Then he—or some essence of him—slipped into her mind. She jerked, going rigid at the shock of it. His mind and hers seemed to occupy the same space in her skull.
Are you all right? His voice resonated from inside her brain.
She froze, too stunned to reply. He began to withdraw. I’m all right! she answered.
Suddenly she hurtled through outer space toward Earth aboard a spacecraft, the likes of which she’d seen only in science fiction movies. At the helm of the ship stood a man with a striped face and fangs like a tiger. Next to him, a winged person jabbed at a control screen. A red-skinned horned alien peered over the shoulder of a blue being with a spiny tail seated at another console. Hovering over the bridge was some sort of an apparition. The men were speaking to one another but not in any language she’d ever heard. However, the stress in their tone resonated loud and clear.
These are my friends, my fellow ’Topians, just before we landed on Earth, Psy explained. Everyone was worried the ship might not make it through your atmosphere intact.
He was an alien! They were communicating via telepathy! Perhaps that should have been scary, but she sensed no threat. Rather, having him inside her head filled her with warmth and closeness—and excitement. She was seeing stuff no other human had.
Can you show me your planet?
Through the camera lens of his mind, she panned over a bustling metropolis of spired buildings connected by catwalks, sleepy hobbit-like hamlets beneath pink skies, a busy spaceport, golden trees, and purple fields. Some of the people resembled Psy, but most appeared to be hybrids of some crazy genetic experiment. Lizard-people, winged fairies, and half-animal humanoids.
Everyone looks so different, she said with wonder.
We are genetically diverse, yet still ’Topian.
“Well, they bought the hall tree, and they’re interested in the sideboard,” Verna boomed. “They’re going home to measure.”
The connection to Psy and his world severed, and he dropped his hands.
No! Cassie stifled the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. Why did Verna have to come back so soon?
“Everything okay in here?” Her eyebrow quirked.
She nodded.
Instead of disappearing again, her boss busied herself at the front counter. Leave it to Verna to be contrary. She left when she should remain, and she stayed when she should vamoose.
“I’d better let you get to work,” Psy said. “So, are we on for the lavender farm?”
It’s a date, she penned, relieved she hadn’t blown it. She’d been attracted to him at the start, and now she had so many questions to ask. I’m so sorry for not believing you.
“Totally understandable.”
They conferred on the best evening. She worked all week, Psy had a trip to Seattle in between, and Kevanne Girardi, the owner of Lavender Bliss Farm had scheduled an event for the weekend, so they decided on Thursday after her shift. She had a feeling time would drag between now and then.
The door clicked shut, and Verna vaulted around the counter. “Well?”
Cassie could float on air. He asked me on a date, she wrote.
“I told you he liked you!” Verna grinned smugly.
I like him, too. She bit her lip. Should she mention he was an extraterrestrial? He hadn’t told her it was a secret, but maybe she should check with him first.
“Where are you going?”
The lavender farm.
“Good choice. Very pretty. Good walking trails. The owner’s husband, Chameleon, is an extraterrestrial. If you see a blue man with a tail—that’s him.”
Psy had said his friends owned the farm and, in the vision he’d showed her, there’d been a blue man with a tail. That had to be Chameleon.
“A couple of aliens live in Argent,” Verna continued. “There’s a young widow—well, she’s not widowed anymore—named Delia Mason, who’s married to one of Chameleon’s friends. His name is Wynn but he goes by Wingman—probably because he has wings.”
She’d seen him on the bridge of the spacecraft, too!
“You look surprised,” Verna said. “A lot of people assume Argent is a little hick Idaho town, but it’s such a wonderful place to live, even extraterrestrials want to settle here.” She paused. “You gotta bring your own social life though.”
If aliens were already in Argent, and they were friends of Psy’s, and Verna already knew about them, then telling her about Psy shouldn’t be a big deal. She was dying to tell somebody, and who better than Verna?
Her boss had become like a second mother, and she could talk to her in a way she couldn’t with her own mom. As Cassie had grown up, rather than loosening the apron strings, her mother had tightened them. She poised her pen over the pad and then took the plunge. Psy is an alien. Chameleon, Wingman—they’re his friends. She turned the pad.
Verna didn’t look the least bit surprised, but she commented, “He looks human.”
He’s not. She omitted mention of the mind-link because it felt too personal to share, like a kiss.
“Except for his eyes. Those were a little weird,” Verna said.
He has beautiful eyes!
“What are you going to tell your mother?”
About the date or Psy being an alien?
“Either. Both.”
I don’t know.
Verna cocked her head. “How old are you?”
23.
Her boss swept out her arm to encompass the store. “Is this the life you desire?”
She frowned, unsure of what she meant. Getting a job, earning her own money, being productive, and making a new friend had been the best things to happen to her until Psy had walked in. I love working here.
“I meant in general.”
Sometimes I want more, she said carefully.
“And you should! You should demand more! A woman your age shouldn’t spend her weekend canning jam! You’re entitled to a vibrant, joyful life in which you chase every dream you can imagine. That might not be the life Rosalie envisions for you, but it’s what you deserve, and only you can make it happen.”
Her mother didn’t much care for Verna, and Cassie was getting the impression the animosity was mutual. She loves me, she defended her.
“I don’t doubt that for an instant.”
She worries because of my disability.
“Poppycrap! Pardon my French. So you can’t speak? So what? Most people talk too damn much, myself included. You’re intelligent, talented, empathetic, kind, and beautiful. It’s no wonder Psy was smitten. Any man with a pulse, human or alien, would be.”
Flabbergasted by the compliments, she had no idea how to respond. She appreciated the flattery, but if she was such a prize, wouldn’t she have met somebody by now? It had been five years since she graduated high school. She could catch a man’s eye, but once he discovered communicating with her took work, he lost interest.
Except…she remembered a few who hadn’t. She’d been at the mall, at the bank, in a grocery store and having a good conversation with a man, him speaking, her writing, when her mother had cut in, telling her they needed to leave.
What if the interruptions had been intentional?
She cringed with guilt for the disloyalty. Her mother wouldn’t do that—she commiserated that Cassie hadn’t yet met anybody special. She’d been thrilled when Cassie had had a boyfriend in high school—and sad when he broke up with her.