The Long Way Home by Karen McQuestion

and Marnie reading a magazine. While Jazzy adjusted the angle of the GPS screen, Rita said, “I’m still wondering about those deer. Why do you suppose they came right up to you?”
    “Pretty crazy, huh?” Jazzy said. “They must be used to people.”
    “That’s really what you think?” Rita asked. “The deer are just used to people?”
    Jazzy pushed her hair behind her ear. “What else could it be?”
    Was Rita imagining things, or did Jazzy stiffen up? She lowered her voice so the others in the backseat wouldn’t hear. “You can tell me what you think,” Rita said. “Please. Whatever it is, I need to know.”
    There was a palpable tension now, the silence punctuated by the vibration of the tires on the road. Jazzy turned and gave her a cautious look. “How much do you want to know?”
    “All of it,” Rita said. “Everything.”
    Jazzy tapped her fingers on the dashboard, considering. She sighed.
    Rita said, “Whatever it is, just tell me.”
    “I have a lot of weird stuff happen to me. I don’t usually tell people. It changes things.”
    “Please.”
    “You’ll think I’m a nut job.”
    “I promise I won’t think you’re a nut job.”
    “You say that now.” Jazzy looked straight ahead for a minute or so and then gave Rita a long, questioning look.
    “Try me.” Rita said.
    “Okay, if you have to know, I have this talent,” Jazzy said finally. “Or maybe it’s a curse. I’m still not sure. The truth is, and I know it sounds unbelievable, but I’m psychic. I pick up on people’s thoughts. And I get messages from the dead.”
    Rita’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. She’d suspected as much, but it was another thing to know for sure. “I had a feeling,” she said, struggling to keep her eyes on the road.
    Jazzy said, “It’s not as dramatic as in the movies. I don’t see apparitions, at least not in the way most people think of apparitions. I don’t know the future, although sometimes I get inklings. Most of the time it’s not clear-cut. I just get…”
    “What?”
    “Thoughts,” Jazzy said. “Messages. I have no control. They just come. Little flashes of ideas or words. I get these thoughts and they’re like voices in my head making suggestions or passing on information.”
    Rita listened in fascination. “How do you know the voices are from dead people?”
    “My grandmother used to have the same thing. She was the one who told me it was spirits. It’s like having a radio receiver in my head.”
    “And the deer?” Rita asked.
    “Animals pick up on things,” Jazzy said slowly. “They have to rely on their instincts more than people do. I think the deer were directed to me. To get my attention and serve as a conduit. As weird as that sounds.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “When the one touched my hand, I got a message. A female voice. She said we needed to stop in someplace in Colorado. I couldn’t quite catch the name. It sounded kind of like Preston Place. Anyway, we’re supposed to stop there.”
    “Why?”
    “Why do we have to stop, or why did I get the message?”
    “Both, I guess.”
    Jazzy sighed again. “I don’t know. Lots of times it’s confusing. Usually though, it all works out for the best.”
    “The female voice—” Rita tried to keep the words steady, but it was hard going. “Was it a young woman? In her early twenties, maybe?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe,” Jazzy said. “Not old, anyway.” She continued, apologetically. “It happened so quickly. All I got was a sort of impression. It’s like overhearing part of a conversation in another room.”
    “But it could have been a young woman?”
    “Maybe. Female definitely. I’m not sure about the age. Youngish, I guess. Why do you ask?”
    “I think it was my daughter,” Rita said and then, reconsidering, spoke with more assurance. “No, I don’t think. I know . I know it was Melinda.”
    “I can’t tell you that for sure. I didn’t get that she was connected to