Destined (15 page)

She drifted into the middle of the
room with her eyes locked on the food, standing there awkwardly. I nodded in
the direction of the kitchen table.

“Have a seat,” I smiled. I took a
plate out of the cabinet and filled it, then added two whole wheat rolls.

“But, I can’t pay,” she said, wringing
her hands nervously. Her eyes burned with intensity.

“I know,” I said. I turned and put the
food on the table. “We’d only get rid of it, after a while. This is just the
leftovers. “

I smiled at her reassuringly and waved
her toward the table.

“Might as well enjoy it before it’s
spoiled,” I said as she grabbed one of the rolls and stuffed it into her mouth.
“Just gets stinky out there in the dumpster, right?”

She nodded enthusiastically, sitting
down to devour half of the chicken salad in about thirty seconds. I poured her
a glass of milk and she downed it in three gulps. She looked intensely at the
remaining food on her plate, obviously still hungry but holding back for some
reason.

“Do you mind if I…um…save some for
later?” she asked. “I kind of promised to get back home soon. Thank you very
much, and all,” she added anxiously. “It’s the best we’ve had in, I mean, it
was very good. Thank you, ma’am.”

“We?” I asked, “Someone at home?”

“My mother,” she confirmed. “She’s not
been feeling too well. So she sent me out…shopping.” She meant, scrounging for
food in my dumpster.

I scraped her chicken salad into a
plastic bag, and then I added a big dollop more. I thought again, then upended
the Tupperware container and emptied it into the baggie.

“Well, I hope your mother is feeling
better soon,” I said, handing her the sealed bag of food.

She nodded vigorously, her eyes
shining. I walked her to the back door.

“By the way,” I said as she headed
down the back steps. “What’s your name? I’m Emily.”

She turned and looked up at me,
hesitating, then apparently deciding it was safe to tell me. She was clutching
the bag of food to her chest like a life preserver.

“It’s Amy,” she answered.

“Do you live nearby, Amy?”

She gave me the wary look again.

“Um, yeah, sort of nearby.”

“Because, I was thinking. Maybe you
could help us out again some day. You know, with the leftovers. It’s such a
waste, we aren’t allowed to sell them.”

She stared up at me in unbelieving
silence.

“Really?”

I nodded.

“You want to
give
me the leftovers, for no money?”

“Sure. Helps us to clear out the
fridge. We need the space. I have to make something new every day, for the
customers,” I said slyly.

“Well, sure, I could help you out with
that, I guess,” she agreed seriously. “And, maybe I could, you know, take out
the trash for you or something.” She looked around the alley and spotted our
large recycling bins. “I could rinse out the cans and bottles, too, if you
want. There’s a hose right over there,” she pointed at the side of the
building.

I nodded slowly in a considering way. “That
would be very helpful, Amy, thanks for offering.”

She smiled brightly, and ducked back
under the stairs to grab the garbage bags she’d left there, tossing them into
the dumpster and closing the lid neatly.

“OK then, I’d better go now!” she
said, and headed down the alley toward where a little footpath cut through to
Market Street. “Bye!” she called.

“See you tomorrow!” I answered.

I hoped she would return. I actually
like teenagers, contrary to the feelings of many retailers, who worry about
shoplifting and the large gangs of kids who hang around on the sidewalks after
school, getting in the way of the paying customers and making lots of noise and
litter. It didn’t bother me if they wore Goth piercings, black nail polish and
green hair coloring. I looked a little strange when I was sixteen, too. It’s
just a way of being different from their parents, something every generation
attempts to do. Until they grow up and realize how much alike we all are, that
is.

I thought about Amy’s mother. I
wondered whether she was really sick, and where they lived. There was a house
down the street where some known drug addicts lived, according to Laurel. She
told me that one of the tenants had come into the restaurant in a panic one
evening and asked her to call 911. I hoped this was not where Amy and her
mother lived. I decided to ask around and see if the neighbors knew anything
about the girl.

No time like the present! I called
Laurel and invited her over for a quick espresso before the evening rush hit at
her restaurant. Siri was planning to stay for a while too, taking advantage of
the quiet late afternoon time to do some feather dusting of our more delicate
bric-a-brac. I called Isabella Reyes too, on her cell phone. She volunteered
part time at an after-school childcare center and would be getting off about
now.

Bella and Laurie showed up nearly
simultaneously, just as the electric kettle came to a boil. Nobody else was in
the store, nor were they likely to appear at this time of day, mid-week. Siri
dropped her duster, and we all gathered at the coffee bar to chat while I served
up hot drinks and snacks.

Everyone talked simultaneously, but we
could all still hear and understand each other perfectly well. This may seem
impossible to men, but women do it all the time. It is actually a very
efficient way of communicating in a group setting. Girlfriends talk partly with
their words and even more with their emotions, which communicate in a psychic,
unstated way. When we all talk at the same time it is not rude or like
interrupting, it’s our way of broadcasting our emotional states to each other.
It’s like touching minds. It helps create a feeling of group intimacy, which is
a really good thing.

I told them about meeting the girl Amy
in the alley today. They clucked with dismay at the story of her garbage
picking, and approved of my decision to feed the child. None of them recognized
her description or had any idea where she might live. They offered to ask
around.

“And, we could ask the cards about
her,” Laurie offered, “If you’d like. I have them in my bag.”

“You mean, Tarot cards?”

“Yes!”

“Get them, for sure.”

Everyone chimed in enthusiastically.

“Let’s move over here,” I said,
leading them to a small round table with four chairs.

We all sat down in a circle around the
table. A kind of cosmic bubble started to form from our combined energies,
enclosing us from the rest of the world. I could see it faintly shimmering in
the air. Laurie took a dark red velvet pouch from her large handbag. She
loosened the strings and pulled out a rectangular box covered with colorful
pictures and lettering. Inside was her Tarot deck, fortune telling cards that
can answer questions about the past, the present and the future. Her deck was
beautiful, with graceful Art Nouveau illustrations of the symbols and
archetypal characters.

“Let’s see what the Tarot knows about
this girl. Now, everyone focus and think of our question,” Laurel said, and
shuffled the cards gently, over and over again. She stopped for a moment and
tapped them together neatly, then inhaled and blew a long, slow breath into the
cards, closing her eyes. We all stared at the deck, pushing our thoughts into
the cards. Then she cut the deck in two and turned one half upside down,
beginning to shuffle them again repeatedly, this time slower and with
deliberation, concentrating.

With her left hand she cut the cards
into three piles. She picked them up in reverse order, so the last one was now
on top.

“That’s it,” she said. “Here we go.”

Bella clapped her hands and we all
leaned forward for a better view.

Laurie laid out the cards on the table
one by one, making a pattern she called the Celtic Cross. She explained the
meanings of the cards as they appeared. The center of the spread showed me, the
Queen of Wands, and the girl Amy, the Page of Swords. The card in the past was
the five of pentacles. Laurie said it showed Amy and her mother cast out of
their home, desolate and crying outside a lighted window.

The card in the present was the nine
of swords, which showed a woman suffering and crying in despair, alone in bed
with nine double-edged swords like vertical bars hanging above her. Laurie said
it might mean Amy’s mother was indeed sick, or even dying. She had definitely
been struck by a disaster of some kind.

The card in the near future was
somewhat puzzling. It was the eight of swords, which shows a bound blindfolded
woman surrounded by a circle of eight swords, stuck into the ground to form a
fence around her. Laurie said the card meant someone was a prisoner, and too
weak to fight for his or her rights. The card was upside down though, which
meant the interpretation was reversed. This meant the prisoner might be
released soon.

The card in the far future looked
better, however. It was the six of wands, which meant good news, victory and
helpful friends.

The next three cards were more vague in
meaning, and seemed to be talking about various other people involved in the
situation. There were a powerful merchant, and a reclusive scholar, and someone
who might be a priest or minister.

The final outcome card was excellent.
It was the Sun, which Laurie said means success and happiness.

Siri wondered whether the prisoner was
Amy’s mother, sick in bed and housebound, or someone else. Where was Amy’s
father, we all wanted to know? Could he be the prisoner? What if he was
actually in jail? If so, he might be a dangerous guy. And according to the
cards, he would be getting out soon! Laurie gathered up the deck and put it
away.

We ended our social hour with a quick
hug all around. I liked these women, and it was such fun to see them nearly
every day. I hadn’t had a group of girlfriends like this since high school. In
my recent past, it had always seemed like women who were friendly wanted
something from me, and didn’t want to give anything back in exchange. They were
jealous and competitive, ready to stab me in the back if I seemed to be getting
too successful or landed a desirable man. Lexi and the other women who worked
at the gallery were like this. Lexi wanted to keep me under her thumb, firmly
inferior to her in talent and position. She made certain to comment if I ever
looked less than perfect, or stumbled over a customer’s unpronounceable last
name. The others gossiped about me behind my back, shushing each other slyly
when I came into the room. They were jealous of my sales success. They made the
old cliché about “catty” women seem quite accurate.

So far, my new friends were different.
They were self-confident, happy with their lives and mates, and nurturing
toward each other. I kept waiting for their flaws to be revealed and was
holding back my complete trust. My own secrets were safely locked up inside.
But I had started to relax and truly enjoy their company. We were talking about
starting a Pilates or Yoga class at the store once a week, early some morning
before we opened. If we moved the lunch tables aside, there was tons of space
at the back to put down yoga mats on the floor. I was looking forward to it,
even more for the fun than for the exercise.

I was also looking forward to Tony
Novak’s return from his trip to London. Our one date had been so great, I
hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Of course, I still didn’t
really trust him either. I wondered if he was seeing someone over there, too,
and decided he probably was. After all, he had been living there for years and
owned a house there. He probably had a woman in New York, too, for that matter.
His goodnight kiss at the door had landed politely on my cheek, perfect manners
for a first date, yet somehow a little disappointing.

I received a postcard with a picture
of a Rolls Royce on the front, about a week after he left town. The intriguing
message was written in bold slanting letters. It said:

Dear M,

Travel is no fun without my
favorite driver to deliver me safely.

Time to come home soon!

                                      
             
—A.N.