ask her if she knows me, but I fear that I would be disappointed by the answers. It seems more and more that whatever experience I had was just a dream. And somehow this woman became a part of it.

“Thank you,” I say, taking the change.

“You’re most welcome, Dear,” she says.

“Bye,” I say, my eyes lingering on hers -- looking for more. She just smiles back at me pleasantly. I turn around and begin to walk away, back to my family, back to my life.

“Goodbye, Jennifer,” I hear her say, as I start to cross the street.

I stop suddenly in my tracks, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I smile, take a big breath and keep walking.