Heloise began to think voices were speaking to her through the radio. Not the normal announcers talking about traffic, weather, news or music played on the station, but voices trying to tell her what direction her life should be taking, veiled behind the regular programming. It sounded as if the station wasn’t precisely tuned, but stuck somewhere between the one she wanted while picking up another inadvertently.

Her first reaction was talking back to the radio saying, “Stop it.” She fumbled with the dial waiting at a red light. Horns honked when the light turned green and she pulled away, unable to get a clear reception.

Turning up the volume only made the problem worse and finally, she snapped it off. It could be something in the air. However, the problem persisted, getting worse each time she got in the car.

“Something’s wrong with the radio,” Heloise told the mechanic at the shop. She’d been going to the same shop as long as she could remember, owning a series of used cars constantly in need of attention.

“Lady,” Joe said, “that’s not my department.” She knew his name was Joe because that’s what the white label with red stitching above the pocket on the left side of his shirt said. Joe hadn’t been at the neighborhood shop long.

“Is Pete in?” Pete owned the shop and was Heloise’s favorite. He would carefully explain whatever was wrong with the car when she brought it in for repairs. He’d pull out large books he kept under the counter, pointing out the part that needed replacing.

“Pete’s on vacation.” Joe wiped his hands on a rag, picking up the ringing phone.

“Where can I take it?”

Joe put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Try a place that works on radios.”

“Thanks.” Heloise said even though she doubted Joe was listening.

Back inside the car, she felt a little hurt by Joe’s response. “He could’ve suggested a place,” she told the radio as she clicked it on, thinking, perhaps it had righted itself.

“Maybe it’s the antenna,” Heloise said as she listened for the background noise to start up.

Two blocks from the shop, she hit a pot hole, and she distinctly heard an “oh my,” coming from the speakers.

“What?” She wanted to pull over, but traffic filled the right lane and she had to continue down the street.

All the way home, she kept hearing “oh my, oh my” and each time it was as unnerving as the first. “I should’ve turned off the radio,” she thought later, safely locked inside the single story home she shared with Poppy, a fluffy lap dog of mixed breed she’d inherited upon her mother’s death. The dog had never been overly fond of Heloise, but Heloise rationalized, her mother hadn’t been overly fond of Heloise.

“I’m just not very maternal, dear,” was the way her mother described their odd relationship.

“What have you been up to?” Heloise inquired of Poppy who rested on the sofa. A place he’d initially been forbidden to occupy.

After several unsuccessful attempts to remove him from the piece of furniture, snapping and yapping at Heloise, she gave in. “You can have that side,” was the compromise. Eventually, Poppy took up the whole thing, Heloise wondering how something so small could stretch out so long. At night, he took up half the bed. Heloise realized when she’d been beaten.

Poppy opened one eye. Each time Heloise came home, she had the impression Poppy was disappointed it was Heloise and not his previous owner. He yawned and began to stretch. “I guess I’d better get some dinner for the two of us.” The only words Heloise spoke that Poppy understood were, “dinner” “walk” and “bed.” He jumped from the sofa with renewed energy and Heloise followed him to the kitchen.

Heloise filled Poppy’s bowl with the wet food he loved. “There you go,” Heloise said and waited while the dog sniffed the dish and looked up at her for a moment, making sure she wasn’t trying to poison him. Once he dug into the food, snorting and gobbling, Heloise stuck the rest of the can in the refrigerator and clicked on the kitchen radio. She took a seat at the table, sorting through the day’s mail, trying to figure out which frozen dinner to have for supper.

After Poppy polished off his gourmet meal, he stood at the backdoor, waiting for Heloise to let him out in the yard. “There you go, Poppy.” He darted outside to do his business without saying a word.

There was a crispness in the air Heloise knew signaled the end of the summer and change of seasons. She liked autumn and the way the cool weather cleared out the last of August’s hazy days.

“You’re an odd thing,” her mother used to say. “Autumn is the dying time.”

Heloise never thought of it as that, but rather a chance for things to settle down and rest for a while in their dormant state. She looked forward to the winter and the stillness that settled over everything with the first snowfall.

“I guess I am strange.” Poppy was back at the door, looking up expectantly. Inside, he sniffed his empty dish and then returned to his spot in the living room.

She dug through the freezer for tonight’s dinner, the radio still playing. The whole time she hadn’t heard any extra voices. Maybe it was the antenna on the car or she’d been imagining things.

Heloise watched the microwave turntable while her dinner heated up. It would be a year since her mother’s death at the end of next week. “Mom could be trying to get in touch with me. Apologize for not being maternal. Or, more likely checking up on the way I’m treating Poppy.” The bell went off and she settled at the kitchen table.

That night, Heloise dreamt she was a little girl, seated on her mother’s lap. Strange because it was something she could never remember doing. In the dream, her mother whispered how much she loved Heloise and was sorry she hadn’t told her so before this and added Heloise should listen to unexpected voices telling her what do to.

“I’m worried about the direction of your life,” were her mother’s last words before Heloise woke with a start. That was something Heloise could remember her mother telling her. “What are you thinking?” was another.

Poppy growled when Heloise tossed back the covers. “What does it mean?” Heloise asked and Poppy burrowed out from under the blankets as if she were trying to suffocate him. Heloise knew the dream would haunt her all morning till the sharp details gradually faded with the office bustle.

In the kitchen, Heloise fumbled with the coffee maker and set out Poppy’s breakfast before his nails clicked across the chilly floor. She ate her cereal in the quiet of the kitchen, afraid to turn on the radio.

Heloise patted the growling dog good-bye and backed the car out of the driveway, and halfway down the street reached to click on the radio, but pulled back. What if the dream meant something?

Stopping at a nearby intersection, Heloise wondered if she was missing an important message by not turning it on. What could her mother say that hadn’t been said already? Toying with the radio switch, Heloise debated her choices and merging into another lane opted to drive to work in silence, cracking her window, allowing fresh air to filter in along with the sound of horns and other peoples’ music.