Free A Little Help from Above by Saralee Rosenberg

erase the eerie vision in the glass.
    It was one thing to have occasional make-believe conversations with Granny Bea Good, her Jiminy Cricket. It was quite another thing to be spooked by your dead mother at the very place where her life had ended.
    Suddenly she was reminded of the time Ian McNierney, speak of the devil, handed her a bizarre assignment when she first started working for him. “Find Detroit’s top psychics and clairvoyants, and see what they’re predicting for the nineties.” He’d grinned.
    Assuming this was some kind of hell week prank, Shelby submitted her first draft, a piece she cleverly entitled, “Boo!” Never did she expect Ian to attack her for allowing cynicism to seep through the words. “Mock readers, mock me,” he bellowed. “But then I should have guessed you’d be daft on this subject. You’re living proof, education is the bane of enlightenment!”
    Shelby had never forgotten Ian’s stinging remark, not because he’d attacked her elite American schooling, which he insisted had left her void of original thought. What had been far more disconcerting was this brilliant man’s unshakable belief that humans could communicate with the dearly departed, and learn about the future from them, too.
    Total lunacy was her reaction then and, his little psychedelic trip notwithstanding, now. If it was true those who passed on had the ability to communicate with loved ones, why hadn’t her mother appeared before today? Surely she had to know Shelby still mournedher loss, still drifted in a sea of uncertainty without her loving presence.
    She quickly rolled down the window, flush with neurosis and in desperate need of air. What to do next? Lauren was no longer in her line of sight, so it would be pointless trying to catch up to her. Yet she knew she had to get the hell out of the car, for it was no longer a safe haven.
    With her heart racing, she jumped out and began to pace. Should she, could she, walk through those hospital doors? Her rapidly palpitating heart answered no. Nor could she just drive off, either. If she looked in the rearview mirror and saw her mother’s reflection again, she’d surely floor the gas pedal, crash through the brick wall, and hurtle the car in a downward spiral to parking level one.
    Then panic set in. What if from now on every time she looked in a mirror, her mother’s ghost appeared? How would she put on makeup? And what was she supposed to say to Ernest at Hair Georgio next time she was due for a trim? “Could you please drape a towel over your mirror?” Even worse, with every workout studio at the gym totally mirrored, would she now have to cancel her membership? She could only imagine the scene if her mother showed up at her spin class. Shelby’s stationary bike might become airborne.
    It’ll be a living nightmare. Shelby bit her lip. For as much as it would be nice to know her mother was watching over her, she wasn’t prepared to play peekaboo for the rest of her life. On the other hand, at least this little call from Graveland had occurred when she was alone and not while she was at the office. No doubt her cronies would have toasted her meltdown, for up until now it was only a rumor Shelby Lazarus felt human emotion.
    The thought of work suddenly gave her a new, desperately needed focus. She’d only left Chicago this morning, but in the paper trade, every minute you were out of touch was an eternity to the editor trying to reach you. She tore open her pocketbook, reached for her cell phone, and called in for messages.
    So much for thinking she was important. The only calls were from David begging to hear how she was managing, and one call from her friend Risa, asking if Shelby was done with David, could she give his number to a friend who was ready to start dating again?
    Shelby couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Was the datingpool so dry that even an overweight, bald guy without a spine was valuable currency? As she looked around the crowded