Phantom Quartz: A Stacy Justice Witch Mystery Book 6 (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

lost a father at an early age. To her credit, Cinnamon had been fairly patient with the coddling throughout her pregnancy, but after eight months, she could snap at any moment.
    I intercepted the clipboard from Lynne. “I’ll fill it out, Lynne. If you can get someone to bring her into a room, that would be fantastic.”
    Lynne nodded. “Of course.” She hurried away.
    I was busy filling out the basic patient information when I heard Cin curse behind me. “What do you mean he’s out of town?” she roared, then winced as another contraction hit.
    Uh-oh.
    Cinnamon said a few choice words to what I assumed was her doctor’s answering service then raised her arm as if she were about to slam dunk her phone. I caught it.
    She sighed and said, “Well that’s just perfect. Tony’s not in town, the doc’s in emergency surgery, my dad—”
    She turned her head and I could see two pools forming in her eyes.
    Before I could pull her into my arms, a young skinny guy returned with a wheelchair and we were whisked off to a room with a view of the park.
    The attendant checked Cinnamon’s vital signs, filled out some paperwork, and got her settled into bed. He excused himself without much chatter and said a nurse would be with us very soon.
    I walked over to my cousin’s bedside and held her hand. She gazed beyond me, at the dead winter grass outside the window, sparsely covered in dusty patches of snow cowering in the shadows of the building, away from the melting glare of the sun. “You don’t see many white rabbits in the wild, do you?”
    I turned my head to follow her stare and there it was. The white rabbit. Its whiskers danced as if to say, I have a message for you .
    Cinnamon sniffled, and I pushed aside my curiosity about the rabbit and said, “Honey, I know how you feel.”
    Losing a parent isn’t easy at any age, and the hurt never completely dissipates whether you’re eight or eighty. The raw ache that throbs in the chest for days, weeks, even years may slow over time, stop even. Become numb like a lost limb. But then life happens, and milestones like a wedding, a dream job, or a baby drum it up again, and you feel just like you did as a child. Vulnerable, scared, lonely—and desperately wanting your mommy or daddy to be there to hold your hand.
    Cin squeezed my fingers and let the tears fall. “I know you do. I know.”
    “Hey, if you ever want to talk to your dad, I happen to know someone who communicates with dead people. She’s cheap too. I hear she works for pizza and wine.”
    Cinnamon smiled weakly and then swallowed hard. “I talk to him, Stacy. All the time. In my own way.”
    I smiled back. “Maybe you could talk to mine. Tell him to stop by once in a while.” Because he never had. Not once. In spite of all the strangers who did. Ghosts from all over the town, hell from wherever I go, show themselves to me. But not my own father. I thought perhaps he would, now that I’d accepted my station in life, but no. I haven’t seen his face in fifteen years.
    Hot tears welled in my own eyes then. I felt a little sad for both of us. For our losses. But here we were, about to welcome a new life into our clan, so what was there to be sad about on this of all days? Besides, it wasn’t healthy for the baby to feel sorrow.
    I choked back a sob and said, “Hey, you’ve got me, babe.”
    “If you sing that Sonny and Cher song, I will punch you in the throat.”
    She blinked away her tears, but instantly, new ones formed again.
    We shared a meaningful look that could only be reached when two people have known each other for years and years. Two people who were well versed on each other’s flaws and loved them anyway. We were more than family, Cinnamon and me, more than cousins, more than friends. We were soul sisters who had shared unspeakable pain and the knowledge that not many could comprehend our particular brand of anguish. She knew every skeleton in my closet, and I hers. She knew where all my bodies