The Long Way Home Read online

  The Long Way Home

  Other books by Karen McQuestion

  A Scattered Life

  Easily Amused

  For Teens:

  Favorite

  Life on Hold

  For Kids:

  Celia and the Fairies

  Secrets of the Magic Ring

  The Long Way Home

  Karen McQuestion

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright ©2012 by Karen McQuestion.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Amazon Publishing

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN: 978-1-61218-356-5

  For Alice L. Kent

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Reading Group Guide

  Chapter One

  She arrived late.

  They were nearly finished when the young woman rushed into the classroom, flustered and apologetic. When the door flew open and Marnie first spotted her, she assumed the girl had entered the wrong room. For one, she was so much younger than the rest of the group—in her early twenties, judging by her looks. And secondly, she was strikingly beautiful with straight blonde hair and pale blue eyes. The way she moved, too, was a sharp contrast to the rest of the women, all of whom had trudged in earlier like prisoners to the gallows. This girl was all energy. She bounded in, bracelets jangling, a large bag swinging off her shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “The traffic was terrible, and then I couldn’t find the room—”

  The instructor, Debbie, a round-faced woman, pointed to the empty chair next to Marnie and went to get a name tag for the newcomer. Before the interruption, they’d been sharing things that cheered them up when they felt down. Debbie had given them five minutes to come up with their “day brighteners,” but Marnie hadn’t been able to think of anything. While all the other women frantically filled out index cards, there she sat, empty.

  The young woman accepted the name tag and pulled a purple marker out of her bag. When she leaned over to fill in her name, her hair fell forward, obscuring Marnie’s view.

  This was their first class, but already they knew the routine. They went around the circle in clockwise order, the instructor cueing them one at a time. Marnie hoped the hour would be over before they got to her, but it was dicey. Just two more to go and it would be her turn. Debbie pointed to a woman, who cleared her throat before reading off her card. “One thing that really brightens my day is when my husband warms up the car for me on cold days.” She’d stumbled over the word husband, and a stricken look crossed her face, as if she were remembering something. Marnie knew what she was thinking. So many in the group were widows that the mention of a live husband seemed insensitive.

  But she shouldn’t have worried. This group knew pain, and they weren’t wishing their particular brand on anyone else. “Nice,” somebody murmured, and the rest nodded in agreement.

  A woman named Leticia went next. “When I’m really down I like to stop at Starbucks and treat myself to a Skinny Vanilla Latte.”

  “And how does that brighten your day?” Debbie asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Leticia flexed her card. “I guess I love the way the coffee smells. And I like to people-watch too. It takes me out of my everyday worries.”

  “Excellent, excellent!” Debbie gave her the thumbs-up. “Class, this is a perfect example of being proactive. Leticia makes a point of stopping at Starbucks knowing it will give her a much-needed lift.”

  “Plus, I’m trying to use up my gift cards,” Leticia added.

  “Moving on,” Debbie said, finger aimed at Marnie. “Your turn.”

  Marnie glanced down at her blank card, slightly panicked. Weren’t classes offered through the Park and Rec supposed to be stress-free? She’d only signed up on the advice of the funeral director, of all things. People found the class comforting, he said. It helped them to cope with their loss. Looking at the grim faces of the other women in the room, Marnie somehow doubted it. She sat up and said, “I would like to take a pass.”

  “A pass?” Debbie looked confused. “Would you like someone else to read for you?”

  “No.” Marnie held up the index card to show it was blank. “I don’t actually have anything to read. You can just skip me.”

  Debbie pressed on. “But surely you can think of one thing that brightens your day?” The awkward silence was punctuated by the droning of the fluorescent light fixture overhead.

  The blonde newcomer gave Marnie a sympathetic look and then waved her arm from side to side, making her bracelets clink. “Oooh, ooh.” At this angle, Marnie could see the name tag now positioned on the left side of her shirt. Jazzy, it said. The two z’s were slanted so they looked like lightning bolts.

  “Yes?” Debbie squinted to see her name tag. “Jazzy?”

  “I’d love to share some things that brighten my day.” She looked at Marnie. “If you don’t mind me taking your turn?”

  Marnie exhaled in relief. “Please, go ahead.”

  Jazzy flipped her hair back. “One thing I love, love, love is when I walk past a guy and then when I glance back I can totally tell he’s checking me out. Who doesn’t love that?” She looked around the room grinning, and continued. “Or how about a bubble bath at the end of a really sucky day? If you add some really great music and a glass of wine, that’s even better. That way you get like three sensory experiences at once.” Debbie cleared her throat, but Jazzy didn’t stop. She was just getting warmed up. “You know what else is fun? Going to the dollar store and buying all kinds of goofy crap
just for the hell of it. One time I bought something totally random, this miniature flashlight keychain thingy, and then I wrapped it and gave it to this old guy at work. I hardly knew the guy, but I told him I was out shopping and just saw this one thing and had to get it for him. Oh my God, he was so puzzled, but really pleased too. It totally made his day, and that cheered me up.” She beamed at everyone in the circle, and Marnie felt a shift in the room. Positivity, that’s what this girl was putting out.

  Jazzy was hurrying now, sensing Debbie was going to shut her down. “Another super great thing I do when I’m kind of depressed is find a song on the car radio I just love and I force myself to sing along. Loud, really loud, like at the top of my lungs. It always cracks me up, especially if I get caught at a stoplight. Sometimes I get the funniest looks from people. Then I wave at them.”

  The ladies leaned forward in their chairs. “Fantastic!” said the woman whose husband warmed up her car. A smattering of applause started up.

  Debbie didn’t look pleased at the way Jazzy had taken over the evening’s discussion. Order, that’s what she was all about. Marnie could sense it: her class, her rules.

  Jazzy held up a hand. “Just one more thing, if I can—”

  “You weren’t here earlier, Jazzy,” Debbie said, interrupting, “but the rule was that we were limiting our day brighteners to one thing per person. Just one. The very best one.”

  “Oh,” Jazzy said, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.” Her face reddened.

  Debbie glanced at her watch. “That’s all the time we have for tonight. Next week we’ll be discussing exercise and its role in elevating mood. Please come on time.”

  As the women gathered up their handbags and went to lean their folding chairs against the wall, Jazzy snapped open her phone and began texting. Marnie didn’t quite understand the allure of texting. What exactly were people sharing that required the constant back-and-forth? She couldn’t imagine.

  A woman with bobbed hair approached Jazzy and laid a hand on her shoulder. Her hair was that beautiful shade of silver that looked almost blonde. Marnie guessed her to be in her late fifties. She was slim and elegant with expensive-looking clothing, a silk scarf draped around her neck. What was her name again? Oh yes, Rita. “Your ideas were just wonderful,” the woman said, leaning toward Jazzy, her eyes brimming with tears. “It was so much fun to listen to you. I can tell you’re a sparkler, just like my daughter.”

  “Thanks.” Jazzy closed the phone and smiled up at her. “How old is your daughter?”

  “Twenty-three.” Rita looked away for a second, swallowed, and then looked back at Jazzy. “I mean, she was twenty-three,” she said, and now tears were streaking down her cheeks. “She died. Ten years ago. Murdered. We’re sure it was her old boyfriend, but the police can’t prove it.”

  Jazzy stood up so rapidly the phone fell off her lap and clattered to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said, holding her arms open. Rita walked into her embrace and clung to her. “There, there,” Jazzy said, as if she were reassuring a child. Marnie, car keys in hand, froze at the sight of this woman finding comfort in the hug of a complete stranger.

  “The thing is,” Rita sobbed, “I still miss her so much.”

  “Of course you do,” Jazzy said. She stroked the back of the woman’s head. “Of course you do.” For Marnie the rest of the room softened to a blur, and the only real thing in all the world was the sight of these two women clinging to each other.

  Chapter Two

  Jazzy hadn’t planned to go to the grief group that Tuesday evening. Hell, she didn’t even know there was such a thing. What she’d planned for was a quiet night at home alone. She’d just settled down on the couch with a can of honey roasted peanuts and a glass of wine, when a voice popped into her head. You really need to go out tonight. It came through real soft and low, like it was only a suggestion. Ha! As if.

  Ignoring it wasn’t an option, she knew that much. When she’d heard voices like this in the past, she’d tried to ignore them, but that never worked. They didn’t let up, for the most part, and eventually she’d get an uncomfortable nagging feeling, as if she’d forgotten to do something important. And then it just got worse, and the rest of the night she would pace around the apartment suffering from a bad case of free-floating anxiety. Total madness, that way. Easier just to give in.

  She called her brother, Dylan, at work to let him know she was going out and would probably need a ride home later. Where she was going, she couldn’t really say. He understood, though. This had been going on since they were little kids. Their grandmother went through the same thing—voices would come into her head like she was getting a phone call from the universe, and she’d drop everything to do whatever was needed. “They’re guiding you, Jazzy,” Grandma had said over and over again. “These voices, you get them for a reason.” She also said every person on the planet had the potential to get them, but few did. And if Jazzy did as the voices asked, wondrous things would happen. If she ignored them, she’d never know what might have happened.

  What Grandma hadn’t told her, at the time, was that both of them heard dead people. That would have freaked out any ten-year-old. By the time she understood, she was used to having ghosts invade her thoughts. It was weird, but it was her very own version of weird. Everybody had something.

  And now, ironically and comfortingly enough, Grandma was her most frequent spirit visitor. Just like when she was alive, her energy was pure joy and her advice was designed to make Jazzy think.

  Tonight though, she had a different visitor. After Jazzy finished telling Dylan she was going out, she downed the wine and set the glass in the sink when the unfamiliar voice came back again. You really need to go out tonight. Talk about nagging. Hello! She’d barely had time to get out the door. Such impatience. “Maybe I should go out,” she said, trying out the words. She had a sudden feeling of confirmation, like, Yes, now you’ve got it. She could tell it was a female spirit. Young, maybe about her age—twenty-two. How sad to die before you’d really lived. But maybe she, Jazzy, could do something that would make a difference.

  Jazzy filled her big bag with everything she thought she’d need, and left the apartment, locking the door behind her. Dylan had the car, so her traveling options were limited, but she wasn’t worried. It would all work out somehow.

  She walked down the street, purposely pausing by the bus stop in case that was the plan, but something inside of her said to keep going. Fifteen minutes later, her neighbor Greta pulled up alongside her and called out, “Hey, Jazzy, you need a ride?” Greta lived in the apartment next to them and was, Jazzy had decided, one of the best people on the planet. A person really couldn’t not like her, unless they were like really evil or something. It turned out Greta was headed to the rec center to take a knitting class. Something about the words rec center clicked with her, or rather, clicked with the voice in her head. She told Greta that, oddly enough, she herself was headed to the rec center and would love a ride.

  “Such a coincidence,” Greta said, smiling.

  Jazzy climbed into the car feeling certain now she was on the right path.

  “What wonderful weather we’re having,” Greta said, pulling away from the curb. “We’re finally getting that rain we need. I love the way the air feels after a good rain.”

  Jazzy listened politely, looking out the window as buildings and street signs whizzed by. How lucky for her Greta had come by. Of course, she knew it wasn’t luck: it was meant to be.

  If things worked out the way they usually did, Jazzy knew that once she arrived at the rec center she’d be led to the one person who needed something only she could give, and they’d connect somehow. That was always how it went; there was no point in overthinking it. For now, she was content to look out the window and listen to Greta excitedly talk about the yarn and knitting needles she’d recently bought. Alpaca wool was really soft, Greta said, and she’d bought a boatload of it because she was going to make all her Christmas gifts this y
ear.

  Jazzy had a feeling there was a new scarf in her future. The thought made her smile.

  Inside the building, Greta asked if Jazzy would need a ride home. “No, I’m good, thanks,” Jazzy said, and they parted ways. She meandered through the hallways, divining for people the same way someone would dowse for water, all instinct and pull. If she’d just still her thoughts and wait, an unexplained twitch would steer her in the right direction.