Chapter 1

I spoke with my first ghost when I was eight-years-old. It was a warm spring morning in Northern Oklahoma. I was playing outside with my young boxer puppy when she began to bark at the neighboring yard. I looked up to see what she was barking at and my life changed forever.

I saw a man standing near the fence but something was different about him. He looked like a hologram. It reminded me of when Princess Leia sent the message through R2-D2 in Star Wars. I didn't understand how it was happening, but I knew I was talking to a ghost.

"Kelsey, can you see me?" He asked astoundedly.

"Mr. JR? I-is that you? Are you really there?" I questioned as I rubbed my eyes. "You passed away. How are you here?"

"Please don't be scared. I know my grumpy disposition in life made you feel like I didn't like children, but in reality I was upset with myself because seeing you kids play reminded me of how much I missed when my own children were small. I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable." His voice was soft and sincere; a noticeable difference from the gruff words he uttered in life. "Would you be willing to help a tired old soul?"

"Don't be sad. My dad told me that sometimes old men are just grumpy because they can't really do fun stuff anymore." I said reassuringly. "What can I do to help you? I'm only 8."

"Can you get my dear Betty baking again? My heart is so heavy knowing that in losing me she also lost her first love. Her life's passion." He pleaded.

Mrs. Betty was his loving wife of many years. She was a soft and caring elderly woman. She would care for my siblings and I when our parents were at work, and she always had fresh and tasty sweets. She was an excellent baker, but hadn't felt up to baking since her husband passed shortly before Thanksgiving.

"I can try. Dad and I got some brownie mix at the store earlier. He said he was going to teach me how to make them, but maybe he would let me see if Mrs. Betty will teach me instead. Her brownies are the best, and maybe baking will be easier if she is thinking more about helping me." I felt wise beyond my years for coming up with that idea.

"You've always been a smart young lady. I think that just might work."

I immediately went inside to find my dad sitting on the couch reading his book.

"Hey dad, I know you wanted to teach me how to make the brownies tonight, but do you think I could go ask Mrs. Betty to teach me instead? She makes the best brownies, and baking used to make her happy before her husband died." I rocked back and forth gently, my hands behind my back with fingers crossed.

"That sounds like a nice idea dear. Let me give you the egg and oil too just in case." Dad sounded rather proud of my idea, and headed straight for the kitchen to get the things I need. "Let her know she's welcome to come over for lasagna tonight" he said as he sent me out the door.

"Okay" I shouted back as I headed down the sidewalk. To the steps of the small blue house.

I was a little nervous knocking on her door that morning. She had become like an extra grandmother to me and I didn't want to make her sad, but I held my head high, and asked her late husband to help me say the right things.

"Hi Mrs. Betty." I smiled as the lanky gray haired woman opened the door.

"Well good morning dear. What do you have there?" She cooed back in her typical soft and welcoming tone.

"I have some brownies. I was wondering if you could help me learn to make them." I answered. "I know baking makes you think of your husband, but maybe baking with someone else would make it easier. I feel like he would be sad if he knew that you had a hard time enjoying your favorite thing just because he isn't here anymore."

I saw tears begin to fill her eyes as she invited me into her small home. "I dare to say you may be on to something. JR always said that the only thing better than my sweet treats was the smile I had while making them. I know he always seemed grumpy to you, but he truly was an amazing man. My daughter told me just yesterday that he would want me to continue living and finding joy in the things that remind me of him." I could hear both pain and an oncoming peace in her voice as I followed her into the kitchen.

She turned on a small radio, and began playing one of her beautiful jazz CDs as she retrieved a pan, mixing bowl, and measuring cup from her cabinets. She also took out a bag of chopped walnuts to add to the mix.

She explained each step to me as we prepared those brownies, and by the time we put them in the oven I noticed a smile returning to her thin fragile face.

While waiting for them to bake, I made sure to help her clean up the mixing bowl and utensils. That was the best part of baking after all.

"You can have the bowl dear, but I get the beaters." She chuckled.

"Deal!" I agreed as I sat to make sure no mix went to waste.

"Thank you." I heard JR whisper.

The light in the room seemed brighter for just a moment, and then he disappeared. It took me a few years to realize that I had witnessed him crossing over to the next life.

As we placed the finished brownies on a large blue plate Mrs. Betty gave me a look I had not seen before. It was like she was looking into my heart. Like we were connecting on a level I didn't know was possible. There were tears in her eyes but no sadness in her expression.

"Thank you sweet girl." She said with a smile. "This is the first time I've been able to bake without bursting into tears since he passed. Somehow I get a feeling that he is truly at rest now. Do you think your parents would mind if we enjoyed a brownie together before you take the rest home?"

My face lit up with the biggest smile possible. "I think it will he okay as long as I still eat my lasagna. Dad said you could come over for dinner too if you'd like."

"I would love that." She smiled.

We took the plate of brownies and walked back across the yard to enjoy lasagna, laughter, and the most delicious walnut brownies I've ever had.

From that day on, I was an aid to those who found difficulty crossing over. I did my best to pass messages without revealing my gift, but it wasn't always an option. For some people it was too much of a shock. Others, my own mother included, refused to believe in ghosts and accused me of speaking with demons. For most, however, it was a welcome blessing. Occasionally I was even asked to sit and translate a conversation between the living and the deceased.

Not all of the messages were happy or filled with love though. I once had to tell a woman that her husband knew she had been having an affair with his brother for quite some time before he fell ill. That was one of the few times I refused to be a spirit translator. I simply wrote her a letter saying I was an acquaintance of her deceased husband, and that he had informed me of the affair prior to his passing. I told her how awful it was of her to have an affair in the first place. The fact that it was his brother made it twice as disgraceful. Thankfully she never replied, and he was still able to pass to the next life.

I did get personal messages from time to time, but they were different from the others. When my great-grandmother passed she came to me in a dream and told me how much she loves me. A few other families came to me in this way as well. These dream communications were the only personal messages I had ever received.

That changed about a week before my twenty-first birthday. I was in the kitchen of my apartment making a small batch of spaghetti and listening to a playlist of sea shanties when a stocky elderly woman made herself known to me.

She had long gray hair, and frail looking features. I could tell that she had been sick for some time prior to leaving this life behind.

"Are you Kelsey Shaw?" she inquired hopefully.

"I sure am," I replied. "Do you have someone you need me to get a message to?" I was expecting her to ask me to tell someone how much she loved them, or to remind them that she no longer feels the pain of whatever illness she had. Those were the usual requests from spirits like her.

I never could have expected the conversation that followed.

"In a way." She answered crypticly. "I know of someone you likely want to speak to."

"I don't understand. Why would I want to speak to someone from your life? I've never seen you before."

"I know you haven't, but you've thought about me. Mostly you think about my son, but I know you have also wondered what his family would be like."

Suddenly it clicked in my mind who she must be. The painful realization nearly brought me to my knees.

"Y-you can't mean. . ." I stammered. "Are you my my grandmother? How did you find me?"

"I am dear. Many things are made known once you make it to this side of existence. I know you have many questions, but they may be better left for your father, to answer."

I didn't know what to say. I had dreamt my whole life of meeting my father. I wanted to ask him why he left my mother and I before I was even born. I wanted to know why I wasn't good enough for him. I wanted to hit him for not being their to protect me. I wanted his side of the story. Tears filled my eyes, and I began to cry uncontrollably.

"I know this is a lot to take in, and you likely have more emotions regarding your father that even I can understand. Please know that he does love you. Each year on the first of July, he goes back to the place he and your mother went on their first date. They met in November, but he goes at the beginning of July, because he knows it is your birth month. He will be at Stables in Guthrie around noon in just a few days. It would be everything to this old soul if you would meet him there." I could feel her desperation nearly as strongly as I felt my own.

"How will I know it's him? How will he know its me?" I asked.

"I will be there to guide you to him. He will know you by your eyes. They are a bit of a familial feature. It is the symbol of sight." As she said this, I noticed her eyes. I stared in awe as I looked into eyes much like mine; including the gold ring which separated the pupils from the blue of her irises.

"I thought my central heterochromia was a birth defect." I protested in shock. "That's what my biology teacher told me when I was in school. She said it was fairly rare."

"All will be understood in time my dear. I must go now, but I hope to see you on July first." With that she was gone.

I no longer felt hungry. I stood barefoot unable to move for what felt like an eternity. Was I hallucinating? Perhaps I had smoked more than I had intended, and this was just a bad high. My hands were shaking.

Part of me wanted to call my mother to confirm the location of her first date with my father. The more rational part of me knew it would be useless. I had spent most of my life trying to get her to talk about him, and never got her to even tell me his name. All that I knew was that they had gotten into a horrible fight when she was about six months pregnant, and she decided it wasn't safe for us to stay.

I forced myself to eat. Firstly because I had only eaten a ham and cheese sandwich that day, and secondly because I did not want perfectly good food to go to waste. I tried to watch a movie while I ate hoping that sticking to my normal routine would help ease my mind, but I hardly noticed it playing behind my racing thoughts. Had she said that my unique eyes were a familial trait as well as being the symbol of sight? Could my father communicate between realms as well? Was that what caused the fight that severed his relationship with my mother?

The next few days were a blur. I lived my life like normal, but it was like I was on autopilot. I drifted through my routine without giving anything much thought. I mindlessly stocked shelves at work, and avoided conversation as much as I could. My nights were restless as different scenarios and possible conversations raced through my mind.

My biggest fear was that I wouldn't be the daughter he wanted. I mean, what if he was super religious or something? He may not be able to accept the fact that his daughter was a bisexual college drop-out with gauged ears, a half shaved head, a habit of wearing too much black, and a growing cigarette addiction.

On the other hand, there was the chance that he would expect a father daughter bond right away. What if he wanted me to call him dad? That was not going to happen. It was going to take time and he would just have to accept that.

All I could do was hope that he would be somewhere between these two extremes. Willing to build our relationship over time, and able to accept me for everything I was. If he could do that, I could find a way to let him into my life.

One of my strongest desires in life was finally being fulfilled and I somehow did not know if I was ready. I had an ominous feeling that knowing my father was going to change a core part of my identity, but I never would have imagined how extensive that change would be.