The Long Way Home by Karen McQuestion Read Free Book Online

parked car, strangled with her own scarf, one I had crocheted and given to her as a Christmas gift. Glenn and I had to go and identify her.”
    “I’m sorry.” Jazzy could feel Rita’s emotion as if it were her own. Even ten years after her daughter’s death, Rita suffered agonizing pain and loss, and now it poured out of her in an unstoppable surge, straight to Jazzy’s heart. This was the part of being intuitive she could have skipped.
    “Davis, that was his name, didn’t come to the funeral, and about a month after she died, he up and moved to God only knows where.”
    “I’m sorry,” Jazzy said, again. Sometimes words were so inadequate.
    “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”
    The room was filling up. When the last of the group trickled in, Marnie was among them, talking to another woman as she came through the door. She waved to Jazzy and took a seat, easing her purse off her shoulder and onto the floor. The chatter in the room became questioning: Where was Debbie? What’s the story with the music?
    Jazzy stood up. “Hey, everyone. My name is Jazzy. I was told that Debbie won’t be coming because of a family emergency. It was suggested that as long as we all made the effort to be here, we could use the time to talk amongst ourselves.” Jazzy herself was the one who was suggesting it, so it wasn’t technically a lie. “If it’s okay with everyone, I’d be glad to moderate a discussion.”
    “Debbie’s not coming?” one of the women said, irate. “You’d think the rec center would have called to let us know.”
    “They should give us a partial refund,” another one said, frowning.
    Marnie spoke up. “I, for one, am happy to get a break from Debbie. I vote we let Jazzy lead the discussion.”
    “I second the motion,” Rita said, thrusting her arm up in the air.
    “Debbie was sort of bossy,” said the woman who only a moment before wanted a partial refund. The women looked around at each other, and one by one announced that they were fine with having Jazzy take charge. This didn’t surprise Jazzy, who’d been told by an unseen voice it would go this way.
    Within the first half hour, every woman in the room had cried or laughed, and some had done both. Jazzy went with the theme she’d written on the board: do the thing you long to do and become the person you’re destined to be. One by one, each woman confessed her most secret desire, her long-buried goal, her childhood dream. No matter how outlandish the idea, the women were encouraging and brainstormed ways the dream could become a reality.
    Leticia, the lady who last week had mentioned brightening her days with the occasional Vanilla Skinny Latte, admitted that as a child she’d envisioned herself as a Broadway actress. Another woman in the group said she belonged to a local theater group, and mentioned upcoming auditions. Leticia took paper and pen out of her purse to jot down the information. She chuckled. “It’s not exactly Broadway, but it’s a start.”
    One of the other group members had just started talking about her dream of being a professional chef, when the woman next to her (who, as it turned out, hated to cook) said, “You’re hired!” The one who despised cooking was scheduled to host a dinner party for twenty guests in three weeks and dreaded preparing the meal. The first woman offered to cater it, and they exchanged contact information on the spot. Jazzy loved it when the universe aligned like this.

     
    Finally, Marnie’s turn arrived. Uneasy, she shrugged and said she had nothing to say.
    “No unrealized dreams?” Jazzy asked.
    “No, not really. I mean I always wanted to be a teacher and I am. I love to cook and garden and read and I do those things all the time,” Marnie said. “I’ve got it pretty good compared to a lot of people.”
    Jazzy looked around the circle and saw that the other women weren’t convinced either. Leticia leaned forward in her chair. “So, is the life you’re living the one you