Wild Men of Alaska 03 - Dreamweaver

down the fabric of her apron as though to show off the flatness of her stomach.
    “Hmm, interesting. I see a new baby in your immediate future.” Siri shrugged and helped herself to one of the shortbread cookies also on the tray.
    “Amie, I’m going to need a brownie this morning,” Rosie said, attempting to get Amie’s attention off her nonexistent bump.
    “Coming right up.” Amie undid the ties to her apron and wrapped them around her front, tying them tighter around her middle as she walked back behind the counter to get Rosie’s brownie.
    Gemma hurried across the café and whispered over the dessert case, “You know not to take anything she says to heart, right?”
    “Yes, I know that,” Amie said. The mass of bracelets on her thin wrist jangled as she slammed open the bakery case. “But I’m late . Gemma, I can’t be pregnant, I just can’t. Drew hasn’t even asked me to marry him. And I don’t know if I want to marry him. A baby? What am I going to do with a baby? I’m not ready to be a mother.”
    “Stop. It’s nothing. Nothing .”
    “But you heard her,” Amie’s voice rose in worry.
    “Yes, and last Tuesday she told Mrs. Halverson that she’d find cockroaches. This is Fairbanks, Alaska. Have you ever seen a cockroach?”
    Amie took a deep breath, closed her eyes and let it out. “Right. Okay, but you know I’ll need to leave early so that I can buy a pregnancy test to put my mind at ease.” Amie put Rosie’s brownie on a plate and took it to her.
    Gemma studied Amie’s trim figure. It was just as fit and petite as it was when Gemma had hired her right out of high school. No way could she be over a hundred and ten pounds. She just topped five feet. With her dyed black hair, multiple ear piercings, coupled with her kohl rimmed eyes and dark purple lipstick, Amie fit more into Chinook Books than Gemma did.
    The eclectic bookstore used to be hippie central when Siri ran it. Incense had burned at the counter. Brownies could be ordered “organic” instead of the dark chocolate, nut-filled ones Gemma stocked. And customers hung out all day gazing up at the celestial ceiling her father had commissioned for Siri’s birthday. There was still a New Age vibe, and the ceiling still received a lot of oohs and ahhs, but the more years that went by, the more Gemma had lessened the influence. Though she hadn’t been able to get rid of Tarot Tuesday, or what she secretly referred to as Trial Tuesday.
    Gemma’s perky part-timer, Cal lista, reported to work at noon, she hid herself in the back office, after grabbing a book on dreams. She let Callista run the book floor while Amie continued to fret about her possible pregnancy in the café. Siri was too occupied with her Tarot readings to pay attention to what Gemma was up to.
    She wished she could just ask her mother what she meant about the Dreamweaver comment, but she’d learned a long time ago not to show too much interest in her mother’s “second sight.” At least medicated, Siri didn’t talk to people who weren’t there and predict the future or the sex of unborn children. Well, as much.
    She hoped Amie wasn’t pregnant. Maybe she’d run out and pick up that pregnancy test for Amie to put both their minds at ease. Until she could get away, she had some investigating to do. She opened the book she’d swiped on dreams and found the table of contents.
    The chapter on “ Astral Sex” leapt off the page.

Chapter Three

    “Well, you look awful,” Tern Maiski said, entering Gemma’s little back office.
    There wasn’t much room for more than a desk in the closet-like space. Gemma had tried to lighten it up from the multi-colored rainbow arching across the walls her mother had painted to a much more soothing sage green. Though the rainbow still bled through in the right light as if refusing to be covered up.
    Gemma planted her elbows on the old walnut desk that had been her father’s, and rested her chin in her hands. “I’m having astral sex.”
    Tern sank into the chair opposite. “You’re having what ?”
    “Astral sex.”
    “Before I draw any wrong conclusions, explain exactly what astral sex is.” Tern shrugged off her stylish black wool coat that reached to her calves and unwound a hand-painted red silk scarf from around her neck. Tern owned the Arctic Tern Art Gallery just down the street, and they had a standing date to eat lunch together on Trial Tuesdays.
    “Here, read this.” Gemma held up the book for Tern,